The sky was drizzling lightly, and beneath him was a familiar dirt road.
Chu Xuan struggled to get up, finding on his right side a desolate and lifeless cemetery. Broken headstones, earthen tombs, numerous soul banners stood randomly, the silently falling raindrops added a further sense of bleakness.
Chu Xuan laughed softly again, raising his head, rain and tears mingled so that they could no longer be distinguished.
It wasn't long before he collapsed weakly, falling onto the small road outside the village.
He was born here, grew up here, encountered "divine fate" here.
In the end, he returned, after all the wandering, eight years of time, all amounted to nothing.
Chu Xuan closed his eyes, he thought, perhaps dying just like this might be a good thing.
If he were to die, it wouldn't be this painful.
If he were to die, would she feel sad for me? Would she regret it? Would she cry?
...
It was unclear how long had passed, anyway the rain did not cease, instead it poured heavier.
As the day drew towards night, Chu Xuan struggled to climb up, trembling as he reached into his sleeve with his right hand, attempting to retrieve a Healing Elixir from the storage bracelet worn on his left wrist.
But upon touching, he only felt the cold jade bracelet.
He had already lost his Magical Power, naturally unable to access the storage space.
Chu Xuan's right hand hung weakly, yet he did not cease struggling but resolutely stood up.
Despite enduring intense pain throughout his body, with no place unhurt, he didn't return home to rest but stumbled towards the northeast.
Chu Xuan had long heard that three hundred miles away, on Cangtou Peak, there was a "Fei Lai Temple"; it's said that within the temple an old Daoist priest, truly cultivated, could not only perform spells to vanquish demons and ghosts but also heal and save lives using talisman water.
Therefore, Chu Xuan secretly decided to gather herbs and save travel expenses, waiting for the right time to seek immortality and learn the Dao at Fei Lai Temple.
Now was the time.
...
Chu Xuan did not know how long he had walked, during the journey he almost never stopped to rest.
Just like that, walking day by night, night by day forward.
He dared not stop, he dared not close his eyes.
Once eyes closed, the past eight years of happy times would repeatedly replay in his mind, especially the voice of that woman, her appearance, the touch of her skin.
Her warmth, her enchanting laughter, her breathtaking dance under the moon, the tenderness once solely his...
In agony, Chu Xuan shook his head, he wished to forget, even if just temporarily.
But he couldn't forget, the more he wished to forget, the clearer he recalled.
On this journey, those who saw Chu Xuan acted as if encountering a ghost, pointing at him one by one.
But Chu Xuan couldn't see what they looked like, nor clearly hear what they were saying, only one goal remained in his heart: Fei Xian Temple.
On the brink of death, he finally recalled his original dream.
If these eight years were all a dream, then let me start anew.
--------------------
"Master! It's bad, someone's dead!"
A panicked young voice echoed in the small Fei Xian Temple.
A white-bearded old Daoist originally sat by the fire, warming a pot of fine wine, roasting a young lamb leg, living a comfortable little life.
The sudden shout frightened him, his hand jerking the branch stirring the fire, nearly burning his beard.
Ignoring everything else, the old Daoist immediately stood up, blowing his beard and glaring, reprimanding the approaching young boy in green clothes: "Nonsense! Today the world is peaceful, how could there be someone dead?"
The young boy in green clothes felt a bit aggrieved, he pointed towards the entrance of the temple, "Early this morning, I just opened the door, hadn't gotten around to sweeping yet, and found a dead person, collapsed at our temple's entrance."
The old Daoist was startled, soon adopting a melon-like expression, "Alas, can't Heaven grant me peaceful days?"
"Where did this dead person come from, running to our Fei Xian Temple to find death, and who should the poor Daoist ask for burial expenses?"
"Master," the boy cautiously suggested, "I'm afraid, might you bury him?"
The old Daoist glared at him, "Y' little rascal, when does a disciple command the master? Come, follow me to take a look."
Reluctantly, the boy had no choice but to follow behind the old Daoist out.
...
Before long, the old Daoist frowned as he looked at the young man lying on the ground before him.
He was originally dressed in white, but now, the garment was stained with blood, yellow mud, weeds, black soil, and horribly disheveled.
His hair was a chaotic mess, like a bird's nest; his body emitted an odor, seeming to not have bathed for days.
Most importantly, the old Daoist noticed he still had weak breathing.
Though his life signs were pitifully weak, it seemed some force within him forcibly held onto his life, preventing his death.
The old Daoist gently kicked him, the young man showed no response.
Finally, the old Daoist could only helplessly shake his head, "Trouble, nothing but trouble."
"Come, help," the old Daoist squatted, lifting one of the man's arms onto his shoulder.
"Master, I'm afraid." The young boy in green clothes was nearly in tears.
"Not dead! What's there to fear, hurry."
The boy blinked, cautiously extended a finger to check the man's breath, upon discovering he was indeed alive, joyfully helped his master bring the man into the temple.
...
Chu Xuan woke, it was three days later.
Throughout these days, he dreamt day and night, dreams filled with bizarre occurrences.
Some scenes were on modern Earth, others in ancient scenes of this world; chaotic voices sounded in his ears.
In modern days, he was taking exams, never able to finish the papers in memory.
In ancient days, it seemed he was constantly fighting, covered in blood, unable to wipe it clean.
He also dreamt of women, not all were Ji Mingyu's figure, though unclear he knew that some were definitely not her.
These strange dreams were already muddled, unclear, upon waking more details faded, leaving just a vague impression.
Where am I?
Have I died?
What has happened?
Chu Xuan dazedly gazed at the top of the simple bed, soon his body's intense pain revived his prior memories.
He blinked, tears slid down his eyes once more...
Chu Xuan forced himself not to recall, pushed to consider his current situation.
His head was groggy, seemingly running a high fever, but someone thoughtfully placed a wet towel on his forehead.
Moreover, his clothes were changed, his body cleansed, not knowing which kind-hearted soul saved him.
Chu Xuan surveyed the room, modest and simple, but the wooden lattice carved windows bore a hint of Daoist style.
Fei Xian Temple?