76: Chapter 76 Cicadas Cry at Dusk

Ten years later, on a hill outside a remote small town.

Since the journey to Dongshan City, Luo Changting's five aggregates cultivation had begun to skyrocket.

To control the life, death, or even the thoughts of those around him was now just a matter of a single thought for Luo Changting.

The night wind howled, making the sparse withered grass on the hill rustle, and also tugging at Luo Changting's sleeves.

Standing with his hands behind his back, he gazed at the scattered lights of the small town below the mountain. His face appeared even leaner and colder under the dim moonlight.

Over ten years, the Demonic Seed had become deeply entwined with him. While that power granted him formidable strength, it was also silently eroding everything he was.

"To wrestle with a True Monarch, this bit of power is still far from enough."

"A choice must be made: stay here, or go to the battlefield to refine my cultivation..."

Suddenly, Luo Changting recalled the blurred memories of that day, feeling somewhat incredulous.

"That's right... the one who slaughtered the million lives of Dongshan City that day was me..."

What made him incredulous wasn't the power, but the fact that after killing so many people, he didn't feel a single shred of guilt in his heart.

"If I leave, I must sever the Karma with them. I can't let my affairs affect..." Luo Changting pondered, then abruptly stopped speaking.

At some point, a young girl had appeared behind him.

Luo Hanchán had grown into a graceful young woman. Although her old clothes were patched, they were washed clean.

However, the childish ignorance and innocence in her eyes had faded, replaced by a sense of calm and an indelible look of worry.

She stood quietly half a step behind her elder brother's side.

Silence spread between the two, with only the wailing of the wind.

"Little Cicada, why aren't you going on stage yet?"

After a long while, Luo Changting spoke in a low voice, his words drifting in the wind.

Luo Hanchán had already taken on the heavy responsibilities of the Opera Troupe. Tonight, she would step onto the stage and begin her life in the theater.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking at the sky."

The girl looked up at the sky, her eyes reflecting the vast expanse of stars.

"What's in the sky?"

"Brother, do you know the story of the Nine Heavens and the Nine Abysses?"

Hearing this, Luo Changting's body stiffened imperceptibly, but he didn't look back.

"Tonight is my first time on stage. While preparing, I accidentally saw a play related to the ancient Mountain and Sea."

"The play says that people have a destination. After good people die, their Souls can ascend to the Nine Heavens and become stars in the sky, bright and clear, watching over the Mortal world, never to feel trouble or pain again." Luo Hanchán paused, her voice dropping lower.

"As for bad people... if they do evil, they must descend to the Nine Abysses. That's the deepest and darkest underground, where there's molten iron and ghosts that pull out tongues. They must suffer endless torment and can never, ever come out!"

She knew the secret of her brother Cultivating behind everyone's backs; she had known since she was a child.

When Luo Changting practiced his skills in secret, his body would be warm, like basking in the sun.

But now, the aura on Luo Changting's body made her instinctively feel cold and suffocated, as if falling into the deepest and darkest mire.

All of this made Luo Hanchán very afraid—afraid of losing her good brother.

"What nonsense."

"Plays are all lies; don't get lost in them."

Luo Changting chuckled, his tone as gentle as it was ten years ago.

What Nine Heavens and Nine Abysses? Ever since that Three Lives Wangchuan Immortal Lord opened the Naihe Bridge, such sayings had long since ceased to exist.

Then again, it was normal for his sister and father to know little about the Cultivation World.

In a daze, Luo Changting remembered that a long time ago, he seemed to have glimpsed a few words in some tattered Incomplete Manual of a chronicle—what was it called again, Records of something?

It seemed to say that the trajectories of the stars in the sky recorded the fates of all living beings.

As for becoming a star?

The corners of his mouth twitched.

According to Luo Hanchán's words, if his filthy and foul-smelling skin and this sinful Soul could eventually turn into something, it would definitely not be a cold star above the Nine Heavens.

It would likely be the embers at the lowest level of the Nine Abysses.

But so what?

He felt the remnant sword within his Dantian, which grew stronger by the day and also dragged him further toward the abyss.

Even embers have the temperature of embers.

At least, before being completely extinguished, they could still burn the ghost that toyed with the lives of the common people.

"Wild Goose Formation True Monarch..." Luo Changting muttered in his heart, clenching his fists.

Just as Luo Changting frowned, Luo Hanchán spoke:

"But, the Nine Heavens are too high, and the Nine Abysses are too deep. Even becoming a star hanging in the sky is not what I seek."

"Such a high sky must be very cold."

Luo Hanchán reached out toward the starry sky above her head and lowered her eyes.

"I only want a piece of land," Luo Hanchán said slowly.

"A place where Father can grow old peacefully, where we... don't have to live in fear and wander everywhere, where we can look up at the sky, even if it's a place without stars."

No matter how Luo Hui tried to hide it, the two siblings understood.

They said the Opera Troupe traveled far and wide, but in reality, they were fleeing—fleeing toward a pure land without the struggles of Cultivators.

With the Yao Race invasion and Cultivators battling, the earth was rending everywhere, and there was no peace.

As for going to Kongsang Prefecture, a major city guarded by Cultivators, how could Mortals like them be qualified?

Luo Changting remained silent, a flash of crimson passing through his eyes.

"I understand."

Luo Changting had made his choice.

He turned around and, with a complex expression, lightly pointed a finger at Luo Hanchán.

Consciousness Aggregate · Floating Life Like a Dream.

"Little Cicada, have a good dream."

Under the night sky, the town's lights flickered, and the mountain wind wailed like a sob... Tonight was the Luo Family Troupe's final performance here; tomorrow, they would set out.

Following the "arranged" route, they would head toward a supposedly stable and prosperous prefecture. The most stable place in all of Langya Province, which also had Cultivators protecting it.

The troupe leader, Luo Hui, was slightly tipsy, slapping his thigh as he bragged to his old comrades about the good prospects of the prefecture. Yet his eyes were somewhat vacant, as if those visions of the future were things he had heard from someone else.

Everyone in the troupe also carried a sense of relief after their anxiety had been smoothed over, busily preparing their luggage. Only when they occasionally met each other's eyes would a flicker of confusion, which they themselves didn't notice, pass through the depths of their gaze.

It was as if they had forgotten someone.

Luo Hanchán sat before the simple makeup mirror backstage, looking at her own reflection in the bronze mirror—her heroic features traced with oil paint and a velvet flower tucked by her temple.

Her hands were very steady as she traced her eyebrows bit by bit, but her fingertips were ice-cold.

She knew that the memories of her father and uncles had been tampered with.

For some reason, she was the only one who remembered.

Her nails dug into her palm; the stinging pain allowed her to maintain a surface calm.

She couldn't expose it; she couldn't make a scene.

Her brother had used a method she didn't understand to wipe the others' memories of him and gave them a hopeful, safe future in the Langya Prefecture government.

And he himself must have more important things to do.

As a good sister, Luo Hanchán couldn't disturb her brother.

"Hanchán! Are you ready? 'Farewell at the Pavilion' is starting!" a call came from outside the curtain.

"Farewell at the Pavilion"—how fitting.

A lively and festive farewell play, wishing one a bright future and a smooth journey.

"Coming," she replied, her voice steady.

Taking one last look at the familiar yet strange self in the mirror, she stood up, lifted the curtain, and stepped into the wings.

The gongs and drums had already begun to sound at the front of the stage. Below sat many commoners and merchants about to leave their homes, who also needed this bit of false festivity to dilute their parting sorrow.

Luo Hanchán stepped onto the stage to the beat of the drums.

A red cape, a pheasant feather crown, and a short stick representing a horsewhip in her hand.

This was the scholar in the play who was about to travel far to seek fame and fortune.

She walked to the edge of the stage, made an appearance, her eyes bright and spirited. She cupped her hands toward the audience and began to sing:

"I bid farewell to my parents, and say goodbye to my fellow villagers!"

"On this journey, the sky is high and the sea is wide; a man's ambition lies in all directions!"

"Do not worry about the swallows and sparrows under the eaves that keep the beams warm..."

"Watch me spread my wings like a Kunpeng and soar into the green clouds!"

Her singing was high-pitched and beautiful, her movements graceful and unrestrained.

She brandished the whip, circling the stage with quick steps, as if she were truly riding a swift horse out of the pavilion, full of spirit.

A round of applause erupted from the audience.

"The evening breeze brushes the willows, the flute's sound is fading, the sunset is beyond the mountains..."

She continued to sing, her water sleeves fluttering lightly. As her eyes roved, she would inadvertently glance below the stage, trying to find that lean yet steadfast figure.

The gongs and drums grew more urgent, the strings and pipes more spirited.

As the play reached its finale, according to the script, the scholar was supposed to ride away while everyone sang a blessing in unison for a festive conclusion.

The gongs and drums beat densely, waiting for the final closing.

But Luo Hanchán took another step forward, moving away from her original position and walking alone to the very front of the stage.

She looked into the distance, into the heavy night, as if someone were standing there at the edge of the sky.

She sang the final blessing in a way that was completely different from the original tune, her voice clear and bright, turning into a broken prayer:

"May your journey be smooth all the way."

The entire venue fell silent for a moment.

Immediately, even more enthusiastic cheers and applause erupted!

The audience only felt that this young girl sang with such genuine emotion and effort for her first time on stage; she was bound to become a huge star in the future.

The curtains slowly closed amidst the thunderous applause.

The music ended, and the people dispersed.

Luo Hanchán stood in place, maintaining her waving posture. The smile on her face slowly crumbled in the shadow of the falling curtain.

The backstage was bustling with people. Everyone surrounded the troupe leader, Luo Hui, excitedly discussing tomorrow's itinerary and the beautiful future after arriving at the prefecture.

"Hanchán, you sang well! Especially that last line!"

"As expected of the last sprout of my Luo family!"

Luo Hui walked over with a hint of drunkenness and laughed while patting her shoulder: "Tomorrow we're heading to the prefecture! Good days are ahead!"

"Yes, Father, good days are ahead."

She forced the corners of her mouth up at her father's reflection in the mirror.

After Luo Hui left, only Luo Hanchán remained in the mirror.

She raised her hand and, bit by bit, extremely slowly, began to remove the bead flowers from her head.

Her fingertips were ice-cold, just like her heart.

Suddenly, as Luo Hanchán was taking something from a drawer, the intertwined sensation of cold and warmth from her fingertips made her entire body freeze.

By the cold moonlight, she saw clearly what was in her hand.

It was a pair of amber-colored sugar figurines shaped like a family of three, and the other was a warm sweet potato whose skin had been carefully wiped clean.

The world fell completely silent at this moment.

"Brother... come back soon..."

The oil paint on her face that hadn't been wiped off was already blurred by tears... That night, thousands of miles away at the border of Langya Province, in the blood-and-fire-shrouded Hundred Thousand Great Mountains.

A figure surrounded by faint Devilish Qi was walking alone toward a blood-red crescent moon.

The wind wailed, carrying the distant sounds of slaughter and the long howls of Yao Beasts.

His black robes flapped loudly. Faint dark-red patterns flowed around the man's body, and an azure-blue mask hung from his waist.

The Zhuyou Sword vanished into the eternal night.

Luo Changting did not look back.