Chapter 349 One Side
The wind and snow in the Northern Frontier remained unchanged, and eight hundred years of time passed like the snap of a finger.
Zhao Xin stood at the summit of the snowy mountain. Beneath his feet was a ten-thousand-foot precipice.
The cold wind whipped up his grayish-white long hair, revealing a face that remained handsome but was now etched with fine wrinkles.
"Has it... come to an end..."
He lowered his head to look at his own palm. Faint black energy coiled between his palm lines—that was the Dao injury left behind from forcibly exiting seclusion back then.
Over eight hundred years, this injury not only failed to heal, but like a maggot attached to the bone, it bit by bit devoured his vitality.
Curling cooking smoke was faintly visible at the foot of the mountain. That was the "Cold Moon Sect" established by Zhao Xue, which had now developed into the number one sect in the Northern Frontier. Thinking of that baby girl who once held his sword tip and giggled, now being the "Cold Moon Fairy" who shook the Spiritual Realm, the corner of Zhao Xin's mouth lifted slightly.
Unlike his conservatism, Zhao Xue widely accepted disciples, allowing them to spread their influence and flourish.
Over eight hundred years, the path of cultivation swept through the Spiritual Realm like a wildfire. Large and small cultivation sects sprang up like bamboo shoots after rain, while the once-glorious Martial Way gradually degenerated into a trick for mortals.
After the Heavenly Frost Dynasty was destroyed, Great Yan and Azure Mystery also successively became the dust of history. In today's Spiritual Realm, mortal nations are scattered like stars, and behind every nation stands the shadow of a cultivator, more or less.
Some dynasties are even directly controlled by cultivation families, with emperors being mere puppets.
But all of this had nothing to do with Zhao Xin anymore.
He slowly sat cross-legged on the snow and took out an ice crystal from his bosom. Sealed within the ice crystal was a small snow lotus—that was personally picked for him by Zhao Xue when she successfully broke through to the Profound Mystical Realm.
For eight hundred years, he had always been warming and nourishing it with spiritual power, so that it would never wither.
"Cultivating for eight hundred years, I have watched the seas turn into mulberry fields..."
Zhao Xin sighed lightly and placed the ice crystal beside him.
In the distance, the setting sun sank, and the last ray of golden light spilled onto the snow, stretching his shadow very, very long.
Eight hundred years of time was enough for a dynasty to rise and fall, enough for an infant to grow into a giant of a region, and enough for an ordinary cultivator to finish his journey on the Dao.
The cold wind blew past, rolling up a few snowflakes that landed on his shoulder.
Zhao Xin did not brush them away. He just quietly gazed into the distance, gazing at this heaven and earth that he had once guarded and personally changed.
...
On the ruins of the North Pole Immortal Sect, swept by wind and snow, that hundred-zhang-high statue of the North Pole Immortal still had an indiscernible face, standing quietly and overlooking all living beings.
Zhao Xin dragged his heavy steps and slowly knelt before the statue. The accumulated snow made a fine cracking sound beneath his knees.
"Unfilial disciple Zhao Xin..."
His voice was hoarser than the north wind.
"I pay respects to the Immortal Venerable."
The instant his forehead touched the ground, memories from more than nine hundred years ago came flooding back.
At that time, tired of the endless disputes in the martial world, he met that ethereal figure beyond that sea area.
Subsequently, the Immortal pointed a finger, and his spiritual platform opened; the Immortal brushed his sleeve and smiled, and he beheld longevity.
"The disciple was favored by the Immortal Venerable and bestowed with the Great Dao of Longevity..."
Zhao Xin trembled, feeling the rapid loss of vitality within his body:
"Yet ultimately... I let my Dao Heart be blinded by blood feud."
Snow particles fell on his brows and lashes, turning into water droplets that rolled down.
In a trance, it was impossible to distinguish whether it was snow or tears.
"If I had not forcibly broken the barrier back then, perhaps..."
His withered fingers dug deep into the snow; the bone-chilling cold was felt not at all.
"I would have been able to see the scenery the Immortal Venerable saw."
The statue's face remained hidden in the clouds and mist, without joy or sorrow.
Yet Zhao Xin seemed to see the appearance of the Immortal shaking his head and sighing lightly back then.
He suddenly coughed violently, and bloodstains in his palm bloomed like red plums on the white snow.
"The disciple is unwilling!"
He threw his head back abruptly, his grayish-white long hair dancing wildly in the wind.
"For these eight hundred years, I repaired the sect ruins, re-established the golden body of the Immortal Venerable, and even..."
His voice suddenly lowered.
"I even sailed to that sea area countless times, but no matter what, I could never walk out of that fog again..."
Zhao Xin stooped his spine, looking like an old pine tree about to topple over.
"The disciple dares not hope to pick up the Great Dao again."
"If it is possible... I beg the Immortal Venerable..."
He suddenly kowtowed heavily.
"Please meet your disciple one more time."
"Even if just telling me... the scenery of that world, or even... just glimpsing a wisp of it... the disciple will be satisfied."
The final trailing note dissipated in the wind.
Zhao Xin did not stand up. He was already prepared to pass away sitting here; this would be his final resting place.
And just at this moment—
The curtain of snow before his eyes suddenly twisted.
The last snowflake, not yet landed, froze in mid-air, and ripples appeared on the fingertips of the statue which held a flower.
In the dizziness of time and space reversing, he vaguely saw himself breaking through layers of heavy fog nine hundred years ago, and the back of that figure standing with hands behind their back in the mist.
His feet felt solid ground, and the fragrance of green grass rushed toward his face.
Zhao Xin staggered half a step to steady himself, his pupils suddenly contracting—
Flowers and grass all over the mountains and plains swayed in the wind. In the center of the sea of flowers stood a wooden cabin that could not be more ordinary.
Two kingfishers perched on the thatched roof, and many chess pieces were scattered around the chessboard on the wooden stake outside the house.
Such a scene should have been ordinary, yet it inexplicably made one feel so harmonious.
"This is..."
Zhao Xin's grayish-white long hair moved without wind, and his withered fingers suddenly clenched tight.
In this split second, he understood something. He suddenly fell to his knees and kowtowed heavily toward the wooden cabin.
The instant his forehead touched the green grass, for the first time in nine hundred years, hot liquid rushed out of his eye sockets.
"Disciple Zhao Xin..."
A sob choked in his throat, shaking his chest with pain.
He dared not raise his head, fearing this was merely a terminal hallucination.
Until a breeze carrying the scent of flowers brushed the back of his neck, and he heard a gentle sigh—
"Come in..."
...
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