Chapter 116 Feeling guilty, even gods and Buddhas do not appear; the sea of ​​suffering is boundless.

Zhou Yaren, who was riding the wind, knew that the flowing clouds could not hold back a smiling man for a moment. He fled Ruicheng with his last breath, carrying the death umbrella and leaping over the crisscrossing hundred-foot ravines. He had long since lost track of where he had escaped to. His chest was churning as if it were about to explode, and even breathing brought waves of pain.

As he inhaled, a mouthful of blood gushed from his throat. The previously concentrated gust of wind, powerless to resist, scattered and dissipated. Zhou Yaren lost his footing and plummeted downwards, having lost all support. In his panic, he tried to gather the wind's force to prop himself up, but his internal organs began to ache sharply, as if countless copper needles were piercing his entire body, densely embedded in his flesh, making every breath excruciatingly painful, as if he were being tortured.

As she crashed to the ground, Zhou Yaren abruptly curled up and clutched the Death Umbrella tightly. Her meridians and internal organs ached terribly, and her ears were ringing incessantly, as if thousands of male cicadas were singing wildly in unison.

Zhou Yaren gritted his teeth, struggling to get up, but his injured left leg felt as heavy as a thousand pounds, dragging him to his knees.

Whether it was anxiety or some other emotion welling up, Zhou Yaren felt a stinging sensation in his nose and his eyes swell with heat. He took a deep breath, trying to suppress this overwhelming emotion, but the breath he inhaled felt like a steel needle piercing his lungs, causing his eyes to well up with tears that he couldn't suppress at all.

He couldn't walk anymore.

He was forced onto a dead end, having reached the end of his rope.

Dragging this crippled body... it's really pathetic.

Many times, he was powerless in this way, whether he was imprisoned, his grandmother and uncle were killed by the Gu Master, Lu Bing was missing, Bai Yuan was slaughtered by Qiu Jue Dao, or even now and in this place—no matter how hard he tried, he was ultimately powerless.

He could no longer walk, so he couldn't even protect himself with an umbrella.

Zhou Yaren rubbed her damp eyelashes, enduring the excruciating pain, and groped her way to a rough tree trunk.

The cracked old tree bark was a bit rough to the touch. He leaned against it, panting, and pulled out a porcelain bottle from his pocket. Completely disregarding the dosage, he poured out a handful and fed it into his mouth.

He didn't mind the bitterness; he chewed up the blood and swallowed it, then went to pry open the lame leg, tore off a piece of his clothes and wrapped it around the knee as tightly as possible to stop the bleeding.

Zhou Yaren quickly finished these tasks, found a slightly thicker branch to use as a crutch, and then focused all her attention on her ears, struggling to sit up.

At this moment, apart from the shrill cicada chirps, he could finally hear some sounds from his surroundings again.

It turned out that he had fled into a mountain in his panic.

Zhou Yaren had some knowledge of geography. The mountains and rivers of Jin were both strategically important and difficult to traverse. This was the southern wing of the mountains and rivers that formed the border between Jin and Jin—the Zhongtiao Mountains.

The mountain range begins in Puzhou, ends at Taihang, is bordered by the Sushui River to the north, and runs along the Yellow River to the south, connecting the treacherous peaks of Fen and Jin, stretching for hundreds of miles, and is known as the Ling'e Mountains.

Jiezhou in Hedong Circuit relied on the natural defenses of Zhongtiao Mountain and the advantages of the salt lakes. Salt boats often transported salt across the Sushui River to the Yellow River and delivered it to various places.

Zhou Yaren smelled a strong pine resin scent, indicating that there must be a pine forest nearby.

The fine pine needles brushed against his clothes, and he heard the crisp sound of a dry branch snapping behind him.

They caught up so quickly. Zhou Yaren's back was tense as she walked through the dense forest with her cane. Just then, the Death-Reporting Umbrella in her hand transmitted a message through empathy: "There is a crevice in the rock twenty feet to the northwest."

What?

In his haste, he didn't notice when his blood stained the Death Umbrella, or when the shared feeling had formed. But he had no time to delve into it now, and followed the directions to the northwest.

At the same time, a scene suddenly appeared in Zhou Yaren's mind: the pine forest beneath his feet, except that only Bai Yuan was walking there alone. She was dressed in white, her shoulders thin, and she walked through the evergreen forest, as if guiding him.

Then Zhou Yaren saw the meadow beneath his feet, and the ancient pines and cypresses, as if the footprints were overlapping, leading him to a cliff face.

A thousand-year-old pine tree grows on the edge of the cliff, its layered crown as dense as an umbrella, its gnarled branches rugged and vigorous, its roots carving through the soil and rocks, clinging tightly to the precarious cliff face and winding their way towards the cliff wall.

"Hold on to the cliff face, step on the roots and cross over," Bai Yuan's voice rang out from the Death Umbrella. "Be careful, don't slip."

As instructed, Zhou Yaren stepped onto the thick tree roots that stretched down to the cliff. He held onto the cliff face with one hand and gripped the outstretched pine branches with the other. The dark brown branches seemed to be covered with scales, which pricked his palm.

The roots of the ancient pine tree are firmly embedded in the crevices of the cliff face, a crack in the rugged mountainside just big enough for a person to hide in, making it very secluded.

A clump of slender grass stubbornly squeezed out from the crevice of the rock, its edges sticking out against Zhou Yaren's cheek, carrying the coolness of the mountain peak.

Zhou Yaren dragged his battered body along the way, his mind tense to the extreme. His undergarments were soaked with cold sweat, sticking stickily to his skin. He tried his best to regulate his breathing, not daring to pant heavily, firstly because each breath felt like needles pricking his heart and lungs, and secondly because he was afraid of attracting the attention of the smiling man who was pursuing him.

But he was too tired. Leaning against the hard rock wall, he kept his spirits up, listening carefully to the approaching footsteps, not daring to relax his vigilance for a moment.

The faint footsteps reached the cliff and suddenly stopped.

Zhou Yaren held her breath, completely unaware of how tightly she gripped the Death Umbrella, her five fingers turning white from the force, and the veins on the back of her hand bulging out.

Just when his chest felt so tight it felt like it was going to explode, the footsteps on the cliff sounded again, heading in another direction.

Zhou Yaren leaned back against the stone wall, wearily closed her eyes, and slowly exhaled.

He didn't move, nor did he have the strength to move, and he didn't know when the smiling man would leave. He planned to wait in this crevice until nightfall.

After a long while, Zhou Yaren finally caught her breath and spoke in a murmur, "Bai Yuan, you've been here before, haven't you?!"

This is not a question, but a certainty.

Otherwise, how would she know there was a hidden crevice in the rock? It would be impossible for someone who wasn't familiar with it to know that.

The guidance he received from the "Death Umbrella" story was precisely the path that Bai Yuan had once walked.

After a moment of silence, the reporter from Death Umbrella replied, "I've been here."

With her eyes closed, Zhou Yaren, through the perspective of the Death Umbrella, looked down upon a vast expanse of lush vegetation, observed the surging Yellow River, and gazed upon the perilous Tongguan Pass.

That was the scene printed on the Death Umbrella a thousand years ago. Now, the harsh winter has just passed, the earth has not fully recovered, the greenery is not as lush as it used to be, and life has not yet fully covered this brown soil.

The land of Shanxi, with its mountains and rivers, has witnessed countless changes over the centuries. Regardless of the shifting times, the Zhongtiao Mountains have always stood majestically, unwavering and steadfast.

"What am I here for?" He was terrified that he might fall into a deep sleep and accidentally fall off the cliff, where he would surely be smashed to pieces.

A cold wind swept by, blowing away the mountain mist swirling around the Death Umbrella. A figure could be vaguely discerned amidst the verdant greenery, its steps unsteady as it staggered forward.

Whether it was because the man was too thin or his robe was too loose, he stumbled and fell forward, only to be caught by Bai Yuan in time.

He seemed unmoved and abruptly brushed Bai Yuan aside: "Don't follow me."

He was wrapped in that large outer robe, covering himself from head to toe, not even a single hair showing.

"He Yan".

Zhou Yaren heard Bai Yuan calling him.

He Yan didn't turn around, and staggered forward.

"He Yan".

The other party ignored him and didn't stop for a second.

Bai Yuan remained three or five steps behind him: "He Yan, could you...?"

"I am not He Yan!" he suddenly roared angrily, his voice low and menacing. "You said I am not He Yan!"

Bai Yuan paused, looking at him through the hazy mountain mist.

He Yan tried his best to suppress his emotions, but couldn't stop trembling: "Don't call me He Yan anymore! Why should I be called He Yan! I'm not He Yan!"

Bai Yuan fell silent.

"Go away." He said this with a near choked voice, "Don't follow me anymore."

After saying that, He Yan turned around and continued walking up the mountain path.

Bai Yuan said, "You should come with me."

He Yan ignored him and continued walking upwards.

Bai Yuan tried to stop him, but inadvertently grabbed He Yan's robe. The moment the hood covering his head and face slipped off, Zhou Yaren trembled. But before he could see clearly, the thick fog surged and blocked his vision.

However, in a fleeting glance, he clearly saw that He Yan's skin, exposed under the hood, looked like a lump of rotten flesh.

Zhou Ya was shocked: "What happened to him?"

The area around the Death Umbrella was completely silent. The morning mist swept over the dark green peaks, enveloping the forests and vegetation, with only a few pine trees faintly visible.

"A false accusation?" Zhou Yaren seemed trapped in a thick fog. "What happened?"

Suddenly, a morning bell pierced the fog, parting the layers of white veil, revealing a temple faintly visible in the mist.

Bai Yuan stood before the temple gate, his white robes almost blending into the rising mist.

Finally, a voice came from inside the death umbrella: "Stop looking."

Perhaps it was because the scenery evoked memories that, ever since entering this mountain, those past events have been uncontrollably surfacing, inevitably being spied upon by the person holding the death umbrella.

Zhou Yaren didn't understand: "Why?"

“It’s just some old stuff,” Bai Yuan said. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“I don’t think so,” Zhou Yaren asked. “Did He Yan enter the Buddhist order?”

As soon as he finished speaking, images immediately appeared in the report, without waiting for Bai Yuan's reply.

He Yan, who had covered himself in a loose robe, knelt in front of the Buddhist hall, chanting scriptures.

There's no time to cover up a grievance; once something is touched, it will spill out uncontrollably, just like how people can't control their own wild thoughts.

Bai Yuan remembered that the cold was particularly intense that day, and the mist permeated the entire Buddhist temple. She broke through the temple gate and rushed in, only to see He Yan bowing in front of the incense burner, holding a stick of burning incense sticks, which he was using to burn his forehead.

This is a kind of ordination scar, also known as an incense scar. Monks burn incense scars on their heads in order to receive pure precepts, make offerings to the Buddhas, sever attachments, and eliminate karmic obstacles.

Bai Yuan snatched the incense from his hand.

"Give it to me!" He Yan lunged forward, tearing open his wide robe in the struggle, revealing his face and head, which were already burned beyond recognition.

He Yan's black hair was shaved off, and his head and face were covered with repeated burn scars. Not an inch of intact skin could be found. Bai Yuan could no longer recognize his original face.

It was a face that could be described as terrifying. No, not only his face, but also his neck, hands, or even his body, had been burned by the incense in front of the Buddhist temple every day, which was why he had become such a terrifying appearance that even ghosts would be terrified of.

At that moment, Bai Yuan, who was usually calm and composed, almost lost her composure. Looking at He Yan like this, her eyes were filled with unbearable pain, heartache, and pity.

"Doesn't it hurt?" Bai Yuan asked. "Why did you burn yourself like this?"

On the way there, she heard a woodcutter at the foot of the mountain say that there was a demon dressed in monk's robes in the dilapidated temple on the mountaintop. It rang the bell and chanted sutras every day. It looked very scary, as if it had climbed up from purgatory to the human world.

So rumors gradually spread in the village that it was the spirit of a monk who had been cremated before his death.

At first glance, with its dense scars and varying depths of incense holes, He Yan indeed resembled a charred walking corpse.

He prostrated himself before the Buddha, trembling as he confessed, "I am guilty, I am guilty..."

"So you'll burn yourself to atone for your sins?"

A string of blisters immediately appeared on his freshly permed forehead. He Yan prostrated himself on the ground, then knocked the blisters open, revealing the tender, scarlet flesh: "I am guilty, I am deeply guilty, I am guilty, my sins are unforgivable..."

Bai Yuan's eyes were filled with pity: "He Yan..."

He Yan's personality changed drastically: "No, I am not, I am not He Yan, I am A Zhaosu, A Zhaosu is guilty, A Zhaosu's sins are unforgivable."

Bai Yuan stood frozen for a long time: "I thought I was helping you." She still remembered the dashing He Yan when they first met, and never imagined that he would become like this. "I never thought I would harm you."

He Yan kowtowed to the ground and knelt before the Buddha for a long time without getting up.

“Human hearts are so fragile; madness can happen in the blink of an eye, one thought leading to heaven or the other to hell,” Zhou Yaren heard Bai Yuan say. “I pushed him into hell.”

“He could have been He Yan, He Yan for a lifetime.” Peaceful and secure, knowing nothing and bearing nothing, it was her oversight, Bai Yuan said calmly. “Similarly, today, you are Zhou Yaren. All the past, A Zhaosu, He Yan, Guanlan, are irrelevant to Zhou Yaren today.”

“So that’s why,” Zhou Yaren finally understood why Bai Yuan had been so tight-lipped about everything concerning A Zhaosu. “You’re unwilling to tell me because you’re afraid I’ll end up like He Yan.”

Zhou Yaren's only feeling was that Bai Yuan was protecting him, fearing that he would destroy himself like He Yan.

However, the hardships he endured in this life were not in vain, and he believed he would not follow in He Yan's footsteps.

There was no response to the report about the death umbrella.

He Yan was too upright, a true gentleman who saw things in black and white and hated evil. He held a supreme moral standard in his heart, which he would rather break than bend.

Only after experiencing this did Bai Yuan understand this principle: people who are too kind cannot bear the darkest truth and sins, because the overwhelming guilt will completely destroy them.

She would often recall He Yan's appearance back then, kneeling before the temple of gods and Buddhas, his face burned beyond recognition by incense sticks.

But in the end, even the gods and Buddhas could not save him.

Bai Yuan's gaze was fixed on the compassionate face of the statue. She did not tell He Yan that in this world, gods and Buddhas do not appear, the sea of ​​suffering is boundless, and one can only save oneself; no one can save another.