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Chapter 860: Chasing the past truth, Chan Hongyi’s heart trembles

Despite her determination, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t be swayed by the past, immersed in its beauty, and lose sight of her original purpose.

She refrained from returning to the mountain, fearing the allure of the past’s enchanting fragments. Her resolve was firm, but susceptibility to the past loomed.

Time passed, slowed, then reversed. Chan Hongyi walked amidst blurred time scenes, an observer experiencing these moments firsthand. Eventually, she found herself back at the familiar mountain.

At the mountain’s foot, a timid little girl in red clutched the sleeve of an indistinct figure. Many bandits knelt in fear before the little girl, begging for mercy.

“They destroyed your village and burned your home. Don’t you want revenge?” Like a divine power, a gentle voice calmed the restless angry little girl.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice crisp and determined.

“Then take revenge now. They’re all in front of you; you can deal with them as you wish.” The man’s voice remained gentle as if the world’s disturbances couldn’t touch him.

Chan Hongyi observed from a distance as the little girl in red, wielding a simple knife, systematically dispatched the bandits in front of her. Unfazed by the blood on her face and body, her clear eyes harbored an intense hatred for revenge.

In her heart, those bandits had slaughtered her previous village, including her parents and many innocent villagers. From that day on, she relied on her master for life, regarding him as the closest person in the world.

However, she never fathomed that the cruel truth would later be revealed. The very bandits who massacred her village were orchestrated by her revered master. In other words, the person she respected and admired the most became her greatest enemy.

When this revelation struck, her heart felt like a knife. She couldn’t believe it and refused to accept it. It wasn’t until she tearfully confronted her master and received a calm affirmation that the shocking truth unfolded before her.

It turned out that the master’s indifference was ingrained in his very nature, and he remained oblivious to her heart-wrenching pain during that time.

Chan Hongyi realized that the world she thought had crumbled, and the master she believed she knew well had never revealed his true face.

Witnessing this scene again, Chan Hongyi couldn’t conceal the sadness in her heart; it was difficult for her to bear.

Is the so-called truth still important?

She pondered, questioning herself.

She encountered many people throughout her journey but still needed to receive the answers she sought.

Returning to the foot of the mountain, she once again confronted a past she wished to forget, seemingly on the verge of reopening a scarred wound. Standing at a distance, she ultimately chose to walk away.

Unsure of what truth she sought and whether it truly existed, she questioned, “Or is it just something I believe and feel exists but, in reality, doesn’t?”

Chan Hongyi resembled a lonely wandering soul, traversing through ancient times, unseen by anyone. She felt akin to the helpless little girl in red.

Later, she reached the Netherworlds and encountered Tao Yao, then just a little demon being bullied by older demons. Chan Hongyi observed Tao Yao’s transformation from a gentle and timid individual to her altered appearance.

Even if it’s me…

Chan Hongyi murmured, spanning several years, finding herself in a familiar small village. The village appeared peaceful, surrounded by mountains, rivers, rice paddies, and tranquility.

Villagers worked from sunrise to sunset. Some faces, initially blurred, became clear—unrecognizable names but oddly familiar. Back then, she lived carefree, unaware of cultivation, merely learning from her parents about immortals who could soar into the sky and escape the earthly realm in this world.

But all of this was shattered one night when bandits attacked the village, drenching it in blood, and a raging fire consumed everything.

Desiring to understand why her master orchestrated this tragedy, Chan Hongyi sought an explanation. She felt she could accept it even if it was suitable or inappropriate.

However, no straightforward answer or lie was forthcoming. Chan Hongyi sighed, observing the events quietly as time rewound to the year of her birth.

Chan Hongyi’s eyes narrowed at that moment, and the calmness disappeared. She fixedly stared at the night sky as a red light flashed, bright as a shooting star, heading directly to the village of her birth.

Is this red light on me?

In that red light, she sensed a familiar aura—her own. The red light descended with a baby’s cry, marking her birth.

Why don’t I have any memories before?

Chan Hongyi frowned, scrutinizing her mind but finding no recollection of this event. She had never heard her parents speak of her birth or the remarkable red light that accompanied it.

This astonishing red light illuminated half the village, inciting barking dogs and drawing villagers’ attention. The unexpected vision led some to believe the newborn would bring disaster: villagers, even her parents, considered burning her alive.

Red light from the sky, an ominous omen…

Chan Hongyi witnessed this scene for the first time, her eyes reflecting surprise and shock. It contradicted her memory of her honest, hard working parents. How could they harbor resentment and anger toward their newborn daughter?

The once kind and peaceful villagers now showed cruelty, attacking an innocent baby because of a celestial phenomenon during her birth.

This is completely different from my memory of the village and its people.

Chan Hongyi questioned her memory and the events she saw. She realized the issue lay not with her memory or the present scene but with the village where she grew up.

Soon, she discerned the crux of the matter—her memory was intact, and what she witnessed aligned with reality. The problem lay with the village where she had lived since childhood.

Are these really my real parents and the villagers I once knew?

The corner of Chan Hongyi’s mouth curled up in a mocking arc, uncertain whether the target of her mockery was herself or these people.

Flames soared, casting flickering, distorted, angry, and hideous shadows on everyone’s faces. Lit torches were raised individually, illuminating a newborn baby girl who cried there, yet no one stepped forward to care for her. Even her biological parents insisted on burning her alive.

In this era, a baby girl born with an unknown lineage symbolized the unknown and brought misfortune, becoming a heavy burden.

Chan Hongyi’s mother wore a resentful expression, seemingly scolding her for not being a boy. Her father displayed extreme anger and indifference, throwing stones at the baby girl without showing emotion.

Observing this scene from her past, Chan Hongyi should have felt anger, yet her mood remained remarkably calm and undisturbed as if viewing everything from an outsider’s perspective. Perhaps, in her current state, there was even a hint of relief—this could be the truth she sought.

“What a bunch of fools,” a man’s emotionless voice echoed in the village, where dogs barked incessantly and the sounds of burning persisted.

Master… Mas… Mast…

Chan Hongyi’s voice trembled slightly, marking the first time she uttered these words upon returning to the past.

A blurry figure in thick fog suddenly materialized in the village. Squatting down, the constitution created an invisible ripple that turned the thrown stones into powder.

Picking up the crying baby girl, the infant surprisingly quieted, and the crying gradually ceased.

The villagers, gripped by fear, attempted to flee but found their feet immobilized as if laden with lead. Their eyes expressed terror as they timidly shouted, feeling the presence of a perceived monster.

Poor little fellow, if I hadn’t happened to be passing by, you would have been burned and stoned tonight.

The gentle voice expressed unspeakable emotions. Though his face remained unclear,

Chan Hongyi recognized him as her master. Until now, she hadn’t known about this pivotal night, and her biological parents had intended to burn her alive from the moment she was born.

Master…

Chan Hongyi stared at him in astonishment, her heart trembling with mixed emotions.

“It’s a pity that I don’t know how to take care of children; otherwise, I could bring you back to the mountain. You were born with blood coagulation in your eyebrows. You should have been an unusual guy in your previous life,” he continued, a clear light falling on the baby girl, healing the stone-inflicted wounds rapidly.

The villagers, frozen in horror, watched this unfold.

“Stupidity is never an excuse. Tiger venom is not a predator, let alone a human being,” Gu Changge calmly stated, seemingly poised to erase these lives with a wave but refrained.

Unexpectedly, another figure appeared—someone Chan Hongyi didn’t anticipate.

Cloaked in green, her features remained blurry, but her beauty was undeniable. The blue silk resembled daisies; her eyes were quiet and clear like warm jade and a flawless moon.

The Grand Mistress of Immortal Palace…

Chan Hongyi recognized her as Qing Yi, someone Gu Changge referred to as a good friend, despite Chan Hongyi suspecting a romantic relationship.

Tiger poison doesn’t eat its offspring, but people don’t necessarily…

The Grand Palace Mistress seemed to agree, turning her attention to the baby girl. In a melodious voice, she suggested returning the child to the immortal palace, praising her excellent roots and limitless future.

Immortal Palace can only teach people, but not necessarily lead them.

Gu Changge shook his head, advocating for the baby girl to experience a safe and worry-free childhood in the present environment.