Douluo Continent: My name is Yang Jian, and I achieved sainthood through my physical body

Silence returned to the village entrance as the last fallen one fell.

Only the villagers, bound together, remained, trembling violently as they gasped and sobbed.

Some people hesitated to open their eyes, while others peeked out through their fingers and saw the white-clad youth slowly walking towards them.

He crouched down, hooked his finger, and the chains and ropes snapped as if gripped by an invisible hand.

The fragments fell to the ground, making a clinking and clanging sound.

The villagers were stunned for a moment, then gasped for breath, as if they had been suddenly pulled from the deep sea to the surface.

The relief of surviving the ordeal was mixed with lingering fear. Some people knelt on the ground and kept kowtowing, their foreheads hitting the soil and getting covered in dirt.

Some people cried and hugged their family members to make sure they were still alive.

Someone opened their mouth as if to say something, but only managed to utter intermittent sobs.

A little girl with two braids broke free from the crowd and ran to the boy in white.

She tilted her head back, her face still covered in dust and tear stains, and asked in a clear, childish voice, "Big brother, what's your name?"

Yang Jian looked down at the little girl, at her clear and bright eyes.

There was no fear or probing in those eyes, only pure curiosity and trust.

He paused for a moment, then spoke softly, "Yang Jian."

He reached out and gently pushed away the little girl's fingers that were gripping the hem of his clothes, then took out a few gold soul coins from his sleeve and placed them in her small palm.

The Gold Soul Coin was heavy and had a warm, lustrous sheen.

He straightened up, turned and walked towards the hillside outside the village, his pace neither fast nor slow.

The villagers knelt on the spot, watching the departing figure.

Some continued to kowtow, while others clasped their hands together in prayer, their words of gratitude echoing endlessly in the afternoon valley for a long time.

Yang Jian walked along the dirt road in the mountains, and the village was no longer in sight.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on his shoulders and the hem of his clothes.

The chirping of cicadas came intermittently from the bushes by the roadside.

Birdsong could be heard in the distance, its notes piercing through the layers of tree canopy, becoming distant and clear.

He recalled the way the little girl had looked up at him earlier.

Those clear, water-like eyes were like a mirror untouched by dust.

A slight tremor ran through his heart, like a pebble thrown into a very deep well, making a "thud".

Ripples spread out from the point of impact, bounced off the well wall, and finally subsided, leaving the water calm again.

He took the wedding candy out of his sleeve, looked at it, and then put it back.

Putting aside those unnecessary thoughts, he continued walking along the winding mountain path.

I don't know where I'll end up.

……

Yang Jian continued walking in the mountains, his pace unhurried and steady with each step.

The soles of my shoes crunched over the dry leaves on the ground, making a soft, crisp cracking sound, like stepping on a thin, sun-dried biscuit, with each step producing a soft thud.

He walked across a grassy slope covered with wildflowers of various colors.

White, yellow, light purple, and pale pink wildflowers are scattered among the green grass, bending under the wind and bouncing back up, their petals trembling gently in the breeze, as if greeting someone.

He walked across a crystal-clear mountain stream.

The stream made a tinkling sound among the rocks, sometimes high, sometimes low, sometimes near, sometimes far, as if someone was playing an invisible zither in the mountains, the strings being gently plucked by the water.

He walked through a bamboo grove that rustled in the wind.

The bamboo poles are thin and long, bending into various arcs and straightening in the wind. The leaves rub against each other and collide, making a continuous sound like rain, which becomes background noise like white noise.

Three days passed quietly in this aimless wandering.

The sun rises and sets, the moon rises and sets, like tireless watchmen taking turns on duty in the sky, witnessing his footsteps traversing mountain ridges, crossing valleys, and passing through forest paths, gradually moving away from the direction of Tiandou City.

He passed through some very small villages.

The houses were low and simple, with roof tiles of varying shades, as if they had been repaired at different times.

The village dogs would bark a few times when they saw strangers, but would be scolded and silenced by their owners.

He also passed by some dilapidated houses that had been abandoned for a long time.

Most of the walls had collapsed, and the roof beams were exposed, eroded by wind and rain into a grayish-white color. Wild grass grew from the floor inside the house, stretching out through the broken window frames.

He passed through vast rice paddies where the rice was beginning to head.

The rice stalks sway in the wind, forming continuous green waves, and the fragrance of rice floats in the air, carrying the unique sweet scent of the fields.

He also passed through several barren mountains that were mostly overgrown with weeds.

The mountain path was already covered with vegetation. He stepped through the knee-high weeds, leaving behind brief, blurry traces that were quickly covered again by the grass blades lifted by the wind.

Sometimes, he would squat down by the stream he passed and scoop up a handful of water to drink.

The water is cool, clear, and sweet, with a unique mineral flavor from the mountains.

Sometimes, he would sit for a while under the dense shade of a tree.

Leaning against the rough tree trunk, I listened to the long, gentle sound of the wind passing through the canopy.

But he never stayed anywhere for long.

He was like a leaf swept away by the wind, his direction determined by the wind, whether he stopped or not determined by the wind, beyond his control and beyond the control of others.

On the afternoon of the third day, he arrived at a cliff.

That cliff is very high.

Standing on the edge and looking down, the abyss was filled with a thin layer of mist, and the bottom could not be seen. Only a vast and deep atmosphere rose up from below, wrapped in a cool and damp wind.

The wind rose from the bottom of the abyss with a muffled roar, as if an unseen waterfall was cascading down from afar.

The cliff face rocks are grayish-brown in varying shades, some with smooth, mirror-like surfaces, while others are covered with uneven cracks, as if they had been repeatedly pounded by tremendous force.

The texture of the rock is carved layer by layer over a long period of time, and each line records the erosion of wind and rain, the expansion of frost, and the cracks caused by exposure to the scorching sun.

Scattered shrubs grow in the cracks of the rocks, thin and stubbornly struggling to stretch out, their roots tightly gripping the thin layer of soil on the rock surface, their leaves trembling slightly in the wind, as if they are struggling against an unseen force.

The top of the cliff is a flat and wide meadow.

The grass blades were bent low and bounced up by the mountain wind, forming ever-changing green waves that stretched from underfoot to the horizon, like a carpet repeatedly caressed by the wind.

The sky was high and clear, a blue tinged with a faint green, as if it had been washed many times.

A few grayish-white clouds hung above the distant mountain ridge, slowly shifting their shapes, like a few ships sailing slowly.

In the distance, the mountain shadows stretched out in layers towards the horizon, each one farther and fainter than the last. The farthest ones had already merged into the sky, leaving only blurry outlines that could barely be discerned.

Chapter 222 The Fallen

Yang Jian walked to the edge of the cliff, stopped, and sat down on a slightly protruding, flat rock on the cliff edge.

The rock surface is smooth and slightly cool from wind erosion. Sitting on it gives a heavy sense of stability, as if the rock has been in the wind for too long and has long been used to bearing the weight of the occasional passerby.

He dangled his legs down, hanging in mid-air on the edge of the cliff.

Below their feet lay a deep abyss filled with clouds and mist, which slowly swirled and rolled, like a thick layer of cotton spread over the bottomless valley.

He braced his hands on the rock behind him, his palms touching the rough texture of the stone, feeling the subtle bumps and temperature changes, and tilted his head slightly to look at the distant sky.

The clouds moved slowly in his gaze, their shapes constantly changing. Sometimes they resembled birds spreading their wings, sometimes drifting islands, and sometimes they scattered into tiny scales, pushed by the wind to drift away in unseen directions.

The wind surged up from the direction of the abyss, carrying a vast and empty sob, like the earth breathing, each exhale lasting a long time, blowing the hem of his clothes and the ends of his hair.

The hem of her dress was lifted up and fell down by the wind, then lifted up and fell down again, like a flag repeating the same action.

He just sat there, not thinking about anything, not waiting for anything, just sitting quietly on this open space high up.

Look at the sky, look at the mountains, look at the flowing patterns formed by the wind blowing through the tips of the grass, look at your own shadow on the ground behind you as the sun moves and slowly changes angle, from short to long, from one side to the other.

He sat there for about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn when he heard the sounds of fighting.

The sound came from far below the cliff, intermittent, as if carried by the wind from the bottom of the abyss.

After being attenuated and distorted over a long distance, the signal was blurry by the time it reached the top of the cliff, as if it were transmitted through several layers of gauze.

Sometimes it's clearer; you can distinguish the crisp sound of weapons colliding and the deep rumble of soul power erupting, like two pieces of metal repeatedly striking each other in an unseen place, each time with a different frequency and volume.

Sometimes it becomes blurry, like a radio with intermittent signal, only able to capture fragmented segments.

The sound was scattered and gathered by the wind, sometimes far away and sometimes near, sometimes loud and sometimes soft, like someone beating a leaky drum in a faraway place, the sound of the drum being broken up and pieced back together by the wind.

Yang Jian didn't move, didn't even change his sitting posture, and didn't even turn his neck.

The sound was too far away, as if it were separated by several mountains, and had nothing to do with him.

There's no need to worry about it; it will continue to ring in its place, and he will continue to sit in his place.

But the sounds of fighting were getting closer.

After passing a certain distance below the cliff, the sound began to rise, ascending from the bottom of the abyss along the cliff face, getting closer and clearer.

The intervals between the collision sounds and the shouts became shorter and shorter, and the frequency became more and more frequent, like new instruments being added to a piece of music that was gradually accelerating, with each note heavier and more urgent than the previous one.

He could distinguish the sharp, short sounds of metal clashing, the reverberating force released at the point where weapons met, the deep, booming sound of soul power exploding in the air, and the sound of one person's footsteps landing and another person chasing after him, all mixed together.

The girl's clear shouts and the old man's strange laughter mingled together, like two tightly twisted ropes wrestling with each other, neither willing to let go.

Yang Jian remained seated, only his brow twitched slightly, as if he were sighing softly in his heart.

I wasn't very lucky today; even the time to quietly enjoy the scenery was so short.

He could sense that the two fighters were moving upwards towards the cliff while they were fighting.

Like two fighters who lost their way while fighting, they stumbled upon an upward path and headed straight for the cliff top where he was sitting.

Not long after, two figures climbed up from below the edge of the cliff.

The figure in front fell onto the grass, rolled on the spot, used his shoulder to dissipate the impact, then bent his knees, tucked in his stomach, sprang to his feet, and assumed a defensive stance.