160: Chapter 16 Remains in the Desert

The heat waves were alive.

They crawled over the ridges of the dunes, like layers of transparent, writhing tongues, licking away the last vestiges of moisture between heaven and earth.

The air trembled, the scenery distorted; as far as the eye could see, there was only a dead, scorched-yellow infinity.

This was a corner forgotten by life, where even the wind was too lazy to moan.

Right in the center of this scorching inferno, a white dot was abruptly embedded in the gravel.

Closer up, it was a white robe long since stained a filthy brown by blood and sand.

The person wearing it lay on his back, the rise and fall of his chest so faint it was almost imperceptible.

His features were indeed ordinary, the kind you'd lose in a crowd in the blink of an eye.

Yet that frame of his could truly bear the word 'burly'.

Only now, this burly body was twisted at unnatural angles.

His left arm was bent backwards grotesquely at his side, and the bone of his right calf had likely already pierced through the flesh, creating a terrifying bulge against the fabric of his trousers.

He was Chen Zilong.

The blood had long dried, caking into deep black scabs under the intense heat, clinging to his skin like an additional, cruel suit of armor.

His face was frighteningly pale, not snow-white, but the ashen grey of something utterly devoid of life.

His lips were cracked open with bloody fissures, some parts already festering, the edges curling with dead skin.

He just lay there, the sand beneath him warmed by his body heat, then scorched by the blazing sun, over and over again.

Leaving the Xuantian Sect, leaving the Heavenly Domain, had been his own choice.

For a person, someone whose very name made his heart tremble—Tu Shan Xiaoxiao.

That little fox spirit who always loved to drag out her words, calling him 'Senior Brother' in that charming, coquettish tone.

She lay there, like a soulless jade statue, her breathing so faint it seemed it might cease at any moment.

To save her, he needed an eighth-grade high-level nirvana blood fusion pill.

And the only place that could teach him to refine such a heaven-defying pill was the Pill Mansion in the Central Domain.

As the light of the Ancient Teleportation Array swallowed him, he still carried a lock of Xiaoxiao's snow-white hair in his embrace.

Then came the nightmare.

A spatial storm.

It wasn't wind at all, but countless invisible, violent, giant hands trying to tear the intruder into the most primal particles.

His protective spiritual light shattered like paper, the screams of his fellow travelers instantly devoured by the void.

That he survived at all relied on sheer stubborn will and that cultivation which defied the world.

The 'Nine Heavens Thunder Control True Canon' tempered his bones with heavenly lightning, the 'Heaven Swallowing Demonic Art' refined his qi by devouring all evil, and then, using the compassionate yet domineering heart method of the 'Vajra Demon Subduing Scripture', he transformed the overwhelming demonic energy into radiant Buddhist light, forging it into his very being.

The true methods of Dao, Demonic, and Buddhist paths had achieved a precarious yet indestructible balance within him, forging the legendary Vajra Indestructible Body.

But 'indestructible' was, after all, relative.

The power of the storm exceeded the limit.

He heard the dull sound of his own bones breaking, like dry branches being crushed by immense force.

He felt the excruciating pain as his meridians were torn apart inch by inch by the violent spatial turbulence.

Most terrifying was his primordial spirit, the very foundation of a cultivator. It was like crystal struck hard by a heavy hammer, riddled with cracks.

His Nascent Soul Early Stage cultivation... was gone.

Not hidden, but truly, completely, without a trace, dissipated in this dead, silent desert.

His primordial spirit was severely wounded, slumbering deep within his Sea of Consciousness, its presence barely perceptible.

Now, even moving a little finger felt like trying to move a mountain.

His consciousness swung back and forth between the burning agony and the bone-piercing cold.

During the day, the sun was a branding iron hanging overhead, determined to wring out the last drop of moisture and sanity from him.

At night, bitter cold descended abruptly. The sand rapidly lost its heat, and the chill pierced like needles through his myriad wounds, straight into his marrow.

The sun rose and the moon set, he didn't know how many times.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes dragged back to a sliver of awareness by pain or extreme temperatures.

On the thumb of his right hand, that ancient storage ring was still there.

Inside, pills, spirit stones, and magical treasures were piled mountain-high.

But now, he couldn't muster even a wisp of divine sense to open it.

He could only watch, feel his life trickling away like sand in an hourglass.

"Is this it?"

In his dazed state, a thought surfaced, light as a feather yet heavy as a thousand pounds. "This godforsaken patch of sand is to be Chen Zilong's grave?"

It hurt too much.

The pain seeping from the gaps in his bones, the pain drilling out from the cracks in his primordial spirit.

His eyelids felt like lead, slowly closing once more.

Darkness surged in, bringing a hint of cool relief.

The darkness did not last.

Light. Gentle light, carrying warmth, soothing every inch of his aching nerves.

The babbling sound of water, clear birdsong, and...

Familiar laughter.

Chen Zilong opened his 'eyes'.

He found himself standing in a peach blossom grove.

Petals fell like rain, pink and white, the air filled with a fresh, sweet fragrance mingled with the scent of grass and damp earth.

In the distance was a bamboo cottage, its fence overgrown with unknown vines bearing small purple flowers.

"Long'er!"

A call, gentle and familiar, carrying the unique, anxiety-soothing magic of a mother.

He turned and saw Ji Fuyao standing beneath a tree in full bloom, smiling at him, her eyes crinkled with kindness.

His father, Chen Xuan, stood beside her, hands clasped behind his back, his usually stern face wearing a rare, relaxed smile.

"Husband!"

"Senior Brother!"

"Zilong!"

More voices flooded in from all directions.

Liu Mei, his master and the wife who had walked through life with him, dressed in plain robes, cool and clear as the moon, yet now her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

Eldest Senior Sister Ye Qingxi, her red robes like fire, her face always radiating heroic spirit...

Now held only pure joy as she ran over, her skirt fluttering.

Lu Bingyun, that woman as cool as ice who had just confirmed their Dao Companion relationship with him, stood by the stream a little further away, lips pressed together, her eyes holding shyness and an emotion so thick it seemed tangible.

The two women, Jin Mei, his confidantes—one gentle and graceful, the other lively and charming—stood hand in hand, waving vigorously at him.

And Li Chenger, Ding Shuyao, Ye Bingli...

His concubines, leaning or standing, some pouting, some laughing.

Everyone was vivid and bright, their eyes reflecting his image.

Everyone was here.

Parents, lovers, confidantes.

No pain, no separation, no damned spatial storm or endless desert.

Only perfection, only peace, only the image of home he had fought with everything to protect.

"E-everyone?!"

Chen Zilong murmured, his voice hoarse.

He looked down at himself. His white robes were clean, his posture upright, all his injuries gone without a trace.

Was this a dream?

Yet the sensations were so real, the floral scent so clear, everyone's warmth seemed to transmit through the air.

"Wasn't I... supposed to be..."

His confused thoughts were interrupted.

His gaze was involuntarily drawn deeper into the peach grove.

There, beneath a peach tree, stood a graceful figure in green.

Her back was to him, her skirt swaying gently in the breeze.

That waterfall of snow-white hair, amidst the shower of pink and white petals, was so dazzling it hurt his eyes.

That silhouette...

Was too familiar.

So familiar it filled every gap between heartbeats.

So familiar that even with a shattered primordial spirit and muddled consciousness, her outline could be instantly sketched in the deepest part of his soul.

Blood seemed to rush to his head in an instant, only to freeze solid a moment later.