Chapter 3 The White Boy Who Stepped Into That Rive

　　Zhao La Yue carried Yin San's corpse towards the outskirts of the town, her feet treading lightly on the green grass. 　　The bright light from the sky reflected her petite body in an extremely long shadow on the ground before it was gradually faded by the even brighter light. 　　The most important thing in the entire continent was happening, yet she didn't look back to see it, she just watched the change in the thickness of the shadow in front of her, as if it was even more interesting than the heaven and earth phenomenon. 　　No one noticed her, and naturally, no one saw that her expression had finally changed. 　　The corners of her lips were slightly raised in a smile. 　　Applause gradually rose among the peaks of the group. 　　There seemed to be cheering in the town. 　　As the heavens and earth became brighter and brighter, and the cheers became louder and louder, her smile became more and more prevalent until it revealed shallow dimples on her cheeks, which were somewhat adorable. 　　She was really happy, and also had some regrets. 　　If she could be in the same era as a genius like her senior uncle, how good it would be. 　　No matter if it was seeking to learn and ask questions, or something else. 　　The cheering among the group peaks suddenly disappeared. 　　There were no surprises. 　　The silence at this moment represented good wishes. 　　It was like the light that illuminated the world. 　　Of course, there would still be some disappointment after all. 　　Senior Uncle Jing Yang had ascended. 　　Zhao La Yue finally turned around and looked at the sky. 　　Looking at the fading rift, and the sword light that was already nearly invisible, for some reason, her eyebrows slightly raised. 　　She looked at the corpse she was carrying in her hand, and her smile gradually faded away with some doubt and uncertainty. 　　...... 　　...... 　　There is an endless wetness in the clouds, and streams and rivers are often accompanied by it. 　　Not far from the town of cloud set there is a stream, that stream with mist, around the high cliffs and low hills flow, forward dozens of miles, re-entering the wall of another mountain peak. 　　I don't know how far the stream enters the mountain wall, the waterway is widening, the light is getting brighter and brighter, there is actually a stone room, the wall is encrusted with a rare jade in the world. 　　The stone room is very simple, only a stone bed connected to the mountain wall, in front of the bed there are two already rotten futons. 　　A teenager with his hands behind his back, looking at the stone bed with his head inclined, occasionally the wind rises, lifting up his white clothes. 　　Stone bed lying a person, covered with blood, everywhere is a wound, or narrow or wide, or deep or shallow, can not distinguish what kind of weapon is injured, clothes are tattered, where still recognize the fabric woven by the silk, the belt is still very complete, there is a very faint aura of the hidden, is actually the dark jiao tendon made, above the tie with a waist plate, but it seems to be an ordinary black wood carving and become. 　　This person has no breath, has long been dead, the strange thing is, the face is always covered with a layer of fog, incomparable deep, can't see the face clearly. 　　The teenager stood in front of the stone bed, looking at the person silent, do not know what to think. 　　I don't know how long it took, he finally spoke. 　　"Really ...... annoying." 　　His voice was clean, but a little hairy, and his speech was very slow, as if he rarely spoke. 　　The light fell on his eyes. 　　His eyes were like an ocean, seemingly calm and clarified, but incomparably deep and wide, harboring countless storms and waves. 　　There was incomprehension, anger, regret, some fatigue, and some vicissitudes that were completely incompatible with age. 　　A moment later, all the emotions in his eyes disappeared, leaving only a calm. 　　It was like the clouds disappearing between the nine peaks, or like those light pulps that fell from the sky eventually turning into nothingness. 　　"Somewhat envious of you, you can rest well while I have to be busy for these many more years." 　　The white-clothed boy said to the dead man on the stone bed. 　　The dead man's belt moved slightly, and the wooden plaque suddenly disappeared. 　　A cold light left the stone bed and flew around his body at a rapid pace, illuminating the stone room with a non-stop glow for a few moments before stopping in front of his eyes. 　　That is a flying sword, about two feet long, two fingers thick and thin, the body of the sword is smooth as a mirror, in addition to this there is no more strange, but gives a person a very uncommon feeling. 　　The white-clothed boy raised his right hand, the flying sword fell on its own, snapped with a soft sound, rolled on his wrist, gradually darkening, just like an ordinary bracelet. 　　Turning around and walking to the edge of the stream, the white-clothed boy suddenly remembered the words the man had said to himself back then. 　　--One cannot step into the same river twice. 　　Is that really so? 　　Thinking about this question, he stepped into the stream. 　　...... 　　...... 　　The stream traveled through the belly of the mountain for an unknown number of miles, and pierced out on the other side of the peak into a fine waterfall more than ten feet high. 　　The white-clothed boy followed the stream and dropped down from between the cliffs, ready to step on the water, but his feet had already stepped through the water and fell into the lake. 　　It wasn't until he floated into the depths of the lake and his feet touched the bottom of the lake that he roughly understood what had happened and was somewhat dismayed. 　　But he didn't seem to know what kind of expression should be used to describe this kind of emotion of dismay, so he looked a bit dumbfounded. 　　The slightly cold water of the lake had little effect on him, and he looked around with his eyes open and saw a rock at the bottom of the lake. 　　He picked up the rock from the bottom of the lake and walked forward with the terrain, getting closer and closer to the water until he was out of the lake and on the shore. 　　There was a muffled sound, the ground shook, and the water on the shore rippled slightly; that was when he dropped the stone in his arms, so you can imagine how heavy it was. 　　He was soaked to the skin and felt a little uncomfortable, moving to prepare his body to be dried with sword fire, only to find that nothing appeared. 　　His still dripping hair and the wet clothes clinging to his body reminded him that this was the time to build a fire, and it then occurred to him that he had never built one before. 　　He inclined his head, thinking back to the books he had read many years ago, and repeated in a dry voice, "Need hay with branches of varying thickness." 　　Confirming that all the water had drained from his left ear, he tilted his head to the right and continued to rummage through those long ago memories, saying, "If flint is not available, crystals are needed, or drilled wood." 　　The shore was a wooded area, and he walked to the forest, reaching out and caressing it, the fallen wood rustled down and soon piled up into a small mountain. 　　He picked the smoothest piece of wood from it, padded it with a few wisps of wadding under the bark, and with a slight movement of his mind, the silver bracelet between his wrists reappeared as that small sword, hovering over it. 　　The sharp blade of the sword across the wadding against the wood piece, with an unimaginable speed spinning up, soon there will be a spark, and then smoke, then there will be a flame up. 　　Clothing rested on the branch and steam rose. 　　Watching the intensity of those vapors and the speed at which they rose, the boy easily calculated that it would take another three moments for the clothes to be completely dry. 　　What to do with that time was something that didn't need to be thought about for him. 　　All time had only one use for him. 　　He sat down with his knees crossed and closed his eyes to start meditating and practicing, which seemed particularly natural. 　　But the next moment he opened his eyes and thought blankly, What was the introductory mantra again?