Chapter 61 (1/2): Like this, there is your secular world

Luo Danqing was taken away by Xie Dingxin, while Zhang Xianyu stayed outside with Lin Wushui and the others.

“Let’s find a place to sit and wait.”

Zhang Xianyu tugged at his hand, trying to lead him somewhere, but suddenly couldn’t move his hand.

He turned to look at her in confusion.

The sky had not yet brightened; the dawn light was faint and soft.

Their eyes met.

Lin Wushui’s gaze slowly swept over Zhang Xianyu’s face inch by inch.

He parted his lips, his voice hoarse, “Why don’t you ask? Actually…you’ve already remembered, haven’t you?”

Back in the tomb, Zhang Xianyu had said he remembered nothing, and he had taken that at face value.

But now, after calming down and thinking it over, all the details showed that he had indeed recalled the past.

Otherwise, how could he be so familiar with The Formation of the Tomb?

Why would he refuse to let him take the corpse from the bronze coffin out?

Why even want to seal the tomb?

Lin Wushui looked into his clear eyes, and in that moment, it was as if he saw someone from many years ago.

That person was bright and pure like a clear sky after rain, like towering pines and cypresses—an Immortal on the verge of transcending.

Nothing in the world could leave a mark in his eyes, not even himself.

His breathing quickened, his eyes darkened.

Wisps of black mist leaked from around him.

It was as if, in that moment, he was still the Ghost King, shrouded in the blood and wrath of war, while he was the untarnished Immortal—forever unable to come close.

“Whether you remember or not, what does it matter?”

Zhang Xianyu tightened his grip on his hand, his voice like a mountain spring clearing away the gloom, “That’s all in the past. Now, I’m Zhang Xianyu, and you’re Lin Wushui.”

“No Immortal, no Ghost King—isn’t that better?”

The drifting black mist halted.

Lin Wushui froze, his expression somewhat stunned as he looked at him.

Zhang Xianyu led him to sit on a bench beneath a tree.

Seeing that Lin Wushui still seemed lost in thought, he continued, “Have you ever thought that maybe he didn’t actually want to become an Immortal?”

Since ancient times, countless cultivators have sought longevity.

Ascending to Immortality is the ultimate goal of those who cultivate the Dao.

But the great Dao is lonely—Immortals on the Ninth Heaven may be even more so.

What others desire isn’t necessarily what he desires.

“If it were me, I definitely wouldn’t die with someone I didn’t like.”

He studied Lin Wushui’s expression and deliberately dragged out his tone, “But if you like someone, even if you’re condemned by thousands, rejected by the world, you wouldn’t give up so easily. Especially when you already have the cultivation to ascend. Washing away sins to have a chance at a new life—how hard could that be?”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smile brewing in his light-colored eyes.

Lin Wushui breathed deeply, the suffocating heaviness in his chest swept away.

Suddenly, he pulled Zhang Xianyu close, pressing their foreheads together.

“So, does that mean you liked me all along?”

“This happened so long ago, how could I possibly remember?”

Zhang Xianyu laughed, pushing his face away gently and pointing to the room where Luo Danqing was, “Xie Dingxin and the others should be coming out anytime now.”

Lin Wushui reluctantly released him and intertwined their fingers again.

They waited together—from the faint morning light to the bright noon sun—before Xie Dingxin helped his senior uncle out, saying he was fine but would be a bit weak for a while.

Zhang Xianyu pulled Lin Wushui inside to see Luo Danqing.

Luo Danqing was half-lying on the bed, his face pale and expression tired, though his eyes remained as bright as before.

Seeing them enter, Luo Danqing smiled, clearly remembering the previous events.

“Luckily you were here this time.”

Zhang Xianyu waved it off.

“No need for thanks between friends.”

But she was curious about what had really happened to Luo Danqing.

After a moment’s thought, Luo Danqing decided to tell the story.

The Luo Family inherited eight Immortal Portraits from our ancestor Luo Ping.

My branch is the main line, always responsible for guarding these eight paintings.

But during that special period, the Luo Family declined, and several branches scattered to survive.

The main line lost many traditions, and since no one inherited the Heavenly Eye to discern ghosts and spirits, eventually only the eight portraits and the ancestor’s legends remained.

As time passed, belief in ghosts and spirits waned.

The portraits were treated as ancestral relics.

Later, when the family faced financial troubles, the elders decided to sell seven of the paintings.

The last remaining one was passed down to my grandfather, whose dying wish was never to sell it.

So my parents hid it as a family treasure.

“Until…”

Luo Danqing’s expression darkened, “…I never expected that this would bring disaster. When I was ten, I witnessed them being killed in our villa.”

Luo Danqing was still a child then and only remembered his parents’ constant worry and that they had invited many monks and Daoists over.

One day, his mother suddenly hid him in a cabinet along with the painting, hurriedly instructing him, “Hide well, don’t make a sound.”

He curled up in the cabinet, terrified.

As he trembled, he heard his family’s screams.

He remembered his mother’s words and clutched the painting tightly, silent.

He tried to sneak out but found the cabinet couldn’t be opened.

It was as if an invisible force sealed it shut; no matter how hard he pushed, it wouldn’t budge.

Helpless and scared, he stayed inside until the screams gradually faded away.

Wide-eyed, he dared not sleep, dazed and unsure how much time had passed.

When the cabinet was finally opened, it was the police who came.

His parents’ bodies were covered with white cloth, and dark red blood stained the floor.

Recalling the tragedy, Luo Danqing’s expression was painful and somber.

“The police later checked the footage and found my parents killed each other.”