River of Oblivion.
In the Nine Netherworld, which the living cannot touch, Wangchuan, this river of life that runs through the Yin Departnt, has been flowing for billions of cycles.
It is the river of sin cleansing, it is oblivion, it is rebirth, neither good nor evil, it is the cycle of the heavens.
Joy and sorrow, love and hate, unforgettable mories, obsessions that penetrate the soul... are all considered "impurities" of the soul, ruthlessly extracted, purified, and dissolved by the waters of Wangchuan.
This is the shedding of dust, this is the baptism.
This is the matter of the afterlife, this is the welcoming address of the underworld.
The river churns and surges, among its waves are the faces of infants, a hillside blooming with wildflowers, a tragic farewell...
There is also golden ecstasy, deep blue sorrow, crimson rage, ghastly green envy...
Countless mories, infinite emotions, they tumble, collide, blend, and settle in the river waters.
They beco the minerals of the River of Oblivion, marking the infinite joys and sorrows of countless beings.
Ordinary people cannot mine, nor can they touch it; it is the most magnificent monunt in the world!
The cleansed souls, light as if weightless, float to the surface and drift to the shore. There, they wander sowhat cluelessly, with a child’s heart, stepping into a new world. Regardless of the external or the internal.
Oblivion is an end, but also a beginning.
The long River of Oblivion flows endlessly over the dark and vast land of the underworld. In the river, new souls, carrying "weight," continuously fall in, sink, struggle, get purified, beco "light," then float and drift...
With its ancient currents, it washes away the past of the soul, sweeping away joys and sorrows, and even the proof of existence. It rushes silently, the pulse of the underworld and the cornerstone of reincarnation. Before this river, no matter how epic the poem, no matter how profound the affection, ultimately, they are rely... a speck of dust at the bottom of the river, a wisp of smoke on the water’s surface.
Wangchuan, the place of restart, the place of return to zero.
Even if it’s just a tributary, Wangchuan still retains its power.
Ning Zhuo was finally swallowed by the tributary of Wangchuan; he fell into it and couldn’t extricate himself.
The waters of Wangchuan were cold as ice, the terrifying cold invaded and seeped into his soul. The furious force harshly washed over his spirit, attempting to tear apart his mories and emotions, forcibly stripping, purifying, and scrubbing them away!
"No, I cannot forget, nor should I forget!" Ning Zhuo glared with rage in the river waters, gritting his teeth.
He struggled desperately, casting spells, trying to break free from the current to fly out of Wangchuan.
In vain!
His body beca extrely heavy, heavily falling towards the riverbed, as if tied with an anchor as massive as a giant warship.
The cruel, cold reality would not change because of his anger and persistence.
Monts of mories, waves of emotions blurred, the next instant they were about to be peeled off, washed away, leaving him.
At this critical mont, the Buddha Heart Demon Seal in his Divine Ocean Dantian radiated bright light, stabilizing his soul.
The brilliance enveloped his whole soul, resisting the mighty power of the Wangchuan Tributary!
Those deeply engraved mories and emotions surged at this mont, becoming extraordinarily vivid.
Fire Persimmon Immortal City.
Little Ning Zhuo knelt by the bedside, crying and pleading.
Before dying, ng Yaoyin inford him: to secretly cultivate chanical Techniques, wait for the opportunity of the Lava Fairy Palace erging. To seize this chance, rise up.
...
The aunt feigned concern, coaxing repeatedly, "Little Zhuo, be good, take it out, let Big Aunt take care of it well... When you grow up, it will be returned to you..."
...
In the house that echoed emptily, all valuable items, even traces of his mother’s existence, were completely moved away.
In the corner, the classic texts of chanism Techniques were thoroughly read by little Ning Zhuo, read countless tis, morized backward was ordinary.
Sigh!
He inhaled sharply, his small hand jerked back.
His finger split open with a cut, blood flowed freely, and the pain made Ning Zhuo shed tears.
But he ultimately persisted, successfully assembling his first chanical little puppet in life.
...
Outside the school, at the stall, little Ning Zhuo looked longingly at those exquisite chanical toys, his eyes full of undisguised desire and envy.
Beside him, Ning Ji in a brocade robe walked past, casting a disdainful sneer.
...
Sun Lingtong stuffed a brand new chanical toy into his arms, the face of childhood Ning Zhuo instantly burst into a pure, radiant smile.
That smile illuminated his bleak childhood days.
...
"My sorrow, my endurance, my warmth forged the childhood ; without them, what do I count as?"
Ning Zhuo gritted his teeth firmly, desperately channeling mana into the Buddha Heart Demon Seal, activating the power of the Treasure Seal.
He was unwilling to abandon these, to the extent that his body sank further down.
Beside the Wangchuan Tributary, Luo Si was full of urgency, couldn’t help but urge Qing Chi, "General Qing, now is not the ti to hesitate! The young master is sinking further!"
Qing Chi’s eyes were bloodshot, heart panicked, unable to decide — "Which mory or emotion should I choose as bait?"
The small courtyard was filled with weeds, wildflowers climbing on the fence.
Little Qing Chi, her hair tied in a skyward braid, chased a flower butterfly with giggles, accidentally fell on her backside, tears welled up in her eyes.
The weeds parted, and a little boy Jiao Ma ran over. He wasn’t much taller than her, his small face tense, extrely concerned, "What’s wrong, did the fall hurt?"
He clumsily pulled out a piece of well-washed white cloth, carefully wiping her tears, and took out a sweet treat, cherished for long, unwilling to eat, stuffing it into her mouth.
"Qingqing, be good, don’t cry." In the tender voice, was wholehearted concern.
This vivid colored mory, like a painting thrown into water, diffuses, blurs, the sweet taste, the scent of sun baking on soil, the mild pain of knees bumping, and the sense of security brought by that clumsy small figure... were extracted, quickly separating from Qing Chi.
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