Born here, grew up here, died here.

Chapter 76 Born here, grew up here, died here.

The sound of wheels hitting the rails gradually faded from Li Yuan's perception.

The sounds were like the tides, with people chatting idly, their words drifting like duckweed; others were playing a game, the sound of chess pieces landing crisp and short.

Some travelers complained about the slow pace of their journey, their resentment lingering; some infants cried incessantly, their cries sharp and piercing through the noise, but were gradually calmed by their mothers' gentle soothing voices.

These myriad sounds intertwined, creating a chaotic cacophony.

But to Li Yuan, all of this was merely sound.

They surged in, like a mountain breeze brushing across a deep pool, causing ripples on the surface, which then returned to stillness after the breeze passed.

They simply arise and then vanish, leaving no trace of dust or scratch on the mirror of his heart.

That state of mind is just as the sutra says: "Without eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, or mind; without form, sound, smell, taste, touch, or dharma."

It is not isolation, but rather seeing everything, yet not dwelling on anything.

Suddenly, a long whistle blared.

The sound was sharp and long, piercing through the murky air inside the carriage, soaring straight into the sky, and causing a dull ache deep in people's eardrums.

The wheels turned slowly, making a dull, rhythmic "kuangqie" sound.

At first, it was very slow, one beat after another, like the distant and ancient heartbeats coming from the depths of the earth.

Then, the rhythm gradually intensified and accelerated, eventually merging into a single, all-encompassing roar.

The scenery outside the window began to flow backward.

First, the platform.

Those who came to see him off, their figures are still clear, their arms still waving, but their faces have become blurred, turning into flowing, faded silhouettes.

Then came the streets and alleys outside the platform. The low houses, the trees along the road, and the pedestrians hurrying by all flashed by, leaving me no time to see them clearly before I left them behind.

Finally, there are the fields.

The fields stretched as far as the eye could see, seemingly extending to the ends of the earth.

The platform grew smaller and smaller as it receded into the distance, until it disappeared from sight, as if swallowed up by this speeding steel behemoth.

The train drove into the depths of the wilderness.

Autumn colors are in full bloom.

Outside the window, the ripe rice stalks spread out in an endless expanse of golden yellow, as if the earth were draped in a brocade robe that shimmered with a warm luster.

A farmer bent over in the field, his back hunched in a humble arc, his sickle rising and falling, cutting not only ears of rice, but also the passing of time.

A child stood on the edge of the field, waving vigorously at the roaring steel dragon. His small, vivid shadow stood out against the vast expanse of gold, as clear as a drop of ink on brocade.

Li Yuan's gaze swept silently over everything.

He had seen too many such sights along the way.

Work at sunrise, and rest at sunset.

Born here, grew up here, and will die here.

Generation after generation, on this ancient land, the same joys and sorrows unfold, and the same stories continue.

Unbeknownst to them, in the far distance, war was quietly brewing.

The flames of war were at this moment just a wisp of smoke, a faint, undetectable sense of unease from the future.

But it is spreading, like night falling quietly, and one day it will turn this golden yellow into a crimson red.

Unbeknownst to them, this seemingly timeless tranquility could last for several more autumns.

That tranquility was like the autumn sun, warm and bright, yet carrying a trace of irretrievable warmth belonging to farewell.

The bleakness of winter is gathering its power somewhere that seems both distant and close at hand.

But they are alive.

On this land, they sweat, harvest, raise children, and bid farewell to elders.

Their lives are small yet resilient, like the nameless wild grass on the ridge of a field.

To live is the greatest principle and the most fundamental hope in this world.

The Book of Changes states: "The greatest virtue of Heaven and Earth is to give life."

That "life" is the deepest and most compassionate essence of creation.

As long as this underlying theme remains, every painting can potentially be redrawn.

The train, carrying this scene of fireworks, continued forward.

Outside the window, the mountains gradually rise.

At first it was a gentle slope, then it gradually turned into hills, and finally, one green mountain after another came into view like green waves.

The mountains, layer upon layer, stretch endlessly to the horizon, merging with the flowing clouds.

Occasionally, a stream meanders out from the mountains, shimmering with fine, clear light in the afternoon sun, like a silver ribbon winding among the verdant peaks.

We have entered the Miao territory.

These mountains, these waters, these misty, bottomless valleys—all subtly exude a charm quite different from that of the Central Plains.

It was an aura closer to the wild, an aura that was not fully domesticated, concealing mystery, harboring poison, and lurking unknown dangers.

Li Yuan withdrew his gaze and closed his eyelids slightly.

My mind sank into the inner landscape.

In that void, that glimmer of light still hangs somewhere deep within the Qinling Mountains.

Like an eternal, unextinguished lamp, or a solitary island in the vast sea of ​​consciousness.

His consciousness traveled across mountains and rivers and "saw" that hidden cave.

Wugensheng is still there, standing before the walls covered with poems and inscriptions bearing the marks of enlightenment from his predecessors.

The young figure sometimes frowned in thought, sometimes paced back and forth, and sometimes talked to himself in a low voice.

Sometimes, he would reach out and use his fingers as a pen to gently stroke the uneven stone surface.

The touch of my fingertips felt not like touching cold stone, but like touching the heartbeat and trembling of someone or some people at a certain moment behind those words.

Sometimes, he would stop, look up, and gaze at the words covering the wall for a long time without moving. He would stand there for the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, or even longer.

Deep inside the cave, the golden figure would occasionally appear.

The monkey king, over two meters tall, stood there quietly, without a sound, as if it were part of the mountain itself.

Those unfathomable pupils, separated by the dark void, gazed at the young human in the cave, who was sometimes restless, sometimes calm, and who never seemed to leave.

Sometimes, it gazes for a long time, then quietly turns and disappears into the deeper darkness; sometimes, it pauses briefly, then vanishes silently, just as it came.

A hint of approval, imperceptible to others, flashed in Li Yuan's eyes.

This kid is quite composed.

Standing before those walls covered with relics of our ancestors, each containing countless mysteries and possibilities.

Wugensheng did not become impatient because he could not understand it, nor did he give up because he could not find a way.

He simply stayed quietly, amidst the torrent of information and insights, watching, pondering, and waiting.

That tranquility is not the stagnant stillness of a lifeless mind, but a profound, restrained, and vibrant state, as if it is taking deep root in the ground while simultaneously preparing to break through the soil.

The Tao Te Ching says: "Who can make the turbid water still, and gradually become clear when left to settle? Who can make the still water last long, and gradually come to life when moved?"

Wugensheng, at this moment, is in that chaotic and noisy state of mind, waiting quietly for it to clear itself.

In that long period of peace and waiting, something of its own was being conceived and was about to be born.

Just as consciousness was about to return—

Footsteps came from the other end of the carriage.

The sound of their footsteps on the carriage floor was no different from the footsteps of the endless stream of passengers.

But amidst that ordinary sound of footsteps, Li Yuan's senses detected a subtle and extremely difficult-to-detect anomaly.

The unusual thing wasn't in the lightness or heaviness of the footsteps.

And the very existence to which those footsteps are attached.

His eyelids slowly opened.

A flight attendant in a blue uniform was carrying an old-fashioned enamel tray as she walked down the narrow aisle.

The uniform was faded from washing, but the edges were neatly ironed. The tray was white with blue trim, and several cups of steaming tea were placed steadily on it.

The aroma of tea wafted through the air. Its delicate fragrance instantly diluted the various odors mixed in the carriage, invigorating everyone's spirits.

The flight attendant, with a professional, just-right smile on her face, walked along, calling out in a voice that was neither too loud nor too soft, just loud enough for the surrounding passengers to hear: "Tea—freshly brewed tea—have a cup to refresh yourself—"

'

He walked up to Li Yuan's side, paused, and bowed slightly with a smile: "Daoist Master, have a cup of tea, it's freshly brewed, it'll help you relax."

That smile, that tone of voice, that slight bow—it was no different from any other train attendant moving between carriages.

Li Yuan nodded slightly and reached out to take the white porcelain teacup.

The cup has a warm, smooth surface, printed with simple blue patterns.

The tea was clear, and a few tender leaves, like flags and spears, slowly unfurled in the water, swirling and gently sinking to the bottom of the cup.

The flight attendant didn't linger; carrying the tray, she continued walking forward.

His figure moved through the crowd, repeating his script over and over again, his voice fading into the background noise of the carriage.

Li Yuan held the cup of tea but did not drink it.

He lowered his eyes, as if he were only looking at the few swirling tea leaves in the cup, or as if he were looking through the clear tea soup at a deeper and more distant place.

The tea aroma is indeed very authentic. It's top-quality Maojian tea, produced in the Xinyang area.

The fragrance is elegant and lingering. At first, it smells like beans, but upon closer inspection, a faint hint of orchid sweetness emerges, which is refreshing and invigorating, enough to purify the mind and forget worldly concerns.

He gently blew on the steam rising from the rim of the cup and brought it to his lips.

However, just as the rim of the cup was about to touch his lips, his movement paused, very subtly.

That was a profound and mysterious realization.

Like a moonlit night, in the still, calm depths of an ancient pool, an almost invisible ripple suddenly appears on its own.

Like a deep, silent mountain where no sound can be heard, yet a faint chime resonates softly in the depths of consciousness.

This kind of perception is so subtle that ordinary people could never even touch upon it in their entire lives.

But that extremely subtle, strange scent, so out of place with the pure aroma of this cup of tea, was as unmistakable to him as a candle flame in a dark room.

The Tao Te Ching says, "Act before things exist; govern before chaos arises."

True insight is the ability to perceive the inevitable changes that are about to occur, before things even begin to happen or before chaos even begins.

At that moment, he sensed a subtle change within the tea, which was in a state of "neither existence" nor "disorder."

There was a very faint, almost imperceptible, peculiar quality hidden within the tea.

How faint was that anomaly?

It's like dropping a drop of ink into the vast ocean.

That speck of ink was instantly diluted, dissolved, and completely swallowed up by the vast, boundless blue, leaving no trace.

But for him, that drop of ink, from the very beginning, had nowhere to hide.

It's poison.

These two words rise in my heart like the bright moon, clear and distinct.

And it is no ordinary poison.

Ordinary poisons may reveal their existence through smell, their presence through color, or their traces through their properties.

Even the most skilled drug maker, no matter how exhaustive their methods, cannot completely erase that final, material imprint.

Those marks might fool ordinary people, and most of the extraordinary people in the world, but they could never fool him.

At this moment, the substance immersed in this tea is colorless, tasteless, and untraceable.

It's as if it and the tea are one.

If one were not at such a level of attainment, possessing a profound state of concentration and insight in that realm between existence and non-existence, in that pure and subtle place, it would be impossible to perceive its existence or distinguish its authenticity.

This is Qi poison.

It is a rare poison that can only be refined by extraordinary people. It takes Qi as its guide and form, merges with all things, and assimilates with them.

When it dissolves in tea, it becomes indistinguishable from tea.

When you drink it, it tastes like ordinary tea, soothing your throat and tongue.

Little did they know that the deadly and invisible presence had already seeped into the drinker's bloodstream with that warm sip, lurking in every part of their body.

Waiting for a predetermined opportunity, or for a certain thought to trigger it.

Li Yuan's brow twitched almost imperceptibly.

The movement was so subtle that even if someone looked closely, they might not be able to detect it.

"It's a Qi poison that only extraordinary individuals can refine."

Could it be that people from the Tang Clan have already come looking for us?

He recalled that a few days ago, he had met Tang Qiushan, an outer sect steward of the Tang Clan, by a mountain path in eastern Sichuan.

He recalled the middle-aged man who had been saved from some "accident" and then left in a fluster with a complicated expression.

She also remembered that she had asked him to take the message back to the Tang Clan headquarters.

Let those who need to wake up, wake up.

If members of the Tang Clan intend to follow this trail, they could indeed find it.

With the clandestine abilities of that sect that has been passed down for hundreds of years, tracking down someone who has not deliberately concealed their whereabouts is not difficult.

Throughout his journey, he had no intention of showing off, nor did he intend to hide anything.

If the Tang Clan really sends someone to find his trail, it is indeed very possible.

However, as soon as this thought arose, another doubt quietly emerged, like an undercurrent beneath the surface of water.

Although members of the Tang Clan are skilled in using poison, they always emphasize precision and restraint, and never harm the innocent.

It was an ancient gateway that had been hidden in this land for hundreds of years.

They have their own rules, their own bottom line, and inviolable ironclad laws passed down through generations.

When targeting a specific person, the action is solely directed at that person and will never involve unrelated bystanders.

This is the foundation upon which the Tang Clan has been able to stand firm for hundreds of years amidst the turmoil of the martial arts world, and it is also the most distinctive mark of their actions.