239: Causal closed loop

The green vine guard departed, the demonic flower was annihilated, and the shadow of death that had shrouded Xishi Village finally dissipated.

After the initial euphoria and awe of surviving the catastrophe, the villagers were gradually overcome by a deeper sense of exhaustion and bewilderment.

They cleaned up their cluttered courtyards and repaired their damaged houses, but lingering terror remained on everyone's faces. Their gazes would involuntarily drift toward the purified, slightly charred ground in the center of the village, as if that invisible fear had not yet fully receded.

A Xue (Ink Snow) remained unconscious, lying on the bed in her small hut, her breathing weak and her complexion so pale it was almost transparent.

Several women who had benefited from her kindness took turns looking after her, dabbing her lips with warm water, their eyes filled with worry and gratitude.

Stone kept watch by her side, never leaving an inch, his small face bearing a gravity that belied his age.

The atmosphere in the village was oppressive and silent; the usual chatter and laughter had vanished, and even the crowing of roosters and barking of dogs seemed listless.

The cyan guardian statue that had descended from the sky and mysteriously vanished became the greatest mystery and solace in the hearts of the villagers. They linked it to the unconscious A Xue, whispering privately, holding her in such high regard as a Heavenly God, yet feeling alienated and uneasy due to their inability to understand.

Amidst this oppressive silence, only the home of Old Han at the end of the village showed unusual activity.

Since returning that day, Han Erniu had seemed like a different person.

He no longer went out to play wildly with Huzi and the others, nor did he stare blankly at the sky alone; instead, he locked himself in the woodshed for most of the day.

In the corner of the woodshed lay some oddly shaped pieces of wood he had picked up over time.

Han Erniu found the hardest, finest-grained piece of old locust root, fetched his father's discarded, long-rusted carving knife, and spent an entire day grinding it with water on a whetstone until the blade could barely reflect a human image.

Then, he began.

No sketches, no hesitation.

The cold, powerful figure of that cyan guardian, the green beam of light that purified the evil, the silent, hovering, majestic posture—every detail was deeply branded into the depths of his mind like a red-hot iron, incomparably clear.

He sat cross-legged on the woodpile, using the dim daylight filtering through the window lattice, clutching the carving knife that was far too large for him with his small hands, and began to carve with extreme focus.

The knife was dull; the wood was hard.

His technique was clumsy, and his fingers were soon rubbed raw and red by the knife, even developing blisters that burst and bled, staining the wood shavings red.

Yet he seemed not to feel the pain, a flame of near-paranoia burning in his dark, bright eyes, his entire being immersed in the wood in his hands.

He had to carve it out.

He had to.

It was as if only in this way could he firmly grasp that soul-shaking scene, could he dispel the inexplicable palpitations and panic in his heart brought on by the strange movement of his birthmark and the gaze of the guardian.

Cha... cha... cha...

The monotonous sound of wood carving echoed in the silent woodshed.

Wood shavings flew, and sweat mixed with blood trickled down his temples.

He first roughly carved out the outline of a humanoid figure, then began to sculpt the details.

The faceless, smooth curved surface of the head, the vertical green light band (he painstakingly scratched a deep mark with the tip of the knife, imagining the light flickering)...

The torso and limbs covered in Dragon scale vine armor...

The spike-like transmitter at the tip of the right arm...

The honeycomb-like transmitter on the left arm...

He carved extremely slowly and extremely carefully. Whenever he encountered a part difficult to represent, he would stop the knife, close his eyes, and struggle to recall every minute detail he had seen.

The leaf-shaped birthmark on his right palm would always send out subtle, warm palpitations while he carved, as if silently guiding his blade, helping him correct the lines and make up for his lacking technique.

He did not know how long he had been carving; he forgot to eat, forgot to drink.

Outside, the sky darkened and brightened, brightened and darkened.

Finally, on the evening of the third day, when the last bit of afterglow shone through the window crack and happened to fall on the wood carving that had taken initial shape, Han Erniu stopped his almost numb arms.

It was finished.

A wood carving about a foot tall stood silently in his palm.

The craftsmanship was undoubtedly very rough and immature; many details could only be considered captured in spirit but not in form.

But strangely, this wood carving naturally exuded a cold, solemn, yet vibrant, unique Aura!

Especially that faceless head and that deep carved mark—staring at it for a long time made one feel as if an invisible gaze was looking back.

Han Erniu looked at his work, and for the first time, an expression of relief and satisfaction appeared on his dirty little face.

He carefully wiped the shavings off the wood carving with his sleeve, as if holding a peerless treasure.

Just then—

Creak, the door of the woodshed was pushed open gently.

Stone stood at the door, timidly holding a bowl of thin porridge and a small dish of pickles.

He had been entrusted by the adults in the village to see what was wrong with Han Erniu, who hadn't appeared for several days and was holed up in the woodshed.

Er... Erniu brother? Stone whispered, his gaze immediately drawn to the strange wood carving in Han Erniu's hand.

What was that? It looked so strange... but also a bit... familiar?

Stone blinked, and suddenly remembered!

That faceless head! Those patterns on the body! Although it was carved from wood and was very rough, it was clearly that... that green guardian from that day!

This... this is... Stone opened his mouth in surprise, his hand holding the bowl unsteady.

Han Erniu looked up, saw Stone, was stunned for a moment, then shyly hid the wood carving in his arms, muttering: It's... it's nothing, I was just carving it for fun.

But Stone had already rushed over in a few steps, his eyes wide, staring fixedly at the wood carving, his voice trembling with excitement: It's it! It's that guardian! Erniu brother, you carved it! You actually managed to carve it!

The child's exclamation drew several nearby villagers.

They curiously gathered at the door of the woodshed, and when they saw the wood carving in Han Erniu's hand, they all showed expressions of shock and awe.

It looks like it! It really looks like it!

Good heavens, does this kid Erniu have this skill?

Isn't this carving the Heavenly God that saved our village?!

The news spread like wildfire through the small village.

Soon, the small courtyard of Old Han's house was crowded with villagers who had heard the news.

People looked at the rough but spiritually remarkable wood carving in Han Erniu's hand, discussing spiritedly, their eyes filled with wonder, awe, and an indescribable... sense of solace.

Although the powerful guardian had departed, its majestic image had been kept by a child in the simplest way possible.

Looking at this wood carving, it was as if one could feel that reassuring power again.

I don't know who started it first, but the villagers spontaneously took out eggs, bacon, and freshly ground flour that they were reluctant to eat at home, and gently placed them in front of Han Erniu's house as offerings to this statue, and as gratitude for Han Erniu's Divine Power.

Han Erniu was frightened by this scene, hugging the wood carving, at a loss.

Old Han and his wife were even more surprised and suspicious, looking at their quiet son who had suddenly become the center of attention, as if meeting him for the first time.

And no one noticed that on the outskirts of the crowd, A Xue (Ink Snow), who had been unconscious for several days, had unknowingly opened her eyes slightly.

She was extremely weak, struggling even to move her eyeballs, but her perception clearly saw Han Erniu, who was surrounded by the crowd, hugging the green vine guard wood carving.

Her gaze swept over the rough but vibrant wood carving and finally landed on Han Erniu's nervous yet faintly glowing young face, and his right hand, scarred from gripping the carving knife, yet still unconsciously protecting the wood carving.

In the depths of her nearly exhausted consciousness, a ripple, weak to the extreme, gently spread.

That wood carving... the mark on that child's palm...

And that... bottle... banished by the will of the stars...

Broken clues, in that residue of wisdom that transcended the Mortal, seemed to be outlining some earth-shattering silhouette.

The threads of Karma, at this moment, quietly intertwined, tying an inconspicuous but crucial knot.

An ordinary cowherd boy, a rough wood carving.

An obsession rooted in protection, a Legacy of inspiration that transcended the boundaries of reality and illusion.

In this garden of consciousness, an epic about Mortals and Cultivation had sown its first seed.

Just waiting for time to water it, to blossom and bear fruit.