Chapter 107: Mortals Will Become Their Own Masters

“Ancestor? Me?” Wen Jinge was deeply skeptical of their intentions. Could it be that they were implying she was old? In her past life, she had often been labeled a leftover woman. Though she pretended not to care, it still stung a little. Now, even though she looked no older than twenty-five or twenty-six, she was actually an old soul of over three hundred years.

“Yes, please forgive me, Ancestor! The junior was unsure if you truly were the Ancestor, so only sent a dozen or so to greet you. We will hold a proper welcome feast shortly,” one of them said humbly.

“...” Wen Jinge’s thoughts spiraled—this was all wrong! Neither the prophecy book *Heavenly Vein Swordmaster*, which she treated as gospel, nor the teleprompter ‘Nonexistent’ ever mentioned she was the progenitor of this clan.

“You all...” Wen Jinge raised her finger, making a circle, then gave up as her jade token had disappeared. “Have you seen my other disciple?”

“He’s already waiting for the Ancestor in the valley.”

“...”

“Shall we go then?”

“Master.” Ling Yi tugged at Wen Jinge’s sleeve, as if wanting to say something.

Wen Jinge cradled him and stepped aside. “What is it? Don’t like the crowd?”

“Master, I told you, I saw you kill many people.”

“Hm.”

“They were accomplices.”

Wen Jinge sighed silently. Could this child stop using such an innocent tone to speak such chilling words?

“Does the Master look like someone who kills?”

Ling Yi stared at her face for a while, then said seriously, “The Master I saw and the Master you are now are not the same. I don’t know how they differ, but Master, please be careful! I don’t want to see my Master led astray.”

“Understood.” Wen Jinge flicked his forehead and used the magical zither to support Yang Wennan so he could walk upright.

The leader knelt upon seeing the magical zither, tears welling in his eyes. “I never imagined I’d witness the Ancestor returning with the magical zither in my lifetime.”

Wen Jinge was speechless. So, were they worshipping the sword, or worshipping her? Was the sword their ancestor, or was she?

Her heart sank with helplessness.

The valley looked like it had endured the ravages of war. One side of the stone wall was bare, as if it had barely survived a barrage of cannon fire, with faint patches of black ink still clinging.

“Do you live here?”

“No,” the man shook his head. “I am Wen Xueshan. I lead the clan living in the cracks.”

“Cracks? Like time rifts or wormholes?”

“Yes. Long ago, the Ancestor sent a message to our forefathers, commanding us to guard this site to the death. When the Ancestor returns, that will be our chance to see the light of day again. Now that the rift has shattered, we shall emerge to assist the Ancestor.”

Wen Jinge didn’t quite understand, yet somehow understood.

Exhausted, she realized that those who bore the Wen surname living in these cracks were not her kin but a separate branch, preserved in memory by her own name.

“How long have you lived here?”

Upon hearing this, Wen Xueshan was moved to tears.

“...” Wen Jinge thought: wouldn’t ordinary people call her ungrateful for forcing them to wait in vain all this time? Why were they so touched?

“Not long, only a thousand years,” Wen Xueshan sniffled, “It’s enough that the Ancestor remembers us.”

Wen Jinge’s pity for them deepened. She was barely three hundred years old now; a millennium ago, it surely wasn’t her.

Was it too late to run? Had she accidentally broken the original protocols set by the true Ancestor? Would she be killed now?

Unaware of her mental turmoil twisting like a mountain path with eighteen turns, Wen Xueshan busied himself with his emotions. “Ancestor, please close your eyes. I will take you there swiftly.”

“That holy son...?”

“He is also a guest here now.”

“Thanks.”

“Ancestor, you’re too kind!” The group whispered with quiet sobs.

They were like a troop surrounded by enemies for months, starving and demoralized, counting days until death, until their general led a surprise attack that annihilated the foe and saved them from the inferno, giving them a life they dared not dream of.

The city’s lights glittered brilliantly, eerie amidst the vast wasteland, like faint fireflies—the eyes of the night—watching hurried passersby.

“Master, I’m sleepy.”

Wen Jinge held him close. “Sleep now.”

Wen Xueshan glanced at her several times. This Ancestor had gained something previously absent—she could now be gentle with children.

He found it incredible. Ling Yi, no longer silent, said, “Staring at someone like that is rude. Is your Master really your Ancestor?”

“Absolutely.”

This was likely a regimented organization. After Ling Yi’s slip, Wen Xueshan began slapping his own cheek before the crowd, murmuring, “Please forgive me, Ancestor!”

Wen Jinge clicked her tongue silently. Ling Yi looked like he had caused a disaster and dared not meet the madman’s eyes again.

“Shall we move on?” Wen Jinge felt a headache coming. Approaching the city, she sensed something. “Is there another way into the city?”

“Yes.” Wen Xueshan’s cheeks bore two red palm marks. “There are three entrances, all leading to this city: Qingqiu Lake, the Peak Mountains, and the Pingchuan Valley, the one we came through.”

“All lead to this city?”

“Yes.”

“Then why can’t this city open directly?”

“Please forgive the junior’s fault, Ancestor.”

Feudal society was a killer.

This was what Wen Jinge most wanted to complain about—kneeling at the slightest provocation, slapping one’s own face, confessing guilt constantly.

“What have you done wrong this time?” She had practiced detachment to the point of indifference. “My memory is poor; I forget quickly.”

“Yes, Ancestor is busy with many affairs. Perhaps you forgot, but back then, you arranged it this way.”

“...” Wen Jinge thought: no matter what, the old version of herself must have been ill.

“You said those who seek immortality from Gu Changsheng owe much blood debt. If such men became gods or immortals, how could the world not perish?

Since the world is unjust, you shall be justice!

Henceforth, there will be no gods in the world; mortals shall only reach immortality.

As for those seekers, let them die for their beliefs, fulfilling their obsessions.

Mortals shall become masters of themselves.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Wen Jinge was shaken but still confused.

“The greatest tragedy is destroying what people believe to be beautiful. You gave them hope, making them think the present was a divine miracle, unaware it was the best disguise for despair.”

The monk swallowed nervously. His forehead was drenched in cold sweat, his face pale. The beads clacked chaotically as his trembling hand counted them. “Amitabha!”