Chapter 368

What a poor, pitiful child......

What a poor, pitiful child......

The setting sun hung low, the countryside dyed crimson.

Dusk lay heavy, the evening wind swept autumn's chill across the wilds as an old, decrepit carriage creaked along, its wheels rumbling over the uneven earth with a continuous, dull creak.

The carriage jolted and swayed, seeming ready to fall apart at any moment; inside the cabin all was still and solemn, the stone tablet they had journeyed far into the mountains to find lying quietly.

Fu Zhouzi sat on the carriage's outer shaft, his frame thin, his appearance especially disheveled.

Having been on the road for a long time, four months of wandering and danger have left his Daoist robe no longer the clean simplicity it once was, patched and torn in many places, looking utterly ruined.

His baby‑soft face remained youthful, yet the fatigue of recent days left him utterly weary.

Yet he seemed tireless, murmuring once again the words he had uttered countless times along this journey:

What a poor, pitiful child......

Yuan Long, what a poor, pitiful child.

Who could have imagined?

Who could have imagined?

Who could have imagined that he had originally set out to seek a chance to glimpse heaven on Profound Feather Mountain, yet the very existence of the stone tablet instead proved—

Is the Way of Heaven beyond solving?

Fu Zhouzi looked utterly exhausted, clearly beset by inner demons.

Xuan Feixing, who held the whip and drove the carriage beside him, grew ever more impatient; he retained his usual cold, stern countenance, his face sunk and chilly, brows and eyes frosted, his innate sour expression sharpened in the sunset's afterglow.

Days of wandering, encounters with bandits, and sheer exhaustion had filled his chest; the incessant muttering at his ears wore away his last shred of patience.

Xuan Feixing suddenly tightened his grip on the whip, brows knitting hard, he spoke coldly in reproach, his tone full of resentment and impatience:

Stop muttering all day about useless words!

We've been away from home for over four months; having left Feather Mountain we should have returned, but because you lost the map earlier we still can't tell our direction, nor even know where we are! You worry about others' pity, yet when we die at bandits' claws or beasts' jaws, who will pity us?!

The harsh rebuke struck his ears, and Fu Zhouzi's nagging ceased abruptly.

He offered no excuse, no retort, merely lowered his eyes slightly, silent and tight‑lipped.

The sunset's red light fell upon his thin shoulders, making his figure seem ever more forlorn; after a long while he spoke softly, his voice gentle yet low, tinged with a sense of having seen through illusion:

Xuan Feixing, what do you think fate really is?

His stern brows twitched; Xuan Feixing's eyes flashed with confusion and impatience as his fingertips clenched the whip, yet he gave no answer.

Fu Zhouzi hadn't expected an answer either; he simply drew his knees up, lightly pressing his cheeks against them, hoping for a little solace:

The ancients said, 'Fate is what Heaven bestows, its fixed numbers cannot be shifted,' and also, 'The Way of Heaven is clear; fortune and misfortune have their return.' All the myriad encounters of the world, their gains and losses, seem to have been settled long ago in the dark.

People toil and struggle, striving hard, yet in the end most cannot escape the set course; all resistance is like a mantis trying to stop a chariot—futile and pointless......

The autumn wind danced wildly, tugging at his hair as he whispered softly, his words full of helplessness and regret:

If you knew that everything in the world is fate, all outcomes already fixed, not alterable in the slightest, then what meaning is there in people's toiling and struggling, fighting to the death?

No meaning.

It is clearly......

There is not the slightest meaning.

Just as he had once seen in an old tome——

It was said that in ancient times the East Sea held thirty‑six states, among them a country called Si'er; its young ruler had just ascended the throne, diligent in state affairs and greatly given to charity.

One day a Daoist passed by, received a bowl of thin porridge from the ruler, felt deep gratitude, and voluntarily cast a divination for him.

The omen said...... When the Seven Stars pass over the sun, this ruler will die by water.

The ruler originally did not believe in talk of ghosts and gods, paid it little heed, but as he grew older the Daoist's omen weighed on his heart like a stubborn stone.

Thus, the ruler who had once been diligent and caring for the people changed.

He began to fear darkness, to fear all nights when the stars hung high, and also...... to fear water.

He began to hide in the deep mountains far from the sea, mobilizing the nation's strength to carve out a huge cavern palace for himself, thereby avoiding the heavenly secrets of sun and moon and any water source that might kill him.

However, hiding in the deep mountains came at a cost.

The first condition of the cost was......

Water was kept away, but a person who wants to live cannot do without water.

The ruler agonized and finally devised a method——

He could not drink water, yet he still had guards and servants at hand!

As long as he drained their blood and drank it, he could still survive!

Hundreds and thousands perished from this absurd notion; in the end it was the gentle, virtuous queen who could no longer bear the ruler's cruelty, first drinking poison to kill herself, then having her servants draw her blood to send to the ruler.......

After drinking that bowl, the Seven Stars only then passed over the sun.

That ruler indeed died by water—though it was blood‑water.

And thus, the state of Si'er vanished from the world.

Fu Zhouzi, upon reading this story, had pondered countless solutions, countless times, wondering whether it was the ruler's drinking of blood that was the cause, or the omen; whether the omen was the result, or the omen‑induced cruelty of the ruler was the result......

Yet he could never obtain an answer.

Fate, once known, changes in that very instant.

Fu Zhouzi had only feared that person's ill fate before; now, after this period, having probed the stele from various angles......

He only then felt a vague suspicion: could it be that they themselves had brought about this result?

If that were true, what should be done?

Fu Zhouzi didn't understand, while Xuan Feixing listened half‑comprehending, his expression growing ever darker.

He was about to speak when the last sliver of sunset sank completely into the continuous distant mountains; dusk faded, the wilderness fell into darkness, and the chill grew ever more piercing.

Night has fallen; it's not advisable to travel.

Xuan Feixing raised a hand and tightened the reins; the old horse slowed and stopped, the dilapidated carriage steadying beneath an old tree.

The evening wind in the woods was bleak; insect chirrs rose, and all around was quiet and desolate.

He turned around and shoved the slightly cold whip in his hand straight into Fu Cuzi's bosom, his tone cold and aloof, carrying a trace of unresolved anger:

"You spend all day lamenting autumn and spring, indulging in vain thoughts—surely you have plenty of energy. Since you're not tired, you'll take the night watch; I'm going to rest."

These past days, the two have repeatedly faced bandit ambushes and gotten lost in the dense forest, traveling day and night without respite, both body and mind utterly exhausted and wretched.

Xuan Feixing scolded Fu Cuzi for looking a mess, though his own eyes were rimmed with red bloodshot lines.

He paid no heed to the dust on his clothes, turned and swiftly slipped into the narrow carriage, lay down without removing his outer garment, closed his eyes to rest, and his breathing quickly grew even—clearly he was exhausted to the limit.

Fu Cuzi held the whip that still retained some warmth, sitting on the carriage shaft, dazed—

Ah!

What!

How could you just give the whip to him like that!

Although he had kept watch for several days before, tonight his thoughts are in turmoil—how would he know how to stand watch?

Xuan Feixing, you wouldn't really be planning to let him spend a cold, windy night frightened and anxious, would you?!

Inside the narrow carriage, Fu Cuzi scratched his brow and muttered softly:

"Ji Mao Ge, I was wrong, I no longer lament autumn and spring..."

"I can, I can sleep with you, okay?"