Chapter 1860 — The Immortal Veteran of the Battlefield
The Herdsman of the Wasteland · Page 3 of 5
Shen Mu felt somewhat frightened and lost. He wanted to see whether the ideals he had upheld still remained. He saw gods used for the sake of mortals, saw that the way of the sages lay in the people's daily use—the ideals were still there. Yet what left him at a loss was that whether god or mortal, all took this as a matter of course.
They did not understand what this normalcy meant, nor did they know how much bloody battle was hidden within it, how many people had paid for it with their lives.
After all, a history of a million years was truly too brief compared to three and a half billion years of peace.
A million years of history, within three and a half billion years, might be no more than a single page in a thick history book; and on that one page there is no room for the seven Heavenly Venerables of Longhan, no room for Emperor Chi and Emperor Ming, no room for Heavenly Venerable Yue and Heavenly Venerable Ling who propped up the Shanghuang Era, and no room for those dozen or so Shanghuang who stood tall between heaven and earth and cried out that human life is greater than heaven.
The book has no room for the Carefree Land, no room for Kaihuang and his four Celestial Masters and four Heavenly Kings, no room for the Desolate Ruins, no room for the First Ancestor, the Human Emperor.
Shen Mu in that history book might be only a brief passage of text—to say nothing of the battles and wars he could not forget, the faces he could not forget.
The world's history books cannot hold these things.
Heroes buried by history are like droplets in the sea, grains in the desert, remembered by none.
Even if a hero out of history returned, no one would know him.
He walked a long while, passing through one divine city after another. Some ruins of battlefields had been destroyed in the passage of time, become divine cities, become tall towers and great buildings; others had gone utterly desolate, with no one to commemorate them, and only when he passed did anyone pay respects.
"Venerable Mu, is that you?"
While Shen Mu was paying his respects in Lanfeng Vale, he heard a voice weathered by the years. He looked toward the sound and saw a great black tiger. He was startled for a moment, then broke into a smile and went to meet the black tiger as it came pouncing.
That was the Black Tiger God, his senior fellow disciple.
The Black Tiger God came pouncing over, transformed into an old man with a face full of grizzled whiskers, and embraced him, weeping and laughing at once, then suddenly cried out at the top of his voice, "Master, your second disciple has come home!"
In the mountain woods of Lanfeng Vale there were a few thatched huts. The Woodcutter Sage pushed open the door of his hut and came out, still dressed as he had been before, never having changed with the changing of the world.
He too was like an antique, stubbornly wedded to the old ways, so ancient that the age had cast him aside.
Though his features were the same as in those years, like a ripe dandelion he had less and less hair.
Shen Mu strode forward and embraced the somewhat reserved Woodcutter Sage.
The woodcutter struggled once and could not break free, then roused the axe in the corner, long since covered in rust, intending to threaten him into letting go, but the Black Tiger God quietly stretched out a paw and pressed it down.
At last Shen Mu released him.
The two sat down at the stone table. The Woodcutter Sage's face was dark, while the Black Tiger God bustled back and forth, setting everything in order, brewing tea, stir-frying dishes, cooking rice, most diligent.
After a long while, the Woodcutter Sage said coldly, "So you're back?"
"Mm. I'm back," Shen Mu said with a smile.
"When do you leave?" The Woodcutter Sage picked up his teacup and said indifferently.
"Right away," Shen Mu said.
The Woodcutter Sage's hand trembled, and the water in the cup nearly spilled. "Just back, and already leaving?" he said, as if he did not care.