Chapter 128: Past Life (4) – Stirred Emotions

Yin Buqi lay with his eyes closed, his forehead drenched in sweat.

His pale skin, frost-colored lashes, and eyebrows made him look like a statue carved from jade—lifeless and cold.

The unspeakable nightmares grew clearer: his mother’s wails, the cries of his clansmen, the blood-soaked corpses strewn across the ground, reeking of decay.

A shrill voice still seemed to ring in his ears.

“How could I give birth to something as filthy as you?”

“That child’s eyes are red—how eerie!”

“Everyone else is dead, yet you’re still alive. Why didn’t you just die with them?”

He was born with tainted blood.

He was sin itself.

Memories shattered in his mind, twisting into a chaotic storm before settling into an eerie calm.

Yin Buqi opened his eyes and saw that he was still lying in his room.

The storm outside had passed, leaving clear skies.

At his bedside, Jiang Niannian sat with a hand pressed to his forehead, looking at him anxiously.

“Master…”

Just moments ago, he had been lost in that sea of corpses and blood, and now he felt disoriented.

“You caught a cold and were unconscious for three whole days,” Jiang Niannian said, tucking the blanket around his feet.

“You must’ve had a nightmare—you were talking nonsense just now.”

She moved to withdraw her hand from his forehead, but he caught it.

The young man pressed his cheek against her palm, rubbing against it lightly.

“Master, I was wrong. You can’t abandon me.”

“To recognize one’s mistakes and change for the better is a great virtue,” Jiang Niannian said with a smile, ruffling his hair.

“Alright, let’s not dwell on that for now. I made some medicinal soup for you—drink it to warm up.”

Yin Buqi glanced at the steaming bowl on the table but said nothing.

“It’s not bitter. I added a lot of sugar.”

After hesitating for a moment, he finally sat up, took the bowl, and drank.

Slowly, color returned to his face.

“Master.”

“Hmm?”

“So… you really are a good person who asks for nothing in return.”

Jiang Niannian paused, then understood.

Every month, he would ask her why she had saved him, what she wanted from him in return.

Now, it seemed, he had found his answer.

From that day on, Yin Buqi’s attitude toward Jiang Niannian changed completely.

Pouring tea, making the bed, fetching water—he responded to every call and never talked back.

After finishing his tasks, he would sit nearby, resting his chin in his hands, watching her intently for hours on end.

Wherever she went, he followed.

When exorcising demons and vanquishing monsters, he insisted on accompanying her, as if afraid she would disappear.

But what worried Jiang Niannian was Yin Buqi’s growing bloodlust.

His methods of killing demons and dark creatures were brutally efficient.

He preferred using his hands—those slender, pale fingers, which looked untouched by hardship, could easily take a life.

Yes, he ripped them apart with his bare hands.

At the slightest provocation—rip.

If he was even slightly annoyed—rip.

If he was in a bad mood? Still—rip.

He tore his enemies limb from limb, his hands drenched in blood, crimson droplets sometimes splattering onto his face, making him look even more terrifying.

One day, he caught a vicious beast and, without a change in expression, began peeling off its flesh piece by piece.

“Kill it.”

“Don’t kill it.”

“Kill it.”

“Don’t kill it.”

In the end, holding the last remnants of flesh and bone, he let out a dark, chilling laugh.

“Tsk. Don’t kill it? Too late.”

With a casual clench of his fingers, he crushed the beast’s heart.

Its blood, bright red, gushed like a river, soaking the ground.

The violent spray splattered across his robes.

Jiang Niannian began to reflect—was it her constant monster hunting that made him so bloodthirsty?

Perhaps if he experienced human emotions and the warmth of the mortal world, his heart might change.

She heard that in a few days, one of the Four Great Immortal Sects, Rimuli Sect, would be hosting the Immortal Alliance Gathering.

Perhaps taking her disciple to see the world would do him some good.

With that in mind, she packed up and took Yin Buqi to experience human kindness.

But instead of calming him—this trip would stir up something far more dangerous.

—

Jiang Niannian secured a room for them in an inn near Rimuli City before wandering through the town with Yin Buqi.

“Candied hawthorn! Sweet and tangy—you won’t forget it once you try it!”

“Secret family recipe! The best candied hawthorn!”

Yin Buqi’s gaze fell on the glossy red candy-coated fruits.

Bright, glistening, and enticingly sweet.

“Candied hawthorn…”

His eyes darkened, a blood-red gleam flashing in them.

The violence within him roared.

Memories surfaced.

*”Mother, I want candied hawthorn.”*

A child of seven or eight, eyes bright like stars, tugged at a woman’s sleeve.

The boy’s clothes were tattered, while the woman was dressed elegantly.

He rarely asked her for anything.

But no matter how mature he tried to be, he was still a child.

How could he resist the temptation of candied hawthorn?

Seeing her gaze fall on him, he beamed, trying his best to look obedient.

“Candied hawthorn? Why would someone like you need candied hawthorn? Even eating scraps is a waste on you,” she said impatiently.

“Didn’t I tell you not to touch my clothes? I just made this new dress yesterday, and you’ve already dirtied it!”

“Why? Just one skewer, isn’t that okay?”

His tiny fingers clutched her sleeve tightly, refusing to let go.

His gaze remained fixed on the bright red hawthorn skewers lined up on the vendor’s stand.

The glossy sugar coating, the vibrant red—it all rooted itself deep in his young heart, an insatiable craving.

Drool pooled at the corner of his lips.

He had never tasted one before.

Every bit of good food went to his younger brother.

He lived on leftovers, sometimes even worse.

At just five or six years old, he was already sent out to work, forced to hand over all his earnings.

If he didn’t bring back enough, he was beaten.

“Young man, do you want one? It’s very sweet. Here, have a skewer.”

The vendor smiled and offered him one.

The boy’s eyes lit up, and he eagerly reached out.

The candied hawthorn seemed to sway, as if waving at him.

“No need. He’s not eating it.”

The woman grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

“Mother!”

The boy pleaded, “Just one skewer! Please! I swear I’ll work harder tomorrow and earn more spirit stones!”

“Stop making a fuss. Let’s go!”

“I won’t! Why does my brother always get candied hawthorn, but I never do? Why doesn’t he have to work?!”

Slap!

A vicious slap sent him sprawling to the ground, the taste of blood filling his mouth.

His frail body trembled in pain.

He lay there, unable to get up right away.

His dirty clothes were now covered in dust, making him look even more pathetic.

The usually obedient boy, for the first time, felt rebellion rise within him.

He lifted his blood-red eyes, glaring at the woman.

“Don’t look at me with those disgusting eyes!”

She didn’t consider whether she had hit him too hard—she only saw him as defiant.

She kicked him hard.

“You getting up or not?! Huh?!”

He coughed up blood, his voice hoarse with pain.

“Mother… I was wrong… It hurts… Don’t hit me anymore… I won’t ask for candied hawthorn again…”

Since then, he never spoke those three words again.

Lost in thought, he suddenly saw a candied hawthorn skewer being handed to him.

Yin Buqi froze.

His buried emotions threatened to break free.

“Master… what is this for?”

Jiang Niannian pressed the skewer into his hand.

“I saw you staring at them for a long time, so I bought you one.”

Yin Buqi stared at her, as if spellbound.

The bustling street blurred away.

At that moment, he knew—he was overwhelmed.

Master… you are my god.