I gain ten years' worth of cultivation every day, and even geniuses will only see my doorstep!

"You're not unseen," Qin Yuan said. "You're here now. Someone's watching you."

Yuan raised his head. His eyes were gray, not black. He looked at Qin Yuan, then at Lin Qing'er, then at the old plum tree. The wind rustled through the leaves of the old plum tree. The stream flowed on, its sound unchanged.

Yuan lowered his head, looking at the porridge in the bowl. It was white rice porridge with a few red dates added. He picked it up and finished the last mouthful. There was a red date at the bottom of the bowl; he picked it up with his finger and put it in his mouth. The red date was sweet and cooked until very soft, requiring no chewing.

He put down the bowl. The bottom of the bowl hit the stone floor with a dull thud.

"I want to eat more," he said.

Lin Qing'er stood up. "I'll bring you more tomorrow."

She was gone. Qin Yuan was still sitting on the bluestone. Yuan leaned back against the cool wall, the coolness of which made him feel secure. The shadow of the old plum tree fell on the stone cell, the shadows of its branches like fingers, gently resting on the cool wall.

Yuan closed his eyes. He hadn't closed his eyes in a long time. In the abyss, he didn't need to close his eyes, because there was no light, and no dreams. Now he closed his eyes. He saw the bowl of porridge, white and steaming, with red dates at the bottom.

The Great Hall of the Multiverse Council, which once held arguments among three thousand people, now only had twelve hundred seated. The empty chairs belonged to the councilors who died fighting on the frontier. Qin Yuan stood in the center of the hall, not sitting. His sword hung at his waist, the bloodstains on the scabbard not yet wiped clean—the residue from when he killed the Eternal Night scout.

The speaker tapped his gavel. "Agenda: The fate of Yuan. The council demands that Yuan be handed over for public execution."

Qin Yuan said, "I won't hand it over."

An uproar erupted in the council chambers. A representative from a major world organization stood up, slamming his fist on the table. "He killed over three hundred people! What gives you the right to protect him?"

"He has no more cultivation left."

"They should still be killed! A life for a life!"

Qin Yuan looked at the representative. "Your proposal last month led to the starvation of two thousand people in the three small worlds. Have you paid for it with your life?"

The council chamber fell silent. The speaker banged the gavel. "Qin Yuan, bring Yuan here so the council can verify him."

Qin Yuan loosened a corner of Yuan's seal. Yuan walked in from outside the council hall, his ashen skin appearing even paler under the light, his eyes clouded with a grayish gloom. He walked slowly, his feet dragging on the ground, each step as if pulling himself out of a swamp. He reached the center of the hall and knelt down. His knees struck the stone slabs with a dull thud.

A councilor rose from his seat, drew his sword, and plunged it into Yuan's shoulder. The blade pierced through flesh, emerging from his back. Yuan screamed, his body arching as grey blood gushed from the wound, staining half his body black. His wound did not heal; blood flowed incessantly, dripping onto the stone slab and pooling. The councilor pulled out the sword, and Yuan collapsed to the ground, convulsing like a worm nailed to a plank.

"There's really no hope left." The councilor returned to his seat.

Another councilor stood up. "Kill him even if he has no cultivation. He was a demon; he killed our people."

Qin Yuan walked to Yuan's side, squatted down, and pulled Yuan up from the ground. Yuan was unsteady and leaned against him, his grayish-white fingers gripping Qin Yuan's sleeve.

"What's the difference between killing a cripple and massacring an entire village?" Qin Yuan said. "He killed three hundred people, and you want to kill him. The Eternal Night Dynasty wants to kill everyone in the myriad realms, what do you plan to do then?"

No one answered.

The Speaker struck the gavel. "Yuan will be under Qin Yuan's life custody, and shall not be released or executed. The Council reserves the right to review the case at any time. Meeting adjourned."

Qin Yuan dragged Yuan out of the council hall. Yuan's wound was still bleeding, gray blood dripping down his arm and onto the ground, leaving a thin line. Qin Yuan didn't wipe it away for him, nor did he turn around.

Li Qing's legs could no longer support her. She had almost no feeling below the knees, and relied entirely on crutches to walk, a wooden crutch tucked under her left armpit and a thick wooden stick for support in her right hand, inching forward step by step. The entire rescue team lined up in two rows at the camp entrance to see her off. There were no drums, no horns, only the wind.

Muddy stood at the front, holding a roasted taro in his hand, its skin golden brown. He tried to speak, opening his mouth several times, but it felt like a stone was stuck in his throat.

Li Qing patted him on the shoulder. "Don't embarrass me."

Muddy stuffed the taro into her hand. The taro was still hot, burning her palm. She didn't eat it, but put it in her bosom.

Li Qing didn't return to the Crimson Sand Realm. The mines there were still there, the miners were still there, but she didn't want to go back. She found a small town near the Summit of Myriad Realms. The town wasn't big, and it was inhabited by miners and their families. The streets were dirt, turning into mud as soon as it rained. She rented a shop on a street corner; it had mud walls, a thatched roof, and a stove she had plastered herself with mud.

On the day the teahouse opened, only three people came: an old miner, a woman holding a child, and a lame old dog. Li Qing didn't mind. She hung up the "Restaurant" sign, the characters of which she wrote herself, crooked but large. She provided free water and steamed buns; the water was boiled water, and the buns were made of coarse grains, not white, but enough to fill you up.

When Qin Yuan arrived, there was only one old miner in the teahouse. The old miner sat in the corner, neither speaking nor drinking water. Li Qing was kneading dough behind the stove, with one hand. She kneaded the dough with her right hand, while her left sleeve, which was empty, was tied up with a rope to keep it out of the way. Her kneading movements were skillful, but she lacked strength, and the dough was never quite smooth.

Qin Yuan sat on the bench by the door. Li Qing poured him a bowl of water; the bowl was coarse porcelain with a chipped rim. The water was cold, and there were no tea leaves inside.

"Does your leg still hurt?"

"It hurts. But I'm used to it." Li Qing pushed the bowl of water in front of him and continued kneading the dough. "Is Yuan still alive?"

"To live."

"Are you planning to lock him up for life?"

Qin Yuan did not answer. He took a sip of water, which was cold and had the fishy smell of the iron pot.

Suddenly, the old miner in the corner burst into tears. There was no sound, only tears streaming from his cloudy eyes, down the furrows of his face, and dripping onto the table. Li Qing placed a bowl of water beside him, without asking why he was crying. The old miner didn't drink; he just stared at the water, tears still flowing.

Qin Yuan stood up. "Bring some tea next time. Don't just drink water all the time."

Li Qing said, "Okay."

Yuan curled up in the stone cell. His shoulder still ached; a black scab had formed where the councilor's sword had pierced him, beneath which new, grayish-white skin peeked out. He dreamt of the Abyss of Chaos. Not the one before he was imprisoned in the stone cell, but one from far earlier. Billions of years ago, the Ancestor of Chaos had thrown him into the abyss. Darkness enveloped him; there was no sound, no light, no end. In his dream, he ran and ran, but the path beneath his feet was always the same color.

He woke up. It was still dark outside the stone cell. The branches of the old plum tree swayed in the night wind, casting shadows on the light wall like fingers grasping. Lin Qing'er came out of the room, wearing a robe, carrying a bowl of hot water. She didn't ask, "What's wrong?", but simply placed the water at the entrance of the light wall.

Yuan picked it up, his hands trembling violently, spilling most of the water. He took a sip; it was scalding hot. The scalding heat was a good thing. It reminded him that he was still alive.