Chapter 1291: when one person attains the Dao, even his chickens and dogs ascend to heaven (2)

It wasn’t lost on him that he had no choice in how he ended up there, but now that he was, and after all he had experienced, Bolin was thankful he chose to attack Feng Xin that day.

Being at the Order had given him opportunities he might never have found in the Green Fog Region, especially in regard to his cultivation and the widening of his horizons. Here, he could share drinks with a Palace Realm expert, interact with spirit beasts of noble bloodlines without fearing for his life, and uncover the mysteries of his own physique thanks to the guidance of Yang Qing, Luo Mei, and the staff of the Beast Tamer Hall.

At times, life in the Order felt restraining and uncomfortable. Much of how it operated was so different from what he was used to in the Green Fog Region, especially when it came to dealing with humans or even other spirit beasts.

Yet despite those differences, he took it all in stride. Part of that was simply because he was alive—able to make choices each day, live those choices, and adapt. In truth, it was no different than what he had always done back in the Green Fog Region.

He was still living his life. It might not be in that green, foggy forest anymore, but just because it wasn’t there didn’t mean his life had ceased. A day alive meant a day worth living, and he intended to take full advantage of it—soaking up every experience each day offered until his last. It was one of the things the Green Fog Region had taught him: to cherish each day and to be adaptable.

Life was unpredictable and filled with countless variables. All one could do was flow with it, and who knew what unexpected things it might reveal?

Yang Qing resonated with that. He had taken Bai Chen’s case out of lingering guilt over what happened in Ma Yuan’s case and his failure to reach Ma Yuan’s wife in time. Yet that guilt-driven journey had inadvertently helped him realize his dream of exploring and discovering new things.

It had led him to the Silver Crane Sect, where he discovered the peak of his dreams and got to discuss Dao with two like-minded seniors. It had pushed him to venture into a battle-prone country like the Azure Sapphire Kingdom in search of clues. It had allowed him to stumble upon the mind-tickling works of Wandering Scholar Song Quan, and to resonate with a mysterious painting that may or may not have tied into his case. It had even seen him letting loose in Hebei, where he ended up in the company of a rogue old man.

What began as a guilt-driven journey had given him far more than he expected.

“The flow of life,” Yang Qing whispered in a trance.

Through the rays filtering down from the trees crowning above, he saw his life since Ma Yuan’s incident unfold like a film. First came the moment he delivered the news to Ma Yuan. Then the scenes shifted to Ma Yuan’s interactions with his daughter, which were cold and strained at first, but thawed bit by bit until Ma Ling stood beside him with a smile as he showed her the new plants he was nurturing.

The light moved on, replaying his time at the Auspicious Wood Grove, where conversations had helped him wrestle with his lingering heart demons. From there it shifted again, carrying him to the familiar, quaint courtyard of the Judicial Review Committee members, who looked leisurely as they always had been every time he met them. He watched himself being handed his new assignment as temporary branch chief of the Deer Mountain Branch—followed by his reluctant, half-hearted protest as was their dance, before ultimately accepting.

Then the scene shifted to Yang Qing retracing the steps of the carnage that had given him the post he was temporarily filling. The mystery only grew deeper as clues related to a familiar foe appeared.

It then moved to a quiet alcove where a quirky, shy, and lonely purple spore sycamore tree by the name of Meiling made her home. He saw himself striking a friendship with her, the image shifting again to them sharing drinks and conversation under the starry skies, when a mysterious middle-aged man suddenly joined them. Normally, Yang Qing would have been too paranoid to enjoy the company of a sudden stranger, yet he welcomed him with ease, as if they were fellow travelers.

The vision then turned to Gu Xing, the sacred flame crane—yet another new friend he had made in his role as Branch Chief. He had never interacted with a special Dao lifeform before, yet here he was, forming a bond with one while also discovering that Deer Mountain Range likely held more secrets than met the eye.

The scene then shifted to an old, weathered building surrounded by an untamed wilderness of lush grass, shrubs, and trees. Moss, vines, and other plants crept along its exterior, and at the entrance hung a lopsided sign with the name Clear Sword River Sect. About a dozen steps away stood a grave marker ringed by wildflowers, herbs, and grass, with a moss-covered stone beside it bearing the words: Here lies Sect Master Wang Yi, faithful servant of the Clear Sword River Sect.

In that moment, Yang Qing saw himself smiling serenely, seated beside the grave. He poured autumn jasmine tea into a cup and placed it among the wildflowers. To his left and right gathered a sparrow, a lark, a beetle, a crescent-winged moth, a firefly, an oak tree, and an azalea, all pulsing with the same power he carried, moving closer to comfort him.

The scene then shifted to him bidding farewell to Deer Mountain Range as he handed the keys to its new branch chief, leaving behind old and new friends, along with memories and experiences to last a lifetime. From there, it moved to his return to the Order, the reintegration scenes flashing past swiftly, yet it was enriching all the same as Yang Qing watched on. The pace finally slowed when it reached the moment he interrupted a skirmish between Xia Fang and the two escort supervisors from the Bluefin Escort Agency, both sides equally nervous and desperate, and for the same reasons.

The images shuffled quickly between his exchanges with them and the cause of their dispute, until the figure of a heroic man with blue hair standing at the starboard of a ferry came into focus. The scene then shifted again—to him and Xia Fang seated in his office, where she opened up, fear and worry etched across her whole being. The office faded, and in its place Yang Qing remained seated, but now within a bamboo-filled courtyard. Across from him sat a genial middle-aged man, bearing certain features that resembled Xia Fang’s. Yet where she had been weighed down with anxiety, he radiated calm and composure.