Chapter 813: Returning to His Hometown Once Again After Several Centuries

After parting with An Siyan and Jin Jin Lingfeng, Jiang Ding flew through the sky.

For a moment, his heart felt hollow.

Since the day he entered Qingfeng University hundreds of years ago, he had grown accustomed to the presence of Master Master Dinghai and Lu Ling Master Dinghai Zhenjun; whenever he faced a problem, he would go to them for advice, as natural as air and breath.

Later, he did the same when he encountered Zhang Zhang Junsheng.

Now, these things taken for granted vanished in an instant.

"Will we meet again after several thousand years?"

Jiang Ding murmured to himself.

At this moment, he thought of the great ones of Brother Xuanwu Palace.

He had once foreseen it and said that, after several thousand years, Da Ri Master Dinghai Zhenjun would die of old age and be buried beside the moss-covered tombstone of his high school homeroom teacher, Guo Kui, with all students of the Adult Sword Dao Department mourning, the Immortal Gate News Broadcast reporting it, and every honor bestowed upon him.

"This old thing is surely disrupting my Dao heart!"

"If this old thing could truly predict the future, Brother Xuanwu Palace would not have fallen to its current state—plummeted from its peak, lost most of its territory, and nearly perished."

"I think his divination and calculation abilities are just nonsense."

Jiang Ding thought coldly.

"Still, Guo Kui's tomb really needs cleaning—there are still people in this world who have not forgotten him."

"And Teacher Zhang Dingjun…"

Thinking of this, Jiang Ding sighed.

Teacher Zhang Dingjun had died.

He perished in the earliest Immortal Gate expansion war, never achieving the Jin Dan Dao he sought, slain by a Nascent Soul cultivator of Brother Xuanwu Palace, alongside many fellow Star Corps comrades.

It had been decades since then.

Zhang Dingjun's family were all gone, so Jiang Ding claimed his ashes—mixed with the bones of his comrades, fragments of warships and aircraft, and stardust—and kept them in his storage jade pendant.

Many cultivators in the Immortal Gate were like this.

If no one claimed their remains after a period of time, these martyrs' bones would be buried in the Martyrs' Cemetery outside Immortal Capital, alongside their many comrades.

Jiang Ding received Zhang Dingjun's final letter before he went to war.

He wrote that if he died in battle, he wished to be buried in his hometown, Rongcheng, beside his parents.

Jiang Ding tore open space and vanished.

……

Rongcheng.

As always, unchanged since hundreds of years ago, not a single detail altered.

Elementary schoolchildren chattered on the bus, office workers trudged home exhausted, high school students carried heavy backpacks, elderly people arrived at the kindergarten gate to pick up their grandchildren, their faces wrinkled like orange peels, smiling broadly.

A scene of modern urban life.

Jiang Ding felt dazed.

In just over forty years, the impact of the Realm War had vanished entirely among ordinary people, leaving not a trace—as if it were a distant, distant event from ancient history.

He walked through this unfamiliar yet familiar city, pausing now and then, his eyes glazed, comparing what he saw with memories of the past, noting differences and similarities.

The differences were not great.

The city's layout remained nearly identical to how it had been hundreds of years ago, unchanged in every way.

Only the people within…

Jiang Ding grew gloomy.

Among the hundreds of thousands in this hometown—elderly, middle-aged, young, women, men—he knew none, and none knew him.

No one remembered that hundreds of years ago, a boy had been born here, learned to speak, attended elementary school, middle school, high school, then became the Immortal Gate's top scholar, bringing honor to Rongcheng, making the entire city proud.

It was now a foreign hometown.

Jiang Ding walked along a bustling street.

Around him, teenagers laughed and played, couples blushed as they stole glances, grandfathers held grandchildren in contentment, and merchants blared advertisements for huge sales.

All of this had nothing to do with him; he was like a ghost, wandering through the city of old.

Following instinct, he unknowingly arrived at his old neighborhood home.

The neighbors here were completely unfamiliar.

No matter how hard he studied them, no matter how hard he tried to force connections, he could not find even a trace of his childhood playmates' faces—they were entirely different.

These people, seeing a sudden appearance of a young man in blue robes near their homes, showed curiosity and wariness, warning their children not to wander off.

Many watched, ready to call the police if this stranger who had intruded into their neighborhood did anything suspicious.

Then they saw the young man in blue robes pull out a key with ease, step into the elevator, press a floor button, and close the door.

Everything happened naturally, unconsciously, as if it were meant to be.

The neighbors who had lived here for years were momentarily stunned.

He used the key to open the door.

"A hundred years? Or two hundred since I last came back?"

Jiang Ding sighed.

As expected, the moment the door opened, a thick layer of dust—several inches deep—rose into the air, rushing toward him, choking and stinging his nose.

This was actually better than expected.

If not for his mother and sister entering Chen Mian Mi Jing a hundred or two hundred years ago, and if Jiang Ding had not foreseen he might be away for a long time and infused the entire neighborhood with numerous first- and second-grade heavenly treasures to strengthen its durability, his home would likely be gone by now, long since demolished.

"Did I miss my chance to become a demolition compensation household?"

Jiang Ding muttered.

Returning home, some of his melancholy thoughts faded—his birthplace and childhood home always brought a sense of longing.

"Tai Qing, get to work."

Jiang Ding said, familiar with the routine.

Clang!

Whoosh!

The Tai Qing Flying Sword flew out, rings of destructive sword qi swirling around its blue-gold blade body. It did not tear the space or the ground; the sword qi, like a micro-tornado, zipped back and forth through the room around the blade, sucking up vast amounts of dust wherever it went, yet damaging neither the furniture nor the appliances.

These furniture pieces and appliance covers had, many years ago, been infused with first and second-grade heavenly treasures to enhance their sturdiness and resilience, ensuring they would not crumble into dust over time.

No, that was an exaggeration; first and second-grade heavenly treasures could not achieve such a feat.

Precisely speaking, they should be able to last four or five hundred years without change.

"I recall, the fourth realm of the Sword Dao is called Indestructible?"

Jiang Ding sat like a scumbag, watching the Tai Qing Flying Sword busily clean the floor, the roof, wash dishes, and scrub pots and pans, while he himself remained motionless, his mind wandering with endless thoughts.

"When I reach the fourth realm of the Sword Dao, I will imbue all the furniture and covers with the indestructible will of sword qi; even if they break, they can be restored."

"This way, as long as I do not die, the sword qi will not vanish, and the furniture will not break."

"Even if I am gone, the sword qi can still exist independently for thousands of years; the furniture's shelf life will definitely be sufficient."

The Tai Qing Flying Sword busied itself for a while, finally making the home look brand new.

Immediately after, she inspected the kitchen, found minor faults in the range hood and the induction cooker, and spontaneously began to emit sword qi, shrinking the flying sword to the size of a hair strand to fly through the ventilation gap and repair the interior.

Occasionally, flashes of light sparked, just like welding.

Once everything was done, the induction cooker and the range hood returned to normal.

Whoosh!

The Tai Qing Flying Sword opened the window to ventilate, then flew out through the window toward the vegetable market to prepare a meal.

(End of this chapter)

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