In his youth, he became a young swordsman feared by everyone in the martial world. In his prime, he married and had children, and because the Mojia’s eldest son was still alive, he lived quietly with his family in the mountains, peaceful for a lifetime. His life’s trajectory had completely changed.
Without Zhuixi’s appearance, his life would have been calm and ordinary.
Returning to the divine realm and completing the task, I didn’t feel the expected melancholy. Perhaps simplicity is the best life. Not everyone believes that a dramatic life maximizes one’s value; ordinariness is also valid. If Mojun Qing could choose again, he might still prefer this peaceful life.
In his hundred-year lifespan, I never saw Gouhun appear by his side again.
Returning to my residence as the sunset painted everything orange-red, I yawned, thinking I could have a good night’s sleep.
As soon as this thought crossed my mind, someone walked out from the neighboring wooden house.
Gouhun.
His voice carried a hint of absurdity under the sunset’s glow. The first time I saw him was also at such a time.
I turned to go back inside.
Gouhun leaped in front of me: “You didn’t need to do that. After sending Zhuixi to be reborn, Mojun Qing won’t remember anything between you.”
Indeed, he won’t remember. Our divine appearance doesn’t belong to this time and space. Even if Zhuixi wasn’t reborn, no matter how much we loved and suffered, once the task ended, my memories would be completely stripped from his mind, not a trace remaining. But I still wanted to do it, whether to make him feel better then or for myself.
But I don’t regret saying those words at all.
It was like speaking to myself more than to others.
I looked at him coldly: “Is my task complete? Completed. If not completed, would it deduct Gouhun’s salary? No…”
Before finishing, Gouhun’s hands suddenly slid over my shoulders, embracing me and whispering by my ear: “Rebirth, let’s start over.”
