Chapter 1535: I Want to Go Home

Ye Chen ran wildly, only stopping as dawn approached.

"It's undeniable, I chickened out." He stroked his beard and instinctively glanced back over his shoulder.

A single remark from the Huang Quan had made him swear to himself that he would never approach the forbidden zone again—it was a land of great peril.

As he spoke, he brushed the dust off his shoulder, crossed a small stream, and stepped into a vast, desolate expanse.

The area had mountains, but they were mostly barren. Spiritual energy from heaven and earth was thin, with no signs of human life, and all that met the eye was bleak wilderness.

He hadn't realized that Xuan Huang Bei Yue could have such a desolate region, with cracked earth and swirling winds and sand.

After some time, he spotted a few scattered figures flying by on swords, all cultivators with modest cultivation levels.

He wore simple white daoist robes, walking through the sky with his white hair fluttering and his robes swaying. Combined with his long beard and slender figure, he truly exuded the air of an immortal.

Many cultivators he encountered along the way bowed respectfully to him, mistaking his demeanor for that of a true immortal.

However, a few arrogant cultivators, overconfident in their strength and thinking themselves impressive, banded together to rob him.

Their fate needed no explanation—quite a few came, but none could withstand a single palm strike from Ye Chen. Instead of succeeding in their robbery, they were robbed themselves and stripped of their clothes entirely.

Ye Chen showed mercy and spared their lives. Since they were looking for trouble, he let them have their fun.

Continuing on his journey, he passed many cultivators, but none were particularly powerful—the highest among them was only at the Zhun Sheng level.

Yet, despite seeing so many people and traveling such a long distance, not a single one recognized him as the Holy Body.

To this, Ye Chen merely smiled faintly. This was exactly the effect he wanted—to wear this aged appearance and quietly play the role of a passing traveler, wandering through the dust and the mortal world.

As evening fell, he descended gracefully from the sky.

For some reason, after flying for so long, he always felt most grounded when walking on the earth, as if it brought a sense of returning to his roots.

In this vast wilderness, he moved like a wandering monk spreading the dao, his lonely shadow unhidden even by the raging yellow sand.

"I beg you seniors, please show mercy and give me a ride. I want to go home." Suddenly, an elderly voice rang out, distant yet clear.

The tone was humble, laced with pleading, and carried a hint of sorrow and tears that made one's heart ache.

Ye Chen walked slowly forward, pushing through the swirling sand.

From afar, he saw a hunched, elderly figure prostrated on the ground, dressed in tattered clothes with white hair disheveled.

It was an old man, more precisely an old cultivator, though his cultivation was only at the Ning Qi Jing level.

By the look of his age, he was nearly two hundred years old. Ye Chen had never seen a two-hundred-year-old at the Ning Qi Jing before.

While Ye Chen watched, the old cultivator knelt again, bowing to the passing cultivators.

"I beg you seniors, please show mercy and give me a ride. I want to go home."

He was utterly humble, like a mortal kneeling before immortals, devoid of dignity, his pleas filled with bitterness.

Yet, those he begged ignored him completely. In this world where the strong ruled, the old cultivator was no more than an ant.

Not only did no one help, some even scolded him harshly.

The old cultivator trembled violently, not daring to breathe, prostrating like a dog on the ground.

Once the crowd had dispersed, he shakily rose, clutching a bamboo staff, and stumbled onward.

He was incredibly frail, with little life force left, his vitality fading. Based on his age, he wouldn't last more than three days.

Ye Chen watched quietly and followed subconsciously.

The old cultivator's back was full of hardship, each step a struggle.

Looking at him, Ye Chen felt as if he were seeing himself a hundred years from now—nearing the end of his lifespan, even walking requiring all his strength.

Eventually, the old cultivator stopped, perhaps from exhaustion, and leaned against an old tree, hugging his staff.

The night wind felt cold, making him huddle up.

His old eyes were cloudy, devoid of any light, his eyelids twitching as if he might fall asleep at any moment.

Ye Chen approached slowly and stood under the old tree. "Elder, is your home far from here?"

"Far, very far." At the mention of home, the old cultivator couldn't help but wipe away tears, his voice hoarse. "I left home at ten years old, taken away by immortals. I dreamed of returning in glory, but I faced disasters along the way. My dao root was destroyed, and I was abandoned. Year after year, in the blink of an eye, two hundred years have passed. I only want to return to my roots."

Ye Chen fell silent. From those few words, he could sense the old cultivator's state of mind—full of sorrow and helplessness. He had left home as a child, but now, in his old age, he might die on the road back, never seeing his hometown again.

The old cultivator was too weak, only at the Ning Qi Jing, unable even to fly on a sword. The world was vast, and his home was too far away.

Without thinking, Ye Chen gently raised his hand and placed it on the old cultivator's shoulder, using his pure essence to extend the man's lifespan.

This wasn't his business, and in the cruel world of cultivators, such things happened all the time. But he wanted to help the old man.

It was all because of that phrase: I want to go home.

Just as the old cultivator longed for home, so did Ye Chen. He, too, had been away from his hometown for over two hundred years.

The old cultivator's body trembled as he stared at Ye Chen, tears welling up. "Thank you, thank you, senior."

Ye Chen smiled but said nothing, his heart filled with sadness.

This sadness was for the old cultivator. Even if he made it home, it would be another kind of desolation. His parents were long gone, and his relatives had turned to dust.

Things had changed, people had passed—looking around, there would be no familiar faces. How lonely that would feel.

The wind and sand continued, rustling the old tree's leaves.

Ye Chen was kind enough to not only extend the old cultivator's life but also repair his dao root and help him cultivate.

The old cultivator was overcome with gratitude, as if this were karmic reward from a past life. On his journey, he had met a benefactor.

After three to five minutes, Ye Chen gently withdrew his hand.

With his dao root restored and infused with the Holy Body's pure essence, the old cultivator broke through to a new realm, and his aged appearance grew younger.

He prostrated himself again, crying uncontrollably. The mortal world might be heartless, but there were still good people in it.

Ye Chen summoned a gentle force to lift the old cultivator.

Then, a flying sword materialized. Ye Chen stepped onto it and smiled at the old cultivator. "It's on the way. I'll give you a ride."

"Thank you, senior." The old cultivator was deeply moved, quickly wiping away his tears and climbing onto the flying sword.

The sword hummed as it soared through the night sky, flying at incredible speed.

The old cultivator stood respectfully behind Ye Chen, his old eyes fixed on one direction—the way to his hometown, still so far away.

But for Ye Chen, a Zhun Sheng, those distances were merely a matter of time.

By dawn, the flying sword landed in a small village.

Shan He Cun—that was the village's name, inscribed on a stone tablet at its entrance.

The village was small, with only about a hundred households, nestled against mountains and beside a river. The houses were made of stone, and there were patches of rice fields.

In the morning, the village was full of vitality. Smoke rose from chimneys, farmers carried hoes, and children played and laughed.

They were all ordinary people, with a simple purity that cultivators could never imitate. Though rustic, they lived authentically and freely.

The old cultivator's body trembled as he rushed into the village, greedily taking in everything around him—every house, every room, every tree and plant, all just as he remembered.

He searched frantically for his family.

But while he found his old home, he found no one from his past. Everyone was a stranger.

The villagers looked at him with curious eyes. Where had this old man come from?

Soon, cries of grief echoed from where the village met the small mountain. There were over a dozen modest gravestones there.

The old cultivator knelt before them, sobbing loudly, tears streaming down his face. Buried there were his parents and relatives. He had arrived too late; they had not waited for him.

The villagers gathered around, farmers with hoes, women holding children, all confused.

Several generations separated them, and no one recognized the old cultivator or knew why he was crying.

Ye Chen watched quietly, a wave of sorrow rising within him.

For ordinary people, two hundred years was too long. He had returned in glory, but there was no one left to welcome him with a smile.

Missing two hundred years meant missing an entire lifetime. The next reincarnation was too far away, and reunions were rare.

Ye Chen sighed and slowly turned to continue his journey.

But just as he was about to take to the sky, the Di Jue suspended in his sea of consciousness began to tremble violently.

Surprised, Ye Chen turned back, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the village. His gaze locked on one person.

It was a child, or rather an orphan. While other children had parents holding them, he stood alone, his little face dirty, gripping a small wooden sword.

He was in the crowd, his big eyes blinking as he watched the old cultivator cry, wondering why.

Ye Chen approached, drawing curious glances from the villagers.

First, an old man crying at the graves, and now another old man arriving. Who were they?

Ye Chen smiled and squatted in front of the child, glancing at the crescent-shaped pendant hanging around the child's neck.

That pendant was a piece of the Di Jue, no larger than a pinky finger—it was the final piece.

"Grandpa, who are you?" The child looked up, his voice innocent and full of curiosity.

"I'm just a passerby."

"What's a passerby?"

"A passerby is... a passerby." Ye Chen chuckled dryly, pointing to the child's crescent pendant. "Grandpa likes that. I'll trade you for it."

With that, Ye Chen pulled out a crystal-clear spiritual fruit, its fragrance wafting everywhere, making the child's eyes light up. The other children around stared with wide eyes too.

"It looks delicious." The child removed the crescent pendant and hugged the spiritual fruit, taking a eager bite. It was indeed sweet, and he grinned brightly.

"Grandpa, I want one too." The other children all gazed at Ye Chen longingly, their mouths watering.

"Please don't mind, sir. The children are young and don't know any better." The farmers and women chuckled, holding their kids tightly.

"It's fine." Ye Chen smiled and produced a bag full of crystal-clear spiritual fruits, their aroma rich and inviting.

"Go ahead and eat!" Ye Chen laughed, then stepped into the small mountain behind the village. Because the crescent pendant he had just acquired had merged into the Di Jue.

With the Di Jue complete, a strange divine power spread through his sea of consciousness. Even with his cultivation, he couldn't resist it.

Helpless, he entered the mountain to study the Di Jue.

Behind him, the air filled with the joyful shouts of children, each holding a spiritual fruit and marveling at how delicious it was.