Chapter 143, Day Three: Harvest
Day three.
In a remote, mountainous area.
Qingyu and Wenchuan walked hand in hand on the road, with vast fields in the distance. They chatted and laughed occasionally, and everything seemed so peaceful.
"What did you say you wanted to do in the future?"
Qingyu was walking ahead carrying Wenchuan on her back. As she finished speaking, the woman twirled her skirt, facing Wenchuan. She walked backward step by step, looking up at him and smiling, her eyebrows and eyes curving with a charming smile.
Wen Chuan smiled, and the young man took her hand and followed her step by step, "Open a wood carving workshop... or a bookstore, oh, perhaps Madam would like me to open a jewelry store too?"
"If you have that kind of money, then go ahead and open it. I don't believe you."
Wen Chuan smiled and pulled her close, holding her hand as they walked side by side. "There's no need for you to worry, Madam. I have my own way."
Qingyu smiled, her bright eyes sparkling with laughter. Seeing no one around, she tiptoed and kissed his lips, then pushed him away briefly before laughing again.
“Okay, then I’ll wait for my husband to make his business bigger and better, and bring the money to me.”
Wen Chuan smiled, moved closer to Qing Yu, forehead to forehead, and said,
"Of course. If you like, I will study the ways of business diligently and make a fortune."
Qingyu laughed, "Hmph, then I've got the capital... I'll open a flower shop next to your shop and keep you company every day."
Wen Chuan couldn't help but laugh, "Okay, let's do it together."
Qingyu smiled, and the woman stepped back in an instant, turning back to take Wenchuan's hand and walk forward. Breathing in the fresh air, they chatted and laughed, as if everything was so wonderful.
"Wen Chuan, why did you save me back then?"
"Hmm...maybe you're just too stubborn. You even tore my new fishing net..."
"Hahaha, what were you thinking back then? Were you thinking, 'Where did this ugly sea monster come from?'"
Wen Chuan looked at her and smiled, "No, I wasn't thinking about anything."
During that period, his memory had only recently returned, and he felt somewhat dazed every day. Life after life had passed, and even immortals could not withstand the vicissitudes of time.
Qingyu frowned, then smiled and asked him with a puzzled look, "I've always wanted to ask this, you said you were an immortal from a thousand years ago... So, after you died, did you open your eyes as an infant?"
If you calculate it that way... it feels like Wen Chuan is much older than her... more than twenty years.
Wen Chuan unconsciously smiled, sighed softly, and then said gently to her, "When I was young, I often dreamed that I was either practicing swordsmanship or traveling. I was wondering... could it be that I was a powerful swordsman in my past life?"
"Later, my father had an accident at sea, and my mother's health was always poor. She passed away not long after that."
"At that time, I was about twelve or thirteen years old, and I vaguely remembered something. It seemed that I had forgotten a lot of things."
“When I was around fourteen, Qin Tianshu came. He said I was a cultivator, and I didn’t deny it. I knew I was, otherwise Cai Cai wouldn’t have survived the chicken plague.”
"I remember almost everything from when I was sixteen—"
"I met you on the day of Lichun (the beginning of spring) when I turned seventeen."
Having walked through a complete cycle of spring and autumn with her, he, at the age of eighteen, once again set foot on the Nine Provinces. On the Tianshan Mountains, in the ancient desert, the young man walked out with his sword in hand.
Whether she's an immortal or a mortal, he wants to walk with her through life.
Qingyu listened attentively to him, occasionally smiling, feeling that everything in this world was truly unpredictable.
"After regaining my memories, I also thought, sigh, I really am a powerful sword cultivator."
"Perhaps I was just too amazing, so God granted me another life."
"He gave me the opportunity to meet you."
“He gave me, you.”
His tone was light and smiling, ending gently and softly. Qingyu was amused. She hugged his waist, looked up and leaned against his chest, laughing, "Wen Chuan, Wen Chuan, Wen Gu Yueheng, Wen Gu Yueheng..."
She read it slowly as Wen Chuan hugged her tighter.
"I like you. Tell me quickly, do you like me too?"
Wen Chuan smiled, lowered his head, touched his forehead with hers, and gazed at her gently.
"I don't like you, Qingyu, I don't like you."
He spoke so earnestly, so affectionately, that Qingyu smiled with her eyes lowered. The woman's long eyelashes fluttered, and the corners of her lips curved upwards. With a gentle movement, they first looked at each other, then closed their eyes together, letting this rare affection intertwine with tranquility.
Under the gentle light of the sky, on the green mountain path, in a secluded spot, they kissed for a long, long time.
In the blink of an eye, a single tear fell onto the young man's collarbone, seeping into his heart—
A hazy, rosy glow; evening had arrived.
They watched countless sunsets together, some beautiful, some not so beautiful, some wonderful, some not so wonderful.
But what she remembered most vividly was that year when she returned from her cultivation by the sea, Wen Chuan walked out of the kitchen in the courtyard. His eyes lit up slightly, and then he smiled at her.
A magnificent sunset glow, wispy clouds, the aroma of cooking fires filling the air, a gentle sea breeze caressing the face, and amidst the distant sound of waves, he softly calls out.
"Qingyu".
Qingyu lowered her eyes and saw the young man tidying up her sword sheath and immortal sword. Gently, he was already standing in front of her, smiling at her.
Qingyu stared at him, and for a moment her vision blurred. She asked,
"Are you done?"
"alright."
He was still so gentle. Qingyu smiled unconsciously, a smile that was inexplicably bright and happy, just like when she came back and heard Wen Chuan say that dinner was ready. She thought, "How wonderful, Wen Chuan, you are so wonderful."
Unbeknownst to me, tears fell and blood flowed, the immortal sword piercing my heart.
Following the tip of the sword, piercing through her chest, the young man approached her step by step, until the ground was filled with the stench of blood, but Qingyu only felt an unbearable saltiness in her throat.
Her hand holding the sword was very steady, so steady that in the end, Wen Chuan grasped her wrist tightly, warm and moist.
Finally, he looked at her and smiled.
"Qingyu,"
"I love you."
God gave me a lifetime of confusion, but you gave me love.
My path, Qingyu, is both ordinary and extraordinary, to the point that I cannot discern it.
Even when you are beside me, I cannot discern it; yet, it is precisely because you are beside me that I am able to understand the Tao.
The nameless one desires to become a god by borrowing the spirit of the nine stars and absorbing the blood of the nine provinces.
If you wish to become a god, you must gather the cultivation of all paths and grasp the essence of the immortals' way.
Qingyu, only I, only my sword, only my life, can help you absorb all the myriad paths of this world and become a god.
Kill me, Qingyu. Only if you kill me can I truly dedicate my life to the righteous path and transform my heart into a sword.
Qingyu, you often say that you don't have a favorite weapon and always use grass and wood as swords, doing whatever you feel like.
But do you know what? At that time, I longed for it, and I was certain of it, even eternally aware of it in my heart—
Qingyu, I am your sword.
It has been like this for a long time.
Keep moving forward, Qingyu.
With my Daoist heart.
My love for you.
...
Before anyone knew it, darkness fell, and only two hours remained until the three-day deadline.
That was destined to be an eerily calm first half of the night.
Qingyu carried her sword and walked and walked, until she lost track of where she was.
It was so dark that night; even the moon was dim and lifeless.
Until one day, she came to a field.
An old man sat on the edge of the field, with a hoe and a water bottle beside him. He was smoking a pipe and wearing a straw hat. Even though it was late at night, he refused to leave.
In the distance, he saw the woman.
The old man exhaled a puff of smoke and said to her, "Young lady, it's late, you should go home."
Qingyu stopped and smiled, "Grandpa, why don't you go home?"
The night wind grew stronger. The old man's feet were in the mud, and his straw hat covered his head. Although he was looking up, his face could not be seen. If you think about it carefully, it was even a little strange.
"It's July, I'm waiting for the harvest."
He spoke, his voice seemingly the most ordinary timbre in the world, carrying laughter and the essence of life.
Qingyu was somewhat puzzled, "A bumper harvest?"
"Haha, you must not understand, child. The rice planted in spring will be ripe soon."
"If I come tomorrow, I'm afraid I won't have a chance to collect it,"
"Sit here on either side and watch over them."
Spring fields, double-cropping rice—time flies so fast; in the blink of an eye, it's almost harvest time.
As he spoke, the old man smiled again, "Ah, I've farmed all my life, and in the end, I still feel most at ease with these fields and the land itself."
Qingyu looked at the old man, and unconsciously said calmly, "Farming is very tiring."
Under the scorching sun, they wielded hoes, checked for rat holes, planted seedlings, drew water, irrigated, and leveled the land. Finally, large drops of sweat dripped down their faces. Looking up, they realized there were still many plants left to be planted.
She remembers it being very tiring.
Tired, and ordinary.
The old man smiled and said, "You don't feel that way during the harvest season, but once you hold these golden grains in your hand, you'll know that it's all worth it."
"Young lady, have you ever farmed?"
Qingyu paused for a moment, reminiscing about the past in the darkness.
She said, "I've grown vegetables and I've also watched people grow rice."
"Really? Then you must have seen what a harvest looks like. It is truly the most beautiful sight in the world."
Qingyu lowered her eyes, feeling regret and pain in a daze, lost and unsure of where to go.
"No, no, we haven't had a chance... to see what the harvest looks like yet."
"Hahaha, it's alright, it's alright, you've already planted them,"
The strange old man smiled and waved his hand, optimistically comforting Qingyu, "It's planted, just wait and see. Once it's planted, there will naturally be a bountiful harvest in the future."
"Take it slow. The worst thing you can do with this is to be impatient. Take it slow."
Qingyu looked up, and the woman gazed at him. "What if there's no time left?"
The old man seemed somewhat puzzled. He said,
"If you planted them seriously, how could you not have time?"
"Look, the time is almost up—"
"Child, don't cry."
"The harvest is just around the corner."
...
Quietly, the sky was getting dark, which also meant that a new day was about to begin.
Qingyu looked up at the sky for a moment, then focused again. The old man was no longer in the field—only a stalk of golden rice lay there, quiet and dazzling, as if it could illuminate the night forever.
Everyone is waiting for the harvest; everyone is waiting for these golden grains.
That is the common people, the brilliant and radiant common people who grow from the mud.
How can one enter the Tao without entering the mundane world?
All paths are silent, yet the world resounds with strength.
A woman walks through this world carrying the wisdom and heart of millions.
She was wondering where her path lay.
What kind of path can govern all paths?
The stars in the sky, the mud on the ground, or perhaps, you and me?
The night breeze was still, and the moon was high in the sky.
In an instant, she looked up.
In the sky, as dark as ink, one star after another shone.
They told her gently.
Time is up.
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