514: Chapter 514 [Qin Wangchuan]

Several people gathered in a circle, their heads close together and their voices kept very low, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Someone sighed, "This child won't even have anyone to look after him from now on."

"Isn't that the truth? Lost his mother at three, lost his father at seventeen—how is he going to live his life from here on out?"

"I heard he's not bad at his studies; should we let him continue?"

"Continue? He's the only one left in the family; who's going to support him?"

"True... in these times, schooling isn't something an ordinary family can afford."

The group fell silent for a moment.

"How he walks his path depends on himself."

"As outsiders, we should help where we can."

"Help with what?!"

Uncle Zhao's voice squeezed in from behind the crowd, cold and hard.

"It's not like Qin Rang didn't bring this on himself."

"Instead of staying with a perfectly good child, he went to lick blood from a blade. Now look what happened—he's gone."

Several people turned to glare at him.

"Go, go, go! Take your sarcastic remarks elsewhere. Don't let Qin Chuan hear you in a bit."

Uncle Zhao opened his mouth but actually fell silent.

He stood outside the crowd, the lantern light failing to reach his face, leaving his expression unreadable.

As they spoke, the group began to pool their money.

Butcher Zhang was the first to pull out money.

He fumbled a handful of pre-prepared copper coins from his sleeve and placed them in Old Man Yang's hand. "Back then, when those crooked merchants held sway, if it weren't for Qin Rang, I'd still be acting like a coward for others."

"Now that he's gone, there's nothing else I can do. This bit of money is for the child."

Shopkeeper Li followed suit, pulling out money and sighing, "I pestered him so many times to come help out at my restaurant, but he refused no matter what."

"If he had come, it wouldn't have come to this..."

The rest of the group also contributed various amounts.

At that moment, Uncle Zhao, who had been standing at the back, squeezed through.

He stiffened his neck, refusing to look anyone in the eye, his voice blunt: "How much are you pooling?"

"Us? Fifty or a hundred, just a token of our intentions."

"Then I'll chip in a bit too."

With that, he tossed three strings of coins to Old Man Yang.

One string was a hundred wen.

A full three hundred wen.

The crowd went quiet for a heartbeat.

Someone turned to look at him with a strange expression: "What, have you had a change of heart?"

"Get lost!"

Uncle Zhao glared at the man, his voice suddenly dropping so low it was as if he were only speaking to himself. "If I don't chip in more, what will the little kid do all by himself..."

No one spoke anymore.

Qin Wangchuan stood in the shadows, the lantern light unable to reach his face.

He listened to those lowered voices and the clinking of the copper coins.

It turned out these people had gathered because they were afraid he wouldn't be able to survive, so they were pooling money for him.

What surprised him was this:

Uncle Zhao from next door, who had bickered with his father for years, contributed more than anyone else.

This was the second lesson he learned since coming to this world.

Sentiment.

This village wasn't large, but the hearts of the people were.

Even enemies who had previously turned red in the face, quarreled, and nearly come to blows...

...were willing to lend a hand when the time came.

Father Wen stood behind him.

Mother Wen had also come out at some point, still clutching a rag for wiping bowls.

She looked at Qin Wangchuan's back, then at the group of people, casting a reproachful glance at Father Wen while gesturing with her chin toward Qin Wangchuan.

Father Wen understood immediately. He stepped forward half a pace, patted Qin Wangchuan's shoulder, and whispered:

"Go on."

After saying that, before Qin Wangchuan could react, he let out a cough toward the group.

Hearing the noise, Old Man Yang turned around.

He was startled for a moment when he saw Qin Wangchuan standing in the shadows.

He walked over quickly, grabbed Qin Wangchuan's wrist, and pulled him to the side.

"Qin Chuan."

He pulled the bundle of copper coins wrapped in cloth from his bosom and shoved it into Qin Wangchuan's hand, covering it with his own palm as if afraid he would push it back.

"There were too many people at the funeral during the day, so it wasn't convenient to speak."

"We pooled some money. It's not much, but it's a token of our care. Don't refuse it; keep it safe."

"With money, whatever you do in the future will be a bit smoother."

He said a lot, pouring out everything he hadn't said during the day.

Qin Wangchuan listened quietly, nodding occasionally.

Qin Rang had actually left behind quite a bit of money—after all, few were willing to do work that involved licking blood from a blade.

But he still accepted the bundle of money.

What was inside wasn't just money.

It was their sentiment, and more importantly, the first gift he had received after coming to this world.

Seeing him accept it, Old Man Yang breathed a sigh of relief. He patted the back of Qin Wangchuan's hand again, then turned to call for everyone to disperse.

The lantern light gradually faded into the distance, and the sound of footsteps and whispers also slowly dissipated.

Qin Wangchuan stood at the doorway, looking around at the lit lamps of several households—the Wens, the Zhaos.

One by one, the warm yellow light shone through the window paper, like the hearts of this village still glowing in the night.

Then he looked at his own home; it was pitch black.

No one was waiting for him to return, no one was moving about the house, and no one was sitting under a lamp.

Qin Wangchuan shook his head, his lips twitching into something resembling a smile.

A second life.

Perhaps this current loneliness was how things were meant to be from the start.

Not an Immortal Venerable, not a Divine Son.

Just a seventeen-year-old youth standing in front of an empty, dark house, his mind churning.

Suddenly, he felt—

It's so dark.

A dark that was peaceful, a dark that was empty.

"Next time, I'll put a lamp in the courtyard," he muttered to himself.

He muttered to himself.

He pushed open the door and stepped into the darkness.

He found the fire striker on the table, blew on it twice, and lit the oil lamp.

The flame flickered, illuminating the main room, the square table and long benches, the wooden cabinet in the corner that wouldn't close properly, and the two wooden memorial tablets standing side-by-side on the altar.

The light was faint, but it was enough.

Qin Wangchuan sat down at the table and placed the bag of money from Old Man Yang on it.

The cloth bundle wasn't large or heavy; inside were copper coins and broken silver, clinking together.

He didn't count them; he just watched them.

He watched them all night.

That night, someone in the Wen family next door also couldn't sleep.

Wen Zhaoer lay in bed, tossing and turning, her mind filled with the person next door.

She wanted to go accompany him.

But she couldn't yet. This wasn't the Immortal Court; things weren't that free.

As a young woman, running to the house of a youth living alone in the middle of the night wouldn't sound good if word got out.

She rolled over, pulled the quilt over her face, and mumbled gloomily.

"It doesn't matter."

She pulled the quilt down again and stared at the yellowing canopy above her head.

"Many people say the two of us are a perfect match."

At this thought, the corners of Wen Zhaoer's mouth curved up.

"This time, no one will come between us again."

Early the next morning.

Qin Wangchuan immediately went to find Master Chen to discuss changing his name.

"Change your name?"

Master Chen was somewhat surprised and looked him up and down.

But considering the child had just lost his kin, he understood.

"The 'Book of Rites' says: 'Mourning does not exceed three years, to show the people there is an end.' But in this world, some sink into it and cannot get out, while others can rise from the ashes."

He stroked his beard, his gaze gaining a bit more depth. "I think you are the latter."

"When I saw you yesterday, you were still a child; seeing you today, it's as if you've become a different person."

"Changing it is fine. What do you want to change it to?"

Qin Wangchuan looked up at him: "Qin Wangchuan."

"Qin Wangchuan..."

Master Chen repeated it and nodded. "Wangchuan, Wangchuan. Forget the past to find new life. A good name."

Qin Wangchuan currently had no status; he was just an ordinary commoner.

Changing a name didn't require overly complicated procedures; he just had to follow Master Chen to the county yamen to register it.

When he walked out of the county yamen gates, the sunlight happened to fall upon him.

Qin Wangchuan suddenly felt a sense of relief.

It wasn't that his cultivation had returned, or that some shackles had been unlocked; it was simply—

Smooth.

Qin Chuan and Qin Wangchuan were never two different people.

The Divine Son is me, and the Mortal is also me.

After changing his name, his stomach growled.

He looked down at his belly, then up at the sun.

His next goal was to go to the martial arts hall to apprentice as a blacksmith, but there was no rush.

First, he would get the Spirit Gathering Talisman going; after all, strength is the foundation of everything.

Also, he was hungry.

Time to eat first.