36: Chapter 36 Those who walk different paths cannot make plans together.

The ruined temple was deathly silent, with only the crackling of the bonfire.

The firelight stretched and distorted Ding Qing's shadow on the broken idol, making him look like a Vicious Beast ready to devour someone.

His deep eyes, like two cold, quenched blades, were firmly fixed on the slightly rising swaddled infant beside the haystack.

That faint breath, like a candle in the wind, was now clearer in his ears than the howling yin wind outside the temple, and more... full of possibilities.

"Old Scoundrel,"

Ding Qing's voice broke the frozen air.

It was low and hoarse, yet carried an undeniable resolve.

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"Since this damned past can be stirred, and minor trends can be shifted..."

His lips curled into an arc that was both utterly cold and utterly arrogant. His gaze, like a blade, swept over the Old Daoist in Yellow Robes's withered, astonished face, finally returning to the swaddled infant.

"Then why can't this Blade Master be replaced?"

He took a step forward.

The enormous shadow cast by his tall figure instantly swallowed the haystack, along with the cold corpse and the fragile life.

"Just use this brat!"

"What?!"

The Old Daoist in Yellow Robes's cloudy eyes suddenly burst forth with an unbelievable gleam.

His withered body trembled violently, almost springing up from the ground.

But due to the severe backlash and injuries, he collapsed back down, causing a fit of coughing, and black blood once again spilled from the corner of his mouth.

"You... you're mad! A 'Civet Cat for a Crown Prince' scheme?! Ding Qing! You want to completely overturn the Foundation of this past!"

His emaciated fingers dug deeply into the dust beneath him, his voice hoarse and sharp, like the wail of a dying crow:

"Blade Master! That is the vessel of this segment of the past, the key to carrying this past to its ultimate destiny!

If you replace him? Whether this past even exists will be unknown!

Without the original Blade Master, this segment of the past will collapse instantly, like rootless duckweed.

You and I, and this innocent infant, will all be completely erased, doomed to eternal damnation!"

Ding Qing scoffed, his laughter particularly harsh in the deathly silent ruined temple, carrying a cold confidence that pierced through the fog:

"Collapse? Erased? Old man, you just said yourself that Baiye City turned into a dead zone; this is not how the original past should be at all!

But what about us? Did this past shatter? Were we erased?"

He suddenly leaned forward, a tremendous oppressive force like a collapsing mountain. His eyes, beneath the brim of his hat, burned with a nearly insane ambition:

"You say the outcome is predetermined, that this era is destined to be buried, and everything we do cannot change that outcome! Fine, I accept that! But how the path before the outcome is walked, and by whom..."

Ding Qing's massive palm slowly extended.

His movements, unlike his appearance, were almost eerily gentle, hovering above the swaddled infant.

His rough knuckles could almost feel the subtle airflow caused by that faint breathing.

"...I decide!"

"As for the Blade Master? Whoever can wield the blade, ultimately reach the node we need, and obtain the town object, is the Blade Master!

Is there a difference between the original unfortunate Soul and a blade I personally trained?"

He raised his head, his gaze like two red-hot branding irons, searing into the Old Daoist in Yellow Robes's face:

"As long as he can complete that trajectory and stand where he needs to stand! The process? Is it important? We only want the result!"

On the Old Daoist in Yellow Robes's withered face, his muscles twitched violently.

Ding Qing's words were like thunder, exploding repeatedly in his chaotic Sea of Consciousness.

Minor trends can be shifted... the outcome remains unchanged... complete the trajectory...

This utterly rebellious logic actually subtly shook his Dao Heart, which had upheld the Heavenly Dao and suppressed demons for a thousand years.

That cold intuition told him that Ding Qing was right.

At least, in this bizarrely mutated past, the possibility of such a "replacement" was not entirely nonexistent.

This thought itself filled him with a fear that originated from the depths of his Soul.

"Although that's true... but..."

The Old Daoist in Yellow Robes's voice was incredibly strained, filled with immense struggle.

"The variables in this... are too great! A slight misstep could lead to an abyss of eternal damnation!

This old man bears the responsibility of guarding the present world. If the Black Mountain within me is buried here with me, that would be a monstrous disaster!"

"Our era cannot afford to wait!"

In his cloudy eyes, for the first time, a profound gravity beyond his own life and death was revealed.

"Ding Qing, the path you've chosen might be the only way out, or perhaps... a dead end.

But this old man's life no longer belongs to himself. I cannot gamble, dare not gamble on this one-in-ten-thousand chance.

I must find the original Blade Master!

Only by following the existing trajectory, even if it has deviated, is the safest and most responsible choice for the present world!"

"Responsible?"

Ding Qing suddenly straightened up.

His tall figure cast a huge, swaying shadow in the firelight.

The curve of his lips held biting sarcasm and impatience.

"I'm only responsible for my own fists and the path I choose to walk! I have no interest in your bullshit missions!"

He no longer looked at the Old Daoist.

His gaze returned to the swaddled infant, his eyes like someone examining an uncarved peerless jade.

It was filled with undeniable possessiveness and a nearly cruel anticipation.

"Those with different paths cannot plan together!"

Ding Qing's voice was decisive, carrying a domineering force that crushed everything:

"You, go find your Blade Master!"

He bent down, and this time, there was no hesitation in his movements.

His giant, palm-fan-like hand, with an extreme precision and stability completely contrary to his fierce demeanor, gently reached into the haystack.

His rough fingers avoided the infant's fragile neck, steadily supporting the small, warm, and soft body wrapped in rags.

He carefully lifted it away from the cold corpse and the blood-stained ground.

The infant in the swaddle seemed startled.

It let out an extremely faint mewl, like a kitten, its small face crinkled, but it did not wake up.

"He,"

Ding Qing held this life, lighter than air, as if carrying the weight of the entire world, and his own shocking ambition.

He looked at the Old Daoist in Yellow Robes, his eyes cold and resolute, enunciating each word:

"Belongs to me!"

"If you find that so-called 'original owner'..."

Ding Qing's lips curled into a fierce and expectant smile.

"Then let them, in this era destined for destruction, compete for supremacy! Only the one who survives is qualified to be that... blade pointing to the town object!"

The temple was silent.

The bonfire crackled, reflecting the violently shifting expressions on the Old Daoist in Yellow Robes's withered face.

Shock, struggle, bitterness, helplessness...

Ultimately, they all transformed into a long sigh, as if all life had been drained from him.

He said nothing more.

His cloudy eyes stared deeply at Ding Qing, then swept over the swaddled infant in his arms.

Inside was a madness capable of overturning the past, and also a hope so slim it was almost nonexistent.

Then, with difficulty, he propped up his hunched, severely injured body inch by inch.

Like a piece of decaying deadwood in the wind.

No farewell, no instructions.

He leaned on his short jujube wood staff, which was already covered in cracks and almost shattered.

Step by step, he stumbled silently towards the thick darkness outside the temple, which devoured everything and swirled with ominous Qi.

The dilapidated temple door groaned under the strain behind him.

The night wind, carrying the chill of scorched earth and blood, poured in, making the bonfire flicker wildly, its light and shadow uncertain.

Ding Qing, holding the swaddled infant, stood like an ancient, unyielding iron-forged malevolent god in the center of the temple, where light and darkness intertwined.

The shadow beneath his hat was impossibly dense.

Only his eyes.

Shone astonishingly bright in the flickering firelight.

He stared intently in the direction the Old Daoist had disappeared, then slowly lowered his gaze, looking at the small, gently rising life in his arms.

Outside the temple, the distant darkness, like a tide, engulfed the Old Daoist.

Ding Qing's rough fingers very lightly brushed the coarse fabric at the edge of the swaddle.

His movement carried an unfamiliar, yet undeniable, sense of control.

A low voice, like the friction of metal, echoed in the deathly silent ruined temple.

It carried a resolve and anticipation as if creating heaven and earth:

"Then I will personally... forge... the sharpest blade!"