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Chapter 425: Rebirth Would Be Enough
🕑 Added 2024-10-31 16:22:02 +0000 UTCAfter hearing everything, Liu Yunan hesitated and asked everyone, “Do you think our arrangement feels a bit unwelcoming?”
In the past, the task of accepting new disciples had always been arranged and led by Lin Xiao. Now that they were formally recruiting new members, this was the first time any of them had experienced this process firsthand.
Mo Yuanjiao also expressed his uncertainty, "Having the newcomers stay in straw huts while they wait—doesn’t it come across as a little unfriendly?"
The group fell silent, pondering the issue seriously.
Jiang Youfu, however, seemed completely unconcerned. After swallowing a mouthful of roasted beans, he replied, “What’s the big deal? Back when we first started the sect, Brother Xiao had me practicing cultivation in a straw hut too. It’s our sect’s tradition. Let the newcomers experience it; it’s a good thing.”
Qin Jianghe, always decisive, made the final call. “Alright, let’s not overthink it. We’ve done everything we can. If there are some minor oversights, that’s normal. Cultivation is a matter of mutual choice. If they’re not happy with us, they can leave. We’re not silver; we can’t please everyone. Let’s leave it at that.”
The group of young men and women, reassured by Qin Jianghe’s words, quickly shrugged off their worries.
The elders, not as curious about the newcomers, hadn't come to watch the process. The oldest present in the Zawu Hall was Mo Que, who accompanied Mo Yuanjiao, but he never voiced an opinion as long as the young master had none.
“Speaking of which, this new guy, Bai Shu, is pretty impressive, huh? It’s only been one night, and he’s already passed the trial,” remarked Liu Yunan.
Hu Liang reached into Jiang Youfu’s small storage pouch and grabbed a handful of roasted beans. Nodding while munching, he added, “Yeah, especially considering how Brother Xiao has made the Wenxin Road harder multiple times. Every time I go through, I have to stay inside for ages.”
“You know, if you think about it, Bai Shu’s speed in passing is really one of the fastest in our sect,” Liu Yunan observed thoughtfully.
Mo Yuanjiao recalled his own experience. “It seems like his time is about the same as mine.”
Everyone paused to reflect—and indeed, it seemed true!
Until now, except for Lin Xiao and Sun Yigao, who could breeze through the Wenxin Road with barely a pause, Mo Yuanjiao had the record for the shortest time to pass.
The total time Bai Shu had spent seemed to match that of Mo Yuanjiao's own. The only difference was that Bai Shu was a mortal, whereas Mo Yuanjiao was already a cultivator.
For mortals, the time limit for the trial was shorter than for cultivators. No matter how difficult the test, a mortal would be released within three days. The Wenxin Road wouldn’t trap anyone forever.
As they continued to chat about the newcomer, Sun Yigao suddenly received a transmission from Fang Tuantuan, who had taken over guarding the entrance after Yuan Qing.
After listening, Sun Yigao turned to the group and said, “It seems there’s an issue on the Wenxin Road. Tuantuan wants us to check it out.”
Without hesitation, the group of young cultivators quickly stood up and rushed to the mountain path entrance.
This was their sect’s first recruitment of disciples; they couldn’t afford any mishaps.
——
Niutou Village, located in the southern border of Pusi Kingdom, was a place of extreme poverty.
In such a desolate village, selling children was nothing new.
As a result, few people were left in the village, mostly elderly residents. The young and the children were scarce.
Tong Jialiang’s parents were sold into servitude to a wealthy family when he was still an infant. His name had been given to him by a steward in that household, after his parents gained some favor by working diligently.
In the early years, his parents would occasionally send back small gifts or rewards they had received.
But later, all contact ceased.
The wealthy family they served had fallen into ruin, and Tong Jialiang’s parents had either been sold off again or worse, perished. Since then, there had been no word from them.
Feeling pity for him, his uncle and aunt took him in and raised him, preserving the last bloodline of their brother and sister-in-law.
When Tong Jialiang was three, a human trafficker came to the village looking for children to buy. It was a time of famine, and while the family wasn’t starving to death, food was scarce.
Although they initially considered selling him, he was too young to be of interest to the traffickers.
Instead, his cousin—three years his senior—was sold off.
Tong Jialiang still remembered how his uncle and aunt had knelt in front of his grandparents, desperately begging them not to sell their son.
It was the same way his parents had once pleaded with them years ago.
But perhaps the allure of quick money was too strong. To his grandparents, the silver coins the trafficker placed in their hands felt more substantial than any family ties.
Children, after all, could always be reborn.
His uncle and aunt could always have more, they reasoned. The first grandson had been sold off, but the second grandson would soon be old enough, and the cycle would repeat.
As far as his grandparents were concerned, selling their descendants for profit was far more reliable than scraping a living from the barren earth.
His cousin was only six years old when he was taken, and unlike Tong Jialiang’s parents, who had maintained some contact after they were sold, there was no word from his cousin after he was sold.
But his grandparents never lived to see the new generation of grandchildren they had hoped to sell.
Because they died.
One night, they fell to their deaths from a cliff behind Niutou Village.
At the time, Tong Jialiang was ten years old.
Their bodies were discovered the next morning by an old hunter who frequented the area.
No one knew how they died, or why they had ventured to that cliff.
No one, except for Tong Jialiang.
Because that night, he had lured them there, telling them he had seen a local loafer burying silver in a small cave by the cliffside.
And then, with his own hands, he pushed them off.
To his surprise, killing them hadn’t been difficult at all for his ten-year-old self.
He still remembered the gleeful, greedy look on their faces when they heard about the hidden silver.
They were so focused on getting to the silver, so eagerly pressing him to lead the way, that they never suspected the seemingly foolish grandson could harbor ill intent.
The wind on the cliff that night had been bitterly cold, stiffening his face into an expressionless mask.
He remembered staring down at their motionless bodies at the bottom of the cliff, thinking that some people, perhaps, were meant to stay at the bottom of such places.
Afterward, his uncle and aunt, when questioned by the village elder, said the grandparents had likely gone to the mountains in search of wild vegetables, driven by hunger, and had accidentally fallen.
The elderly village chief had merely gone through the motions of an inquiry. Since no one in the family contested the claim, he quickly accepted the explanation and closed the matter.
After all, in a village where people couldn’t even fill their stomachs, who had the energy to worry about someone else’s family affairs?
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