— When Qi Shejiang saw Meng Laoyezi, he was astonished, excited, and tears flowed; everyone witnessed it. To cover up his true inheritance, Qi Shejiang had fabricated a backstory, but now his emotions were on the verge of collapse, hard to believe, and there was no extra thought to continue spinning lies. He almost spoke to himself, “I don’t know… how could it be… He Tian isn’t already… there are others…”
He Tian, upon hearing this name, those in the know became more certain. Very few people knew Meng Laoyezi’s real name now; let alone the volume of information revealed in his words, believing that “He Tian” was already dead.
This perspective was entirely one that could only belong to Qi master. Meng Laoyezi staggered forward, grabbing Qi Shejiang’s hand: “I’m not dead, I was fortunately rescued and survived, changing my name and living! Are you really… are you really my senior brother’s disciple? Did he speak of me to you?” Qi Shejiang stared intently at Meng Laoyezi, finding it hard to express his current feelings.
He wanted joy, how fortunate it was, to meet an old friend across time, yet the old friend was a stranger; he also wanted to grieve, but did not dare to cry out loud, his heart felt as if it were being cut by knives. “…That summer after they got separated, he waited in Juncheng for someone from the master’s sect, saving enough money to go out and inquire about the whereabouts of the army that took them away. Later, he contracted typhoid fever and accidentally ended up in a completely unfamiliar place, with not a single person he knew. He… he recovered from his illness, but he also passed away.” That Qi Shejiang passed away eighty years ago. Old Master Meng was crying inconsolably, “Senior Brother—!!” He pounded his chest and stomped his feet, utterly losing his composure, and the voice that squeezed out from his throat was filled with pain.
