CH 114 If There Is A Next Life, You Propose And I Will Marry

Ji Yunlai withdrew his hand, feeling a mix of complex emotions that were hard to describe.

After a long while, he finally let out a light laugh.

Oh well, the cart will find a way around the mountain when it gets there. There's still plenty of time. Whether Xiao Qing and that Great Celestial Demon are the same, it doesn't matter.

I like Xiao Qing. There's plenty of time for him to grow.

But first, let's focus on business.

He looked up at the warm sun in the sky, reaching out to feel its warmth.

This isn't the real sun.

Rather... Ji Yunlai’s eyes flickered several times as he analyzed it, still feeling a bit muddled.

This is the game backend he wrote years ago.

This world actually... What now? Ji Yunlai realized that the version of himself who hadn’t lost his memory might be the real winner in life.

Not only did he have men falling for him, but he also created a semi-real game world.

The sun in the sky is the game engine, controlling the world’s data. There are billions of demonic intents entering and exiting the sun, reincarnating into flowers, birds, fish, and insects.

Again and again, those demonic intents are formatted, their memories wiped clean, turning into another kind of soul.

And the life here is real.

He plucked a blade of grass, a common foxtail grass, and it tasted just like the one he used to chew on in the past.

It seems... like a pretty good world…

***

Smoke rose from the village of grass huts, and the peaceful settlement became lively. Women in grass skirts called out to children to come home for meals, while a group of people gathered around a large wild boar, dividing its meat. Everyone clustered together, chatting about daily life.

“I’ll trade some meat for your salt,” said a man to his companion.

“No way, we’re low on salt at home too. Let’s wait a bit.”

“Exactly, the time’s almost here, the salt delivery should arrive soon,” someone nearby chimed in.

“Do you think they’ll still be able to find us here this time?” someone asked anxiously.

“They’ll definitely find us. Didn’t we leave someone behind in the Black Witchlands to wait for them?”

“Hard to say. If they realize we’ve moved here, will they try to take our place?” another person wondered.

“There are plenty of good spots outside the Black Witchlands, they wouldn’t care about this place,” someone else replied dismissively.

“You never know. A good place like this could be carried with you. Didn’t the chieftain send people to guard the place so they wouldn’t come into the village?” another person asked.

“No use. This place was given to us by someone else back in the day. They said they’d take it back after a hundred years.” Someone nearby sighed.

“We’ve quietly built so many hidden paths, they can’t come down here, can they?” someone suggested a sneaky idea.

“The chieftain said we have to return it to them. Don’t even think about it,” someone sneered. “Stop dreaming.”

“So you’re willing to stay in the Black Witchlands? Eating ghosts every day, turning us into some kind of ghost creature?” someone angrily retorted.

“Then what do you suggest? Just staying inside and not leaving, I’d be willing. You go ask the chieftain if he’s willing.”

“Stop talking. The chieftain is coming,” someone whispered.

And so, everyone stopped talking, turning their gaze towards the forested mountain in the distance.

A shirtless man with a bundle of freshly cut wood on his back walked out of the forest. His short hair was messy, his features were sharp, and his body was tall and strong, with taut bronze muscles. A fierce bear head was tattooed on his full left chest. He followed the mountain path, dropping the firewood at the village entrance. Seeing them still dawdling around after dividing the meat, he raised an eyebrow slightly: “Don’t you need to feed the children? Why are you all gathered here?”

“Chieftain, the hundred-year period is almost up.” The others looked at him pitifully.

“Yes, back then that woman said we could only keep it for a hundred years, and she’d come to take it back.” A young woman, holding her newborn child, looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Though the agreement was made, we’ve been living here for a hundred years now. What do you think we should do?” someone else asked.

The man with the bear head tattoo remained calm: “This place was never meant to be permanent. It’s time to return.”

“Chieftain!” The villagers’ voices carried a hint of desperation.

“In this place, an independent pocket of space, separate from the outside world, there’s no way to practice shamanic arts. If you stay here, you’ll only live for a hundred years.” The man’s eyes were dark, like a deep pool, filled with a calm and peaceful serenity. “When you return to the Witchlands, you can live for hundreds, even thousands of years. We’ve lived that life before.”

“It’s not the same,” one clansman couldn’t help but argue. “What’s the use of living for two thousand years in the Black Witchlands? We can’t go in or out, eating ghosts and fighting demons every day. I didn’t eat my first bite of grass until I came into this little world.”

“Exactly,” another clansman agreed. “Though we can’t use the shamanic arts here, life is peaceful. Living for a hundred years here is better than a thousand years outside.”

“Yeah, chieftain, you could just chase that woman away this time!” The Wu clansmen started chiming in, voices rising in agreement.

The man shook his head: “Someone must remain in the Witchlands. When the time comes, I’ll ask her to take you all away. But you should understand, if you leave with her, you can never leave this world.”

The Wu clansmen began arguing heatedly again.

The man shook his head slightly and walked away in large strides, cutting off half of the wild boar’s head, and took it with him.

The clansman glanced at him but continued to quarrel, debating whether to stay or leave.

The man ignored them, carrying the half boar’s head back to his house, tearing off a piece, and roasting it over his hand.

His broad palm was like a hot iron, and soon the meat was sizzling, dripping with oil. He split it into two portions and placed them in two wooden bowls.

“Zhan, are you really going to stay in the Witchlands?” After a while, a burly man barged in and asked, “Back then, the Great Xuan cast a curse on us. If we leave the Nine Abyss, we’ll die horribly wherever we go. Now that we finally have a chance to leave, why not kill that woman?”

“Eat first.” The man handed him a bowl, sprinkling a little salt and pepper on it.

The other man stared at him for a while, then reluctantly accepted and started eating.

After a while, the chieftain finally spoke: “Have you seen this world?”

“I’ve only traveled a thousand miles. We can’t practice shamanic arts here, and there are too many wild beasts on the road. We can’t make it through.” The burly man replied, “By the way, you’ve been gone for two hundred years. Did you see anything?”

Time in this world moved three times faster than in the Black Witchlands. Three days here equaled one day outside. If not for the inability to practice shamanic arts, it really was a blessed land.

“Admiration.” The chieftain’s expression remained calm, unchanged even as he spoke of admiration, though the reverence in his words was genuine. “Though you can’t practice cultivation here, this world already has reincarnation.”

The burly man froze: “That’s impossible.”

"Do you see the sun in the sky? I once saw it set in the eastern sea, and then, as its light dimmed, it rose again, becoming the moon. The entire world's Daoist principles each follow their own logic, which forms the reasoning for reincarnation. That bright sun in the sky is the central axis of this world, and countless demonic intents trapped here in the past have all been assimilated, becoming the flowers, birds, fish, and insects of this world. I once heard of the Grand Xuan secret realms, but it was first filled with creatures to let them multiply. Over time, it replenished itself, but rarely did it form a self-contained world." The man gazed at the light outside the window and said, "So, the master of this realm is not to be opposed."

"The only one willing to stay behind is probably you," the burly man sighed.

The Black Witchlands were no place for living creatures to inhabit. Without the barriers between this separate world and the outside world, they were like starving ghosts, indistinguishable from malevolent spirits. Now that they can live normal lives, even reproduce, it’s hard to describe how happy they were back then.

If they had never received it from the start, they might have endured. But having gained it and then losing it—the pain of that is beyond words.

"Staying behind alone is fine," the man quietly said. "The extinction of the Black Wu clan is not a bad thing."

The burly man fell silent for a while before whispering, "Actually, if you gave that thing to Luo Qingxiao, perhaps…"

"It's useless. Luo Qingxiao, as the High Priest of Great Xuan, defied fate and killed the Emperor, suffering a backlash of terrifying proportions," the man leaned by the window, watching a white bird fly out from the distant mountains and forests. "He’s already struggling to protect himself. In another hundred years, if he can’t retrieve the Great Xuan's Imperial Seal and open the Nine Abyss, I’m afraid…"

He suddenly stopped speaking, his expression turning serious: "Greetings, Realm Lord."

The burly man was startled, finally noticing Ji Yunlai standing beside them. Just as he was about to act, the clan leader covered his mouth, pressed down his hands, and dragged him outside, throwing him far away.

The small hut fell silent.

After a while, Ji Yunlai spoke lightly, "How much do you know about Luo Qingxiao?"

"The third-generation High Priest of the Great Xuan, the last direct descendant of Kun-Lai," the man looked at the other’s face and demeanor, so similar to Luo Qingxiao, and recalling that his spirit had stirred slightly when he heard Luo Qingxiao’s name which gave away his presence, he quickly shared what he knew. "Ten thousand years ago, when the Great Xuan was newly established, the Central Continent had four great sects: Jietian Dao, Ziyun Dao, Taiqing Sect, and Kun-Lai Sect. The purple clouds connect to the Heavenly Way, from the Great Purity arises the white lotus. Strong grass grows with the swift wind, and henceforth, Kun-Lai is revealed. These were the four great sects. Among them, Kun-Lai was the leader, but a disciple there cultivated the Way of Fortune, which the sect deemed a shortcut and did not value. The Great Xuan’s founding emperor accidentally obtained this fortune cultivation method. Later, when the Great Xuan was established, they first destroyed Kun-Lai and obtained the complete inheritance of fortune cultivation. They also withheld Kun-Lai’s rightful lineage, using it to blackmail the fortune line into eternal service to the Great Xuan. If they defied, they would not die a good death."

As for how they wouldn’t die a good death, though he had some guesses, he felt there was no need to mention them.

"Is that so?" Ji Yunlai nodded but didn’t seem to want to say more.

Recently, he’d learned a lot.

"How did you recognize me?" After a long silence, Ji Yunlai suddenly asked.

The man's expression became somewhat strange. After a brief pause, he reluctantly pulled out a stack of paper from the straw bed and respectfully handed it over. "I found this by the river in this world."

Paper was rare in the Witchlands, so he was a bit pained to part with it.

It was Kun-Lai’s most common white talisman paper, with drawings of his likeness.

The paper had many folds, and following one of the creases, it was folded into a lotus lantern.

At the bottom of the lantern was written: 'I hope in the next life, he will marry me as promised.'

Ji Yunlai was silent for a moment and suddenly felt like he was a bit of a scoundrel.

Mini Extra: An Xian & Qiao Long

It was December, the deep of winter.

A seven-year-old child, wearing tattered clothes, was using a sharp stone to strike the thick ice on the river. Snowflakes fell on his brows and eyes, freezing him to the point of shivering, but he didn’t stop.  

But the ice was thick and hard, not something a normal child could easily break through.  

An Xian sat on a dead tree, gulping down strong liquor, watching indifferently.  

After nearly an hour, the ice finally had a small hole, and the child picked up a wooden fork, focusing intently on the water below.  

Soon, he skillfully speared a few fish and ran off the ice.  

But in a flash, a wild dog emerged from the bushes, blocking his path.  

After a tough battle, the child dragged his bitten arm and the dog he had speared to death.  

The fierce and determined look in his eyes made An Xian take another swig of liquor.  

This wolf cub reminds me of myself!  

***

An Xian saw that child practicing some swordsmanship with a branch, not knowing where he had learned it from.

His comprehension was quite good.

An Xian watched the child practice for a year, the same few moves, back and forth, his mastery so fluid it was as if they were extensions of his body.

But he still persisted in practicing, never slacking for a single day.

An Xian saw him fleeing, covered in blood. Those chasing him said he had stolen sword techniques and wanted to kill him.

Along the way, he laid various traps and ambushes, cunning as a wolf, using the familiar terrain to pick off his pursuers one by one.

Finally, exhausted, he collapsed under a tree.

An Xian watched coldly and took another swig of wine.

***

He struggled up, tended to his wounds, glanced into the distance, and caught a few rats. He was badly injured and couldn't start a fire.

After a moment of hesitation, he skinned and ate the rats raw.

An Xian chuckled softly. He really was going through all the experiences she had in her youth.

She hooked her finger and lifted the child up by her hand.

Perhaps things wouldn’t be boring for a while.

“What’s your name?” An Xian asked him.

“It’s none of your business, let me go!” The child squirmed in her arms.

“It doesn't matter if you don't say. I found you by the bridge, and it's the dead of winter. I'll call you Qiao Long.” An Xian declared domineeringly.

“Call me whatever you want, I'm illiterate!” The child replied coldly.

An Xian pointed with her finger, and her sword energy, like thunder, carved the characters "Qiao Long" into the frozen river. The ice, three feet thick, seemed as fragile as paper under her sword's force.

The child gave her a scrutinizing look, as if assessing her.

“Do you want to learn?” An Xian flicked her head back arrogantly.

The child lowered his head: “Stupid woman, you wrote the character 'Long' wrong.”

“...”

Mini Extra: High Priest & Qiu Tansheng

Qiu Tansheng had a childhood nickname, Xiao Xiao (Little Little).

One day, Qiu Xiao Xiao asked the High Priest, “What is love, and what is hate?”

The High Priest patted his apprentice’s head and gave him a warm stone.

Qiu Xiao Xiao held it in his hand, finding nothing special—it was just an ordinary stone.

Then the High Priest took out another stone just like it and handed it to him.

Qiu Xiao Xiao was burned by the stone.

“Are you trying to say that love is warmth, and hate is pain?” Qiu Xiao Xiao mused.

“No,” the High Priest chuckled softly, “what I’m saying is that if you don’t touch it, all you’ll see is the surface, and you won’t know what love and hate feel like.”

Qiu Xiao Xiao nodded: “I’ll go find love.”

Then he left.

That evening, Qiu Xiao Xiao returned with a rabbit that had just gained spiritual sentience: “This is my love.”

“Oh?” The High Priest smiled at him.

“It’s the only creature in the valley that believes I’m capable of love…” Qiu Xiao Xiao shrugged helplessly.