Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 87 Choosing the Less Traveled Path: A Choice That Shapes One's Life

He said it very softly: "We must not only face the alien species, but also the schemes of other extraordinary beings."

Ryan smiled.

It wasn't a polite smile; it was a smile that said, "This young man is teachable."

"Well said."

He held up one finger.

"A Level 1 Extraordinary earns three to four pounds a week, which is equivalent to the income of a middle-class person—a teacher, doctor, or lawyer."

He tapped his finger in the air.

"Doctors have to study for decades. What about the extraordinary ones? Several years of breathing exercises, plus one baptism."

Xilun took over the conversation.

"But respectable professions like medicine are explicitly protected by the established order."

He paused.

"Are extraordinary beings forbidden?"

'

Renn shook his head.

"No prohibition."

"But it doesn't protect either."

He lowered his hand.

"The gray population"

The two words fell in the empty classroom, feeling inexplicably heavy.

Xilun remained silent for a moment, his mind racing.

An idea took shape.

"That one"

He spoke.

"Has the power of technology surpassed that of the extraordinary?"

Raine didn't answer immediately, but just looked at him.

Xilun continued to push downwards.

"Otherwise, with the power of an extraordinary being, they might not be content with such a situation."

He didn't know where the pinnacle of the extraordinary lay, but it wasn't difficult to draw a conclusion based on reasonable speculation.

Those at the second tier of extraordinary ability have refined their flesh and skin, making them capable of taking on ten opponents single-handedly and unafraid of old-fashioned firearms.

Even a Tier 3 Extraordinary Individual could withstand the new revolver rifle without any problem.

Moreover, the extraordinary are themselves human beings.

They can use their fists, or they can use guns.

The extraordinary are equal to stronger humans.

"If extraordinary individuals unite as one..."

'

"I don't believe technology can suppress extraordinary power," Celen said.

Ryan did not refute, and the classroom was quiet for a while.

The flame of the wall lamp flickered, and the orange light danced on Renn's face.

His expression changed.

It wasn't anger, nor mockery, but something very distant, like looking at something from across many years.

"If only we could unite."

His voice lowered, and he remained silent for a few seconds.

"I can't explain the specific reason either."

Renn fell into thought.

"However, I can tell you what little I know."

Xilun didn't move; he sat on the ground and listened quietly.

Raine's voice slowly rang out.

"The extraordinary beings of the past were extremely powerful and domineering."

He speaks very slowly.

"They despise ordinary people and consider themselves superior to all living beings. They want to enslave all ordinary humans except the extraordinary ones and make them work for them."

"And they do not produce anything; they only need to enjoy themselves every day."

Ryan's fingers unconsciously rubbed his cuffs.

"This is an offer that is impossible to refuse, and it's not difficult at all. Extraordinary individuals can bypass the army and directly behead people with just a little organization."

He raised his chin.

"They imprisoned Queen Victoria I."

Xilun didn't interrupt.

"A dictatorship has begun."

Raine's voice was flat and monotone.

"But the empire soon fell into decline."

"Because wherever there are people, there is a world of its own."

He let out a long breath.

"In the past, extraordinary individuals could unite in the struggle for power. But what happens when they begin to divide the spoils of victory?"

He spread his hands.

"We can no longer cooperate."

"They fight amongst themselves, vying for power, territory, and beauties."

At this point, Ryan stopped talking.

The only sounds in the classroom were the wind and the faint crackling of the firewood collapsing in the fireplace.

Xilun waited for a while.

"And then?"

Renn shook his head.

"I forgot."

He spoke casually, but Xilun could tell that he hadn't forgotten; he simply didn't want to talk about it anymore.

Or rather, it cannot be said.

Raine turned around to face Xiren, his expression returning to its usual composure.

"In short, the extraordinary individuals of today are this kind of group."

He held up one finger: "From the moment you started practicing breathing techniques, you only had two paths left."

"Article 1."

"Treat yourself as an ordinary person, a healthier, better-fitting ordinary person, live an ordinary life, work an ordinary job, get married and have children, take care of your family, and then grow old."

He bent his finger: "If one is a high-level extraordinary being, one must also be constantly careful not to let the delusions of evil gods corrupt one's intellect."

The fingers are straightened.

"Article Two."

"To compete for power and resources, to acquire more mystical knowledge, stronger breathing techniques and fighting skills, more authority, and greater territory..."

Ryan's voice was not inflammatory at all; he was simply stating the facts.

"Struggle against life. Struggle against the enemy. Struggle against the delusions within extraordinary power."

"Such a life will be tiring, full of struggle, and never easy."

He's finished speaking.

The classroom remained silent for a long time.

Ryan sighed, stood up, and dusted off his pants.

"Think about it carefully."

He walked to the door, placed his hand on the door frame, and glanced back at Xilun.

"Perhaps those who are extraordinary are not as glamorous as you imagine."

The door was gently closed.

The footsteps faded into the distance along the corridor.

Only Xilun remained in the classroom.

The flame of the wall lamp flickered in the wind, almost going out, but stubbornly persevered and came back to life.

Xilun lowered his head and looked at his hands.

His palms were rough, his knuckles were covered with calluses, and dark marks from his morning practice remained under his fingernails.

These hands have crushed iron wire stakes, torn the flesh of Suber bears, and snapped people's throats.

Xilun untied the straps of his training clothes and peeled the sweat-soaked fabric off his body.

The moment the coarse linen clothes were slipped on, a slight itch came from the tiny scratches on the skin.

He didn't pay attention, fastened his collar, tucked the bronze badge inside, and pushed open the back door of the club.

A cold wind blew in.

The smell of coal ash on the street was stronger than in the morning, as if someone had thrown the whole street into a boiler and fumigated it.

Xilun did not walk fast.

He walked a beat slower than usual, his shoes making a dull thud on the wet stone pavement.

His gaze swept across the street, his eyes thoughtful, his steps slow.

Most of the shops on both sides were closed.

Occasionally, a half-open window would reveal the dim light of an oil lamp and a listless face.

As he passed the bakery, Xilun glanced inside.

A middle-aged woman sat behind the counter, her hands crossed on her stomach, her eyelids half-closed, staring blankly at the empty shelves.

The stove is cold.

He looked away and continued walking forward.

A few people were gathered at the street corner.

Xilun leaned closer and saw what was on the ground through the gaps in the crowd.

a corpse.

Male, around thirty years old, wearing a gray-blue short jacket commonly seen on dockworkers.

The abdominal cavity was completely cut open, the ribs rolled up to the sides like broken white branches, and the internal organs were all emptied out, leaving only a shriveled skin attached to the spine.

The blood had long since dried, congealing into a dark brown puddle, mixed with the sewage in the cracks of the stone slabs.

There weren't many onlookers, only four or five.

No one called the police, no one shouted, and no one even whispered to each other.

They just stood there, looked down for a while, and then dispersed to do whatever they were doing.

It's like seeing a dead dog on the side of the road.

Xilun stood there for a few seconds.

He didn't get closer, nor did he look at it for long.

Turned around and left.

We passed through two more alleys along the way, one with a stall selling cheap tobacco, and the other with a group of teenagers squatting against a wall gambling with dice.

The children were skin and bones, their faces were filthy, but their eyes darted around quickly, and their hands moved with surprising agility.

A short guy lost and was pushed to the ground by a big kid next to him, who was cursing at him.

The short guy got up, dusted himself off, and squatted back down to continue gambling.

There was no crying, no fussing.

Xilun paused for a moment, then continued forward.

On a street corner, a chimney sweep, pipe in hand, was calling out to attract customers.

Behind him followed a five- or six-year-old apprentice, his body stained black with cigarette ash, dragging a brush taller than himself.

To climb the narrow chimney, the boy's knees and elbows were only wrapped in a few layers of tattered cloth, his movements were slightly stiff, and each breath was accompanied by a bellows-like cracking sound.

A girl of about fourteen or fifteen years old stood by the door of the tavern, carrying a bamboo basket full of withered violets.

People on the street are all desperately trying to play their part for a few pennies.

The door to room 302 of the Golden Rooster Hotel was tightly closed.

Xilun entered the house without turning on the lights.

He hung his clothes on the iron hook behind the door, put his hands under the pillow, and then sat on the edge of the bed.

The room was dark.

The only light source was the moonlight streaming in through the window.

Silvery light seeped in through the cracks in the window, spreading a thin layer of shimmering light across the floor.

Xilun looked down at the light.

Dust particles on the floor floated in the moonlight, tiny, slow, and directionless.

His breathing slowed down.

My mind is a mess.

While practicing today, the two paths that Renn mentioned kept swirling in his mind.

Live an ordinary life, or fight desperately.

Xilun rubbed his temples vigorously.

He stood up, walked to the table, and blew out the remaining embers on the oil lamp.

It went completely dark.

The moonlight seemed even brighter.

He sat back on the bed, leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on the silvery white expanse on the ground.

The light fell on the rough wooden floor, a thin layer, quietly.

Like frost.

Xilun thought of something very far away.

Memories that do not belong to this body.

Memories that do not belong to Saint Laurent City, the Victorian Empire, or the Greywater River.

Those things rose from the depths, with a strange clarity.

He opened his mouth.

The voice was very soft, almost a whisper, as each word fell into the empty room.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.

"Unfortunately, I cannot get involved in both at the same time."

I stood there at the crossroads for a long time.

The moonlight remained still.

The wind squeezed in through the cracks in the window, carrying coal dust and the fishy smell of the distant river.

"I gazed down a road until it disappeared into the depths of the jungle."

Xilun's voice was flat and emotionless, like moonlight, clear and cold, desolate and mournful.

"But I chose a different path."

"It was overgrown with weeds and very secluded."

"She looks more alluring and beautiful."

He paused for a moment.

My palm is outstretched, and moonlight falls upon it.

Calluses, cracks, and dark marks that can't be washed off under the nails.

These hands were still moving goods at the dock just three months ago.

"Although few travelers have left their footprints on this path."

His hands came together.

"Although the ground was covered with fallen leaves that morning, neither road was stained with footprints."

The room was so quiet that he could hear his own heart beating in his chest.

Steady, powerful, one stroke at a time.

"Ah, I'll leave a way out for another day."

"But I know the path stretches on endlessly, and I fear I may never be able to turn back."

Xilun's eyes remained fixed on the moonlight on the ground.

That silvery-white color hasn't changed; it has remained quietly lying on the floor ever since he sat down.

Do not rush, do not guide, do not give directions.

It's just there.

"Perhaps many years from now, somewhere, I will sigh softly as I look back on the past."

His voice lowered even further.

Two roads diverged in a wood.

The last sentence.

"I chose the less traveled path, and that determined the course of my life."

That's all.

Silence returned to the room.

Xilun sat motionless against the wall for a long time.

Memories churned and stirred in my mind, then gradually settled into calm.

They sank to the bottom, like stones on a riverbed, quietly sitting there after being washed away by the water.

Xilun let out a long breath.

"My path."

He thought to himself.

"A winding, confrontational journey that may not necessarily lead to any legendary experiences or honors."

But at least—

'

He glanced at his hands.

He closed his palms together, then opened them again.

"So that in the future, when I look back on today, I won't regret not taking that first step."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Like solemnly pressing one's fingerprint at the end of a document.

Xilun took off his boots, put the pistol under his pillow, and lay down.

The moonlight moved from his face to his chest, and then from his chest to his feet.

My breathing became more and more even.

He fell asleep.

A smile played on her lips, as if she were having a sweet dream.

"Mr. Sir Len, hot water."

An Man's voice came in from outside the door, muffled.

Xilun opened his eyes.

The hazy sunlight streaming in through the window seemed to break through the clouds, making the room very bright.

He sat up and stretched his neck.

The joints made a crisp cracking sound.

The bandage on my chest was a little tight, but I was breathing smoothly, my limbs were strong, and my mind was as clear as if I had been washed with cold water.

He's in good spirits.

It's better than any day before.

The chaotic heat and disorder disappeared, replaced by something heavy and grounded.

Like blacksmithing.

Repeatedly fired, repeatedly hammered, repeatedly quenched.

In the end, the impurities burned away, the bubbles were flattened, and what remained was a clean piece of iron.

Xilun threw off the covers and stepped barefoot onto the cold floor.

The moonlight from last night is long gone.

Only a thin layer of ash and his own footprints remained on the floor.

He walked to the door and opened it.

An Man stood outside carrying a steaming copper kettle. When she saw his face, she was stunned for a moment.

"What's wrong?"

Xilun asked.

An Man opened his mouth, then shook his head.

"Nothing much, I just think—Mr. Celen looks particularly good today."

Xilun took the copper pot.

Hot water was poured into the basin, and white steam rose up, blurring the face in the mirror.

He wiped the mirror with a towel, and it gradually became clear.

Copper-colored skin, a strong jawline, and calm, clean eyes.

There was none of yesterday's irritability, nor the anger of the day before.

It's just peace.

Xilun hung the towel on the rack, changed into a clean linen shirt, and buttoned up the brass badge at the collar.

He tucked his hand behind his waist and inserted the silver knife into his boot.

I opened the window, and a cold wind carrying the smell of coal ash rushed in.

Downstairs on the street, early risers had already begun moving goods, their shouts, the sound of wheels, and the clanging of chains all mingling together.

Same as yesterday.

Same as the day before yesterday.

Just like his first day in Saint Laurent.

But Xilun knew that something was different.

He closed the window, left the room, and closed the door behind him.

At the end of the corridor, at the stairwell, morning light streamed in through a broken window, casting a narrow path of light in front of his feet.

Xilun stepped on it.

One step, two steps.

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