Simultaneously traversing: traversing countless heavens

Chapter 11: Directly Entering the Land of Celestials

The next day, when they returned from the boat trip, the last rays of the setting sun had not yet completely faded. Zhou Yi didn't even have time to change out of his clothes, which were still smelling of fish and damp. With the heavy three hundred coins, soaked with Xiao Xiao's blood and sweat, he hurried through the familiar streets and alleys, heading straight for the Ancient Yun Bookstore.

However, the scene before him sent a chill down his spine.

The library was no longer quiet as usual; instead, several dusty carriages were parked in front. Several sturdy servants were silently and efficiently loading boxes of books onto the carriages. The library doors were open, and the once full bookshelves inside were now mostly empty, giving it a somewhat desolate appearance.

Just as she was feeling bewildered, an elegant figure carrying a stack of books walked out of the door. It was Fu Hua. She looked up and saw Zhou Yi standing there, stunned. Her usually aloof eyes suddenly lit up, like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, creating real ripples.

"It's you?" Her voice held a barely perceptible, almost relieved lightness. "I thought... I'd never see you again."

"Shopkeeper, what is this...?" Zhou Yi's gaze swept over the carriage and the empty doorway. He already had a guess, but he still couldn't help asking.

"The library is closing." Fu Hua carefully placed the book in his arms into the carriage, patted the dust off his hands, and his tone returned to calm, but with a hint of unspeakable melancholy. "Grandfather said that the Southern Tang has been quite unstable lately, and ordered me to move with him to our old home in the north."

As she spoke, her gaze naturally fell on Zhou Yi's bulging chest, which was adorned with a tightly tucked money pouch, and she understood immediately. After a moment's hesitation, without waiting for Zhou Yi's action, she took out a thin booklet covered with blue cloth from her wide sleeves—the very book, "The Classic of Nourishing Qi."

It was obviously prepared in advance.

"Since we are about to part, I'll give this to you." Fu Hua handed over the book, her tone as indifferent as if she were talking about something trivial. She had originally planned to ask Zhang Nian'an to pass it on if she couldn't wait any longer.

"this……"

Reason and emotion were fiercely torn apart; my throat felt like it was blocked, and even the action of taking out money felt heavy and difficult to complete.

Zhou Yi wanted to take out the money, but when he thought about how Xiao Xiao had saved it up penny by penny over a long period of time, he couldn't bring himself to take it out of his pocket no matter what he did.

When he came to his senses, the "Qi Cultivation Classic" was already lying quietly in his cool palm. Before him, the wheels rolled and the hooves clattered. The carriages carrying books and young girls had already entered the deepening twilight and soon disappeared at the end of the long street, leaving only faint wheel tracks and the lingering, gradually cooling scent of ink in the air.

Back home, it was already late at night. Zhou's father's old ailment had flared up again today, and he was coughing incessantly, so he went to bed early. Xiaoxiao had also fallen asleep, exhausted. Under the meager sliver of moonlight streaming through the window, Zhou Yi eagerly opened the "Classic of Nourishing Qi."

The book's neat handwriting and clear illustrations explained the most basic methods of sensing qi, meridian circulation, and breathing techniques. He read it with great eagerness, his mind completely absorbed. However, the weariness of reality soon overwhelmed him. His father had recently fallen ill, and the burden of fishing fell entirely on his shoulders. He firmly refused Xiaoxiao's request to come with him—the wind and cold on the water were even worse, and he preferred to endure the cold himself.

So he got up earlier than usual and returned home later than usual. He cast net after net, putting in all his effort, hoping to catch more fish so that his family's finances wouldn't be so tight and that he could free up his hands to do some money-making business.

Given time, everything will be alright. He will definitely make sure Xiaoxiao has a good life.

No matter how much he yearned for the path of internal energy, physical exhaustion always dragged him down like a lead weight. Every night, when he picked up the "Qi Cultivation Classic," he could only read less than ten pages before his eyelids became too heavy to keep open. He could only force himself to close the book, suppressing his eager desire to cultivate, and fall into a deep sleep.

This continued for two days.

On the evening of the third day, Zhou Yi had a good day and a fruitful harvest, returning home exceptionally late. The river was vast and empty, with only his lone boat swaying in the rising night wind. He struggled to propel the boat, calculating in his mind that he could probably finish reading the *Yang Qi Jing* that night and formally attempt to guide qi into his body. Zhou Yi was eager to return home.

However, just as he approached the town's waterway, a strange feeling seized him.

The light on the shore was too bright.

It wasn't the warm, scattered lights of ordinary homes, but a chaotic, flickering, ominous red glow that stained half the sky crimson. Faint commotion and, more clearly, the crackling of something burning, drifted across the water.

Was the town celebrating a rare festival? A sliver of hope flashed through Zhou Yi's mind.

But as the small boat rounded the last bend in the river, and the town's outline became menacingly visible amidst the towering flames, all hope shattered instantly, turning into a bone-chilling cold!

It wasn't a campfire, it was a **raging fire**! Greedy flames licked at the familiar houses, thick smoke billowing. Even more terrifying were the short, shrill, inhuman screams mixed in with the howling wind and flames! There were also the sounds of horses' hooves trampling the stone slabs, the clash of weapons, and wild, brutal shouts!

On the shore, shadowy figures dressed in uniform dark clothing, some on horseback and others on foot, carrying knives, chased after the fleeing townspeople like livestock. With a flash of their blades, figures fell.

War? Invasion? These distant words, tinged with bloodshed, crashed into Zhou Yi's mind.

"Xiaoxiao! Father!"

His heart felt as if it were being gripped by an invisible hand, suddenly stopping for a beat before pounding wildly. All his fatigue vanished, replaced by immense fear and anxiety that transformed into sheer force. Zhou Yi rowed home with all his might, nearly breaking the oars in the process.

The waterway was no longer the clear, tranquil place it once was. Debris floated on the surface, and there were blurry, sinking shadows... corpses. A strong stench of blood mixed with the smell of burning filled the air. Zhou Yi forced himself not to look closely, not to try to identify them, his eyes bloodshot, his mind screaming over and over: It can't be them! It absolutely can't be them!

The boat finally bumped into its familiar dock. Zhou Yi leaped ashore and immediately spotted a familiar figure leaning against the old willow tree by the door.

"Zhang Nian'an?!"

The boy, who always had a scholarly air and a touch of mischief, was now slumped against the tree trunk in an extremely twisted and unnatural posture, his limbs at bizarre angles, clearly having suffered immense damage. His face was ashen, a glaring dark red stain frozen at the corner of his mouth, and his breath was so faint it was almost imperceptible.

Hearing footsteps, Zhang Nian'an's unfocused eyes slowly rolled and focused on Zhou Yi's face.

"Zhou... Brother Zhou..." His voice was hoarse and broken, like a broken bellows. "Xiao... Xiaoxiao, she... quickly... inside..." Every word exhausted his last bit of strength. His tears had long since dried up, leaving only endless pain and despair, frozen in his eyes that were gradually losing their luster.

"Xiaoxiao!" Zhou Yi's mind went blank for a moment. He didn't care about anything else and turned around to smash open the half-closed door like a madman.

The scene that came into view instantly shattered all his reason, all his hope, and all his human warmth!

My eyes were bloodshot! My blood rushed back to the top of my head!

"**brute--!!!**"

A beastly roar, filled with boundless pain and rage, burst forth, causing dust to fall from the beams.

Outside, Zhang Nian'an seemed to hear that furious roar filled with blood and tears. The last glimmer of light on his face, frozen in pain, went out. His head tilted limply to one side, and he breathed his last.

Boundless hatred surged within Zhou Yi like magma, threatening to incinerate him completely. He grabbed a wood-chopping knife from the corner, wanting to rush out and fight to the death. But the last vestige of cold rationality from his past life was like a bucket of ice water poured over his head—in his current state of utter weakness, rushing out would only be suicide, utterly meaningless.

**revenge!**

These two words, carrying a rusty, metallic sweetness, were like the most vicious curse, deeply etched into his soul. Live on, live on at all costs, and then make those perpetrators pay a thousandfold price! This became the only belief sustaining his crumbling body, his sole goal for the rest of his life.

He forced himself to turn around, wanting to take Zhang Nian'an, who might still have a sliver of life, with him, but his hands were already cold and stiff. The pain the boy had endured before his death was clearly etched on his twisted limbs and face.

Zhou Yi closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, all that remained was an almost inhuman, chilling darkness. He quickly retreated to the water's edge, jumped onto the boat, and only wanted to leave this inferno, hide, and wait for the slaughter to subside.

However, just as they boarded the ship, they bumped into several fierce soldiers who emerged from a neighboring alley, their arms bulging with loot. The men had clearly just committed violence as well, their faces still bearing the lingering ferocity and excitement.

"Hey! We missed one!" One of the soldiers, a burly man, gleamed with a lewd grin. He stared at Zhou Yi's unusually fair and delicate face, made less exposed to the sun. "Damn it, we've been robbing for money, grain, and women, but haven't gotten anything good. What bad luck! Turns out there's a tender-skinned kid! Grab him, I'll have my fun!"

Having said that, before his companions could react, he jumped onto the swaying bow of the boat and reached out to grab Zhou Yi with his large hand!

Zhou Yi's heart sank, knowing that any hesitation at this moment would lead to certain death. He suddenly swung the oar in his hand at the other person's face, and while the other person was blocking, he abandoned the boat without hesitation and jumped into the cold river, struggling to swim towards a secluded spot overgrown with weeds on the bank.

"Damn it! They got away! Chase them!" The soldiers who had fallen into the water were furious and humiliated. Several of them cursed as they chased after them along the shore.

Zhou Yi lost his bearings and ran desperately, his lungs burning and his legs feeling like lead. The instinct for survival overwhelmed his grief and exhaustion, and in his panic, he stumbled along the secluded path his father had led him along in his memory, heading towards the northeast corner of the town—the dilapidated temple dedicated to Zhenwu Shenjun.

The sounds of the pursuers behind them grew closer, and their foul language was clearly audible.

"Kid, you can't escape now! Be a good boy and let us have some fun, we'll give you a good beating!"

The crumbling walls of the dilapidated temple were now in sight. Zhou Yi, as if grasping at a last straw, used his last strength to rush inside, turning back to try and bolt the useless broken door, but to no avail.

"Old Taoist priest! Old Taoist priest!" he shouted hoarsely as he rushed into the main hall. Last time he made a vow, he had vaguely wondered if this old Taoist priest guarding the dilapidated incense burner might be a reclusive master who kept his true abilities hidden.

However, the hall was empty. Apart from the broken statues and dust, there wasn't a soul in sight. He frantically searched the side halls and every corner where people could hide, but found only cobwebs and rats.

"Damn it, they've come all this way! A dilapidated temple, let's see where you can hide!" The pursuers had reached the courtyard, their footsteps were hurried, and the torchlight flickered on the broken doors and windows.

Despair, like a cold tide, was about to engulf Zhou Yi, but he would never be humiliated.

If necessary, Zhou Yi glanced at the chipped, broken earthenware pot on the offering table...

But just then...

A very soft sigh echoed softly.

The source of the sound was none other than the Zhenwu statue with disheveled hair, wielding a sword, and with peeling paint!

Zhou Yi trembled violently and looked on in horror.

Behind the statue, the gaunt, white-haired old Taoist priest appeared silently, like a ghost.

How could this be! He had just checked and there was nowhere to hide behind the statue!

"We meet again, benevolent person." The old Taoist's voice was still old and peaceful, but it carried a hint of indescribable weariness.

Before Zhou Yi could react, the old Taoist priest's withered yet unusually strong hand grabbed his arm and pulled him behind the statue. Only then did Zhou Yi see clearly that the interior of the statue had been cleverly hollowed out, leaving a narrow space just large enough for one person to stand and hide in. The hidden door opened from the inside, and it was perfectly sealed, with no clues visible from the outside.

"Go in! Remember, no matter what happens outside, you must not make a sound, and you must not come out!" The old Taoist priest pushed him into the darkness without further ado, his tone more serious than ever before.

The hidden door closed silently behind him, and the last ray of light vanished. Zhou Yi was plunged into absolute darkness and silence, with only his own frantic heartbeat and suppressed breathing.

Almost the instant the hidden door closed, the hall was filled with the sound of violently kicking the door and shouting curses.

"Hey, you old geezer! Where's that guy who just ran in? I saw him come in with my own eyes!"

"You've misjudged. In this dilapidated place of mine, there is no one else besides me," the old Taoist priest said calmly.

"Bullshit! You're saying we're not human? You're asking for it!" the soldier cursed angrily.

"Pfft—"

The dull thud of a sharp weapon piercing flesh was exceptionally clear in the deathly silent temple.

"Ugh...you...you beasts! I hate that I am powerless and do not possess the power of the True Martial God...sweep...sweep away all you jackals!" The old Taoist's voice suddenly became hoarse, filled with pain and boundless hatred, followed by a dull thud as his body fell to the ground.

"Old man! Search! Drag that kid out and beat him to a pulp today!" The thugs ransacked the dilapidated temple, smashing and banging, even the broken walls were roughly pushed and pounded.

No matter how violent they were, no one dared to smash the idol.

In the cramped, dark space, Zhou Yi pressed himself tightly against the cold inner wall, his fingernails digging deep into his palms, drawing blood, yet he felt no pain. He clenched his teeth, suppressing his breath, tears mingling with cold sweat on his forehead, silently streaming down his face.

After an unknown amount of time, the sounds of rummaging through drawers and cabinets finally stopped, and the grumbling footsteps faded into the distance.

But Zhou Yi dared not move. Faint screams and maniacal laughter drifted from outside, sometimes near, sometimes far. He stood there stiffly, time losing its meaning in the absolute darkness and solitude. Hatred, grief, fear, helplessness… all sorts of emotions gnawed at his heart like venomous snakes.

I don't know how much time passed, perhaps a day, perhaps longer. Finally, a very faint ray of light, covered in dust, pierced through an inconspicuous crack into the dark cage.

By the dim light, Zhou Yi, his hands trembling, took out the "Classic of Nourishing Qi" from his robes. The book was slightly damp, whether from his sweat or tears, he couldn't tell. He unfolded it with difficulty, reading, memorizing, and understanding each word with all his might. Only by immersing himself completely in the obscure text and illustrations could he temporarily suppress the grief, anger, and destructive impulses that were driving him almost mad.

Following the instructions in the book, he attempted to sense the qi and guide that elusive "internal energy." However, three whole days passed, and his body remained empty, without any response. There was no warmth, no palpitations, nothing at all. Only hunger, thirst, extreme exhaustion, and a bone-chilling cold.

The "Qi Cultivation Classic" mentions that if one cannot draw Qi into the body within three days, it means that one's physical constitution is extremely poor and one is born with deficiencies, making it almost impossible for one to achieve anything in the path of martial arts.

Extremely poor aptitude? Unlikely to achieve anything in this life?

These words were like the most vicious mockery, cutting another knife into his already collapsing mind. The blood feud was still unresolved; was even the right to revenge so extravagant, that even this most basic introductory technique was being rejected?

No! Absolutely not!

Hatred fueled his most obsessive fanaticism. Like a madman, ignoring his weakened body and its warnings, he tirelessly chanted the mantra in his mind again and again, attempting each futile attempt to sense the truth. The sounds of the outside world had vanished completely, leaving only a deathly silence. It was as if the entire world consisted only of this cold, clay statue and the soul within it, filled with hatred and despair, stubbornly resisting fate.

Fortunately, good fortune came. Unfortunately, it came too late.

On the morning of the fourth day, as the first pale rays of sunlight once again pierced through the cracks, sparingly illuminating the worn-out "Qi Cultivation Classic" in his hands, his bloodshot, dark eyes ignited.

A book on cultivating inner energy.

First grade, four realms.

The Book of Changes directly enters the realm of the mortal world and the human world.

In the Li Yang Dynasty, a young eunuch coughs up blood. At Longhu Mountain, Qi Xuanzhen sighs deeply.