195: What to do with it?

He recalled the poetry gathering that day, on the Cloud Ascent Tower, a constrained and uneasy poker face, the instant relief and excitement upon seeing him.

“Shopkeeper Jiang, I want to drink too… Shopkeeper, I’ll write an IOU… I’ll go get your money back for you, break his two legs to teach him a lesson… Shopkeeper, I don’t have many friends.

But I consider you a friend, you can’t abandon me now when my life is on the line…”

“Tell me, should I go see that kid?” he asked.

The Little Tyrant’s roots coiled around his thumb; it couldn't understand what such complex words meant, only releasing its comforting aura.

Aside from confirming his identity, Jiang Hanwen had not seen Li Nianchu again.

Thinking of Li Nianchu, Li Minzhong’s eyes would appear in his mind, and behind Li Minzhong, there was another pair of eyes, Chen Hong’s.

Two pairs of eyes, not sharp, but profound enough.

They pointed directly at Jiang Hanwen’s Soul, questioning him: what will you do with such an eternal life?

It seemed everyone sought eternal life, not wanting to die.

But doesn't life only gain meaning because it is finite?

Because it is finite, one cherishes it; because one cherishes it, this life is not lived in vain.

“Click~”

The door closed, and on the empty, snow-covered ground,

Rustle ~ Rustle ~

Shoe soles pressed down on the fluffy white snow, leaving behind a trail of footprints, but the falling snow quickly covered the indentations.

Jiang Hanwen followed the long road of their last encounter, heading east, south, west, and north.

He walked very slowly, measuring City Name City with his steps.

Just as he had when he descended the mountain many years ago, every step was taken firmly.

Finally, he arrived in the North City, in front of a closed restaurant.

It was deep into the night, and a series of snores came from the backyard.

Navigating past traps designed to deter strangers, Jiang Hanwen arrived at the second to last side courtyard.

A scent wafted through the door crack into the room, and the breathing inside grew heavy.

Jiang Hanwen pushed the door open, but a transparent curtain of water blocked the entrance, preventing any cold wind from entering.

A lanky man was sleeping by the door, drooling from his mouth.

Right next to the wooden bed was a specially made large crib.

Jiang Hanwen approached, and a tiny starlight lit up in his hand; it was the flame of “Spark Flame.”

The edge of the crib had a foot-high railing woven from bamboo strips, and a layer of bright yellow soft cotton blanket was tied to the railing.

The little one was sound asleep, his small face round and bright with flesh, his distinctive dark eyebrows clear, bearing a seventy percent resemblance to Huang Ying; he would surely be a good-looking boy in the future.

Wrapped in a cotton coat, his two chubby little hands rested together, lying on his side on a three-layered thick bed surface, covered by a gray-brown blanket made of pure wool.

Jiang Hanwen reached out and gently brushed the little one’s cheek, a cool yet warm, tender and smooth touch, like freshly steamed tofu just out of the pot, its exterior cooled somewhat, but its interior still warm.

As dawn approached, Jiang Hanwen left the room; he had found the answer on this face.

Life itself has no inherent meaning; each person needs to seek their own value of existence, and eternal life is no different.

He had been Cultivating all this time, was he not also searching for something beyond mere survival?

In his eyes, for Cultivation resources, for a chance with extremely low probability, countless people would fight fiercely, ultimately meeting a fate of body and Dao perishing; this was foolish yet an inevitable necessity.

Reality forced everyone to fight and gamble to secure a “bright” future.

From his perspective,

Mayflies live for a day, born in the morning and dying in the evening.

From the perspective of time, the struggle of every finite life is futile, ultimately returning to a mound of yellow earth.

But when applied to individuals, it is not so.

The struggle against temptation, the courage in seizing opportunity, the sadness in facing setbacks, the resolve to fight back from despair... Everyone is the absolute protagonist of their own life, by no means a story that can be altered by a pen.

The succession of lives collectively pushes the wheel of history forward, enacting this endless epic.

Therefore, the value of life lies not in the outcome, but in the process.

Just like a journey, marked by changes in location, but the process of the journey is its true meaning.

Li Minzhong has his own things to do, and he has his too.

Measuring the value of different lives by the same standard is a trashy method used by economic society to control thought.

Witnessing friends experience death is unavoidable.

For whatever reason, that is the inevitable destination.

For him, he is an immortal.

In this epic, he is the one and only bystander.

But sometimes, not entirely; he can also move the gear lock, allowing the world’s butterflies to gently flap their wings, and that is what he must do.

Because of him, Li Nianchu, this spark, did not fall into the hands of human traffickers, nor did he have to resort to being mutilated for begging; that is enough.

The prerequisite for reading a page of a book is to turn over the previous page.

Without the past, there is no future.

But staying in the past, one naturally cannot see the future.

When he arrived at the teahouse, it was almost dawn, and a world of white filled his vision.

Streaks of mist rolled on the street, the blur from exhaled breath.

Jiang Hanwen looked up, a line of golden light sweeping across the sky.

Not just him, but others, too, should not remain in the past.

It was rare for the day to be clear; no time like the present to go see that girl he hadn't seen in over two years.

He knocked on the teahouse door and sat down in Xia Zhijie’s courtyard.

Xiao Huang had already grown half a foot tall, eating well, running happily, his yellow fur dense and shiny.

His perfectly round eyes shone like obsidian, groomed to be exceptionally handsome.

It seemed some people said they had no time to bother, but in reality, their bodies were far more honest than their mouths.

Xia Zhijie went to instruct someone to make breakfast, and Xiao Huang, seeing Jiang Hanwen, leaped up and licked his palm heartily.

After playing for about half a cup of tea, Xia Zhijie entered the courtyard with Wang Ye, carrying bowls of noodles.

Generally, if there was nothing urgent, Jiang Hanwen wouldn’t come so early.

His sudden visit today surely meant some important matter needed to be arranged, so both of them were very serious, sitting upright.

Three bowls of noodles were on the table, scallions floating in the red oil soup, steam rising in a mist that, when hit by the sunlight, glittered like golden dust.

“Is there still one bowl missing?” Jiang Hanwen looked at Xia Zhijie.