Chapter 5: Resentment Unresolved

The last sentence Fang Xiu blurted out completely without thinking; he hadn't expected to suddenly speak the previous body's name.

The key wasn't Peach Blossom Island Disciple Wu Mianfeng, but his original name before taking a master, Wu Chengyu.

Seeing Fang Xiu stunned on the spot, Mo Laodao blinked his eyes and didn't respond, as if he hadn't heard the three words Wu Chengyu.

Fang Xiu closed his eyes and took a deep breath; he knew that when talking about taking a master, for a moment just now he had been confused by Wu Mianfeng's emotions.

The two people's memories kept deepening and merging; once they completely blended like water and milk, he wouldn't know whether he was Fang Xiu or Wu Mianfeng, but certainly Fang Xiu with over forty years of memories was in control.

Fang Xiu often cursed Huang Yaoshi, but now it seemed not just because of the pain of his broken leg.

The atmosphere at the scene was somewhat frozen; A Ku had already fallen asleep, and neither of them had any interest in talking for a while. Mo Laodao added two pieces of wood to the fire, leaned against the wall corner, and started snoring.

Fang Xiu covered A Ku with a thin blanket and gradually felt sleepy. Since just now's slip of the tongue, he had a vague premonition that tonight was when his and Wu Mianfeng's memories would completely merge.

In the dream, the scene before his eyes returned to Feng Heng's grave again.

Huang Yaoshi had already crippled his three disciples, and looked at Wu Mianfeng with eyes full of murderous light.

Fang Xiu finally knew what Wu Mianfeng had actually said to Huang Yaoshi back then.

"So what if the Nine Yin Manual is lost? Divine art secret manuals are nothing but a tattered book. What does Number One Under Heaven amount to compared to my Aunt?"

"You were determined to create martial arts not inferior to the Nine Yin Manual, yet you neglected your Aunt day after day, while she bore children for you, and now, to help you recall the Manual, she died exhausting herself while pregnant. The one who truly killed your Aunt is you."

"You vent your anger on your senior brothers, but never think of your own deeds. Huang Yaoshi, you are the most hypocritical and unfeeling person under heaven."

"Today it isn't you expelling me from the school, but I, Wu Chengyu, voluntarily leaving Peach Blossom Island. You and I have nothing to do with each other anymore."

Wu Mianfeng's hatred for Huang Yaoshi was transmitted completely to Fang Xiu through the memories; he even found his own body trembling along with Wu Mianfeng.

Finally, Fang Xiu and Wu Mianfeng's memories completely merged, and he also mastered everything Wu Mianfeng possessed.

"No wonder every time I curse Huang Yaoshi, I feel refreshed all over. It seems Little Brother, you in the netherworld are in tune with me."

"To you, Feng Heng's death is like losing your closest person once again. You feel injustice for your Aunt, but are powerless to change this ending."

"Little Brother, I can feel that even after your death, your heart still holds resentment. But eight or nine out of ten things in life go against one's wishes. Who can transcend the world?"

Fang Xiu silently conversed with Wu Mianfeng in his heart, seemingly comforting the already nonexistent Wu Mianfeng, but wasn't it also speaking to himself?

But just as he said the word resentment, Fang Xiu discovered that something indescribable in his consciousness suddenly changed.

Originally there was a gray, misty thing, formless and intangible yet truly existing.

Now it slowly turned into a volume of bamboo slips, rolled up as thick as an adult's forearm, blue-gray, unremarkable, without golden light flashing or radiance blazing.

On the bamboo slips were carved three gilded gold regular script characters: All Matters End.

Fang Xiu's eyes were blank; after a long while he regained his senses. He turned his head to look around. Besides Mo Laotou and A Ku, there was no one else.

He took a deep breath, focused his spirit, and tried to communicate with his thoughts: "Are you the Jinzhizhi? At least make a 'ding' sound first. Isn't that the standard configuration for a Jinzhizhi? Can you speak? Tell me what exactly you are?"

The bamboo slips still floated quietly in his consciousness, without the slightest movement.

"So what is your use? Rewards for doing tasks? Sign-in? Consumption rebates? Or directly granting me superpowers? Like space or heaven-defying comprehension...?"

Fang Xiu listed every type of Jinzhizhi from novels one by one, but the bamboo slips still had no reaction at all.

"There's always a newbie big gift pack, right? You might as well heal my leg first."

"Dad, at least give a response and move a bit."

As soon as the word Dad came out, the bamboo slips obediently moved. It silently unfolded itself, with rows of neat, rigorous small regular script carved on it.

Fang Xiu suspected it was taking advantage of him a little, but the urgent matter was still to see clearly what was written on it.

If we were to share the snow together, this life would count as growing old together.

Wanting to buy osmanthus and share wine, finally not like, youthful wandering.

All things in the end are dreams, rest rest, tomorrow's yellow flowers butterflies also grieve.

Worldly affairs are one great dream; life, how many autumn chills.

One body serving the nation has ten thousand deaths; both temples toward people have no more green.

Who asks, Lian Po is old, can he still eat?

Life is naturally full of deep affection; this resentment has nothing to do with wind and moon.

Things are, people are not, all matters end; wanting to speak, tears flow first.

Dead, knowing all things are empty, but grieving not seeing the nine provinces together.

Think back then, golden spears and iron horses, spirit swallowing ten thousand li like a tiger.

Ask you, how much sorrow can you have? Just like a river of spring water flowing east.

…………

The bamboo slips could not carve many words; dozens of poems added up were only a few hundred characters. Fang Xiu found most familiar, but some he saw for the first time.

But besides these poems, the rest of the content was completely absent, entirely not what Fang Xiu had in mind.

Fang Xiu's eyes widened, almost to the point of bursting his eye sockets. He looked back again and again, trying to see something different between the lines.

He silently read it several more times, and also tried shouting Dad several more times, expecting that in the next second these words would reorganize and give him a divine art secret manual.

More than half an hour passed; the bamboo slips remained as they were, even tired of being stared at by a man back and forth, silently rolled itself up again.

Fang Xiu despaired. A volume of bamboo slips, dozens of lines of half poems, just drilled into his consciousness like that. Besides that, nothing at all. Are you polite?

"What kind of Jinzhizhi is this? It's just trash. I'm now in the late Southern Song. These poems already existed long ago. Even if I took them to show off, it wouldn't work."

Fang Xiu, angry and annoyed, closed his eyes, choosing not to think about these things anymore. But he tossed and turned on the haystack, completely unable to calm down. Several times he accidentally pulled his left leg, and gritted his teeth in pain.

These poems are all famous lines, from different periods and different authors. If there really is something the same, then it matches the title of the bamboo slips.

All Matters End. The poems on the bamboo slips all speak of All Matters End.

Some speak of men and women with deep affection unable to grow old together; some speak of passing youth and unfulfilled ambitions; some speak of shattered mountains and rivers and a lost homeland; and some sigh that life is like a dream and all matters end.

In short, it expresses all those unsatisfactory things in the human world, the resentment in the chest, and the regret and remorse.

But Fang Xiu still didn't know what this volume of bamboo slips was for. It appeared when Fang Xiu was comforting Wu Mianfeng to let go of the resentment in his heart.

Thinking of this, Fang Xiu suddenly sat up from the haystack, enduring the pain in his leg. He seemed to have understood.

"It surely isn't asking me to eliminate all injustice in the world, is it? That proposition is too grand—terrifying, even."

Bamboo Slip Dad, I'm over forty. What does 'at forty, no doubts' mean? It isn't that once you reach forty you understand all worldly affairs; rather, when you live to forty, you roughly know what sort of thing you really are, and have sufficient self-knowledge.

Eliminating injustice in the world is not something anyone without great ambition and great ability can undertake; it's far beyond what my small shoulders can bear, and I don't have that sort of ambition.

This was the only reason Fang Xiu could think of at the moment; he tried to explain to Bamboo Slips that he was unfit for such a great task, but received no response at all.

Bamboo Slips simply stayed there quietly, soundless and formless, ignorant and insensate.

The golden finger I set up isn't so omnipotent; its presence won't be too prominent, and it requires certain conditions to function, so I'm leaving a suspense. Web novels, aside from those great masters with strong writing skill, can't do without a golden finger—they won't attract readers—but if the golden finger is too strong, the plot loses balance, so I still try to win through plot.

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(Chapter End)