I ask you to portray a mama's boy, but you portray a wealthy man?

Chapter 155 The bitterness in the wind is the past that cannot be let go
"That one over there is Lasha," the peasant woman explained. "He is a little fool, but if he can be allowed to leave this fierce mountain and return to the fields, he can still be of some use."

"Do you think this mountain has evil spirits?" Yi asked, half-kneeling next to the little animal.

He ran a palm over its furry back, feeling the twitches and spasms of its muscles.

The peasant woman folded her arms. "Anyway, some weird things happened here."

She replied, pouting at the peak, "Without natural magic, this land will need to be filled with material, and even take lives if necessary. If I were to make the decision, I would set fire to this place and burn it clean." "

Yi stared at the vines.

He didn't expect to see them so far away from the top of the mountain.

"I'll think of a way." He murmured, pulling out two knives from the copper sheaths on his boots.

The moment he brought the steel blade closer to the entangled vines, they seemed to flinch.

This moment lingers. Beads of sweat stung Yi's exposed face.

He closed his eyes.

"Imai," he said silently, using the ancient saying. "Yibai."

The takin escapes, letting out a cheerful, high-pitched cry.

Cut vines hung like loose skin on the ground.

The little animal jumped away down the hill, celebrating its freedom, with the peasant woman chasing after it.

She grabbed the takin with both hands and held it tightly in her arms.

"Thank you!" she yelled, unaware that Yi had continued on his way.

She shouted at his back, "Hey! I forgot to ask. What kind of sword are you practicing? The battle is over, you know..."

He didn't look back.

My battle is not over.

(I follow the breeze and drift away, and I will return as soon as the fog clears.)
Another hour later, he reached the barren land.

The remains of a village lay scattered around him, invaded by the same vines.

This is Wuji.

This was home.

Heading towards the cemetery, we passed by overturned pillars and stone sculptures, as well as the remains of houses, schools, and shrines.

All the broken pieces were mixed together.

His parents' workshop was lost among the rubble.

He had nothing to dwell on and not enough time.

The cemetery he visited was arranged in perfect symmetry, with gaps between the graves for people to pass through.

For example, people like Yi.

"Your memories will last forever."

He touched the hilt of each sword stuck in the ground with his hand.

These are his memories of warriors, teachers and apprentices.

He didn't miss a single sword.

"May your names be remembered by the world."

"Please rest in peace."

His voice quickly grew tired.

The sky took on a reddish-orange hue, and there were three graves he hadn't touched.

In front of the nearest grave lies a hammer, its head rusted by the mountain humidity.

Yi took out a peach from the bag and placed it in front of the grave.

"Master Dolan, this is a gift from Wukong. He couldn't come with me, but he wanted me to give you his favorite fruit. He likes his long stick very much, and he even likes to laugh at the fruit you gave me. Helmet."

He walked towards the last two tombs, where golden scabbards stood guard.

"Yimai, the weather is warm today. Yibai... I hope you like the warm weather."

Yi pulled out two daggers and put them into the scabbards in front of his parents' graves.

Perfect fit. He knelt down solemnly and buried his head deeply.

"May your wisdom continue to guide me."

He stood up, reached into his cloth bag and took out his helmet.

The afternoon sun reflects on its seven lenses, each reflecting a different luster.

He rested his helmet against his heart, recalling the lily garden that once existed here.

That was before the screams came.

Before the acid and poisonous waters twisted the magic of the land.

He put on his helmet and everything around him filled his vision through a kaleidoscope.

He clasped his hands together, closed his eyes and meditated.

He has no distracting thoughts. No thoughts or thoughts.

His feet left the ground, but he didn't know it.

He opened his eyes and saw everything.

Death and decay, with few signs of life.

He saw spirits inhabiting another realm.

Like the poor takin, they became entangled in the vines, and their essence gradually weakened.

He knew that any spirit strong enough would break free and abandon this evil land.

Those who remain here are corrupted...or will be corrupted soon.

Cries of pain and sorrow hung in the air.

Yi himself once cried in pain, but that was a long time ago - at that time, he thought that tears could bring back the deceased.

He blinked, and the material world returned.

For a moment, he pretended this weight didn't exist on his shoulders.

Then he blinked again.

The spirits continued to cry.

Yi drew his pierced sword.

He turned into an afterimage and rushed out, sweeping across the entire field.

Just like the changing of seasons, one can only confirm his presence by following the traces left behind him.

A flash later and he was back where he was, perfectly still, sword sheathed.

One by one the vines collapsed.

Some slipped from the fallen roof, and some shrank in place.

He sat cross-legged and took in everything.

Now the spirits were singing with joy, and he knew there could be no greater thanks.

They fade away, and the earth echoes their joy.

The peach blossoms break out from the place where the rattan is entangled.

The listless bamboo branches stood tall and straight, like students whose names were called.

A fleeting smile crept into Yi's face.

He took off his helmet and placed it deep inside the bag, hidden among the other travel gear.

Fruit, nuts...coke, flint.

Some things are prepared for oneself, and some things are prepared for the complete purification of the earth.

Not needed now.

Not needed yet.

He took out a reed pen and a crumpled scroll. The pages are covered with symbols.

60 (crossed out)
54 (crossed out)
41 (crossed out)
Yi added a few strokes to it today. There are a few more words at the bottom.

The cleaning interval is 30 days.

He knew that before long, he would have to let the peasant woman get her wish and burn his hometown to the ground.

But it's not needed now.

Not needed yet.

In the torture of grief, Yi chose to live in isolation, forcing himself to use endless training to bury the guilt of living alone in the world.

The wisdom of the departed masters seems to have been lost in the mists of time.

He began to doubt whether one person could preserve Wuji's entire legacy...

Until a most unexpected encounter leaves him with no doubts.

A curious, monkey-like vastaya challenged him to a duel.

Master Yi reluctantly accompanies him and defeats him as easily as child's play.

But this vastaya grew more and more frustrated, returning day after day with new and more cunning tricks, forcing Yi to play along and improvise.

After all these years, Yi finally felt Wuji's soul again.

The confrontation between the two lasted for weeks, and finally the vastaya, a stranger covered in bruises, fell to his knees and gave his name.

Sora from the Si macaque tribe.

He begged to be apprenticed to Yi, and Yi saw that this reckless but determined fighter was a malleable talent.

Through words and deeds, Yi felt that he had regained his purpose.

He would pass on the Way of Wuju, and also gave his students an enchanted long stick as a token of the master-disciple oath - from that day on, Kong was named Wukong.

(End of this chapter)