Volume One: The Wild Child Chapter Twenty-Six: Farewell

Stolen moments of leisure in a fleeting life.

Lin Changtian nestled in the embrace of the fresh grass, humming a carefree tune, unconcerned with the ever-changing clouds of the mortal world. Listening to Yu Li frolic in the mountains, her laughter ringing like silver bells, he drifted off to sleep.

He missed the farewell, or perhaps, he had always been saying goodbye.

Yu had fulfilled the Zhou family’s commission and was to depart today. Yu Li waited from noon until dusk, watching the sky grow darker. She turned to follow the departing caravan, her long hair veiling her face, hiding any expression. Yu Qing patted her shoulder. “Your little sweetheart didn’t show up—feeling down?” Yu Li rolled her eyes. “We spoke a lot, from noon all the way to dusk.” “Where did you talk? I didn’t see that boy anywhere.” “Over there,” Yu Li pointed toward the distant, fading silhouette of the mountains. “There?” Yu Qing was surprised; aside from the clouds hanging drunk on the mist, he could see no sign of anyone. “Yes, he was saying goodbye to me right then.” Yu Li opened the window, pressed her face to the gentle breeze, and murmured, “Farewell, you apple-devouring rascal.”

...

Lin Changtian waved his hand vigorously toward Yu Li’s direction. Tired from jumping, he sat down to rest, gazing at the crescent moon at the edge of the sky. The wind carried whispered words, and he grinned foolishly.

Words of parting, dreams of life—once the clouds float away, you are no longer seen.

...

The war raged on. Lin Yuheng’s capture seemed not to affect the Gonggong legion’s onslaught. On the contrary, as the Lin family’s various legions tore through the defenses, the final showdown between the two sides was imminent. The Zhou family, hoping to turn the tide, pinned their last hopes on extracting Lin Yuheng’s genes to mass-produce gods. Yet, with Lin Yuheng spirited away by mysterious forces, the plan was aborted before it began.

Both sides fought fiercely, but Lin Changtian paid no mind to such petty struggles. He wandered the mountains, recalling the brilliance of his blade’s moment, seeking enlightenment. Staring at the shimmering lake, he scratched his head, then swung his blade across the sky, splitting the moon reflected in the lake into two halves—one still hanging in the heavens, the other sinking beneath the water. Surrounded by a blue-black aura, his divine radiance restrained within, he had become a Boundary Walker.

Lin Changtian frowned. His blade technique, tempered by life-and-death experience, had grown countless times stronger, yet its essence lacked the grace of that day. He did not rush to comprehend his own aura, but sat down, recalling Yu Baili’s teachings on cultivation.

“Everyone possesses a breath within, and a Boundary Walker is one in ten thousand who can mobilize this breath. The root of all things lies in the essence of heaven and earth. When your minor circulation merges with the major circulation, you glimpse the path of cultivation. In ancient times, such people were called immortals, which is why the schoolmasters do not refer to themselves as Boundary Walkers. He’s lived many years, from the old world to the present, and in his words, is but a mediocre soul clinging to existence.

Boundary Walkers have no strict hierarchy, for the breath of heaven and earth outside the body is too complex for a unified standard—strength is judged solely by actual combat. However, secret records in the northern frontier and among certain central families describe the age of immortals as divided into six levels: 'Servant of Life,' 'Spirit of the Cavern,' 'Heaven’s Decree,' 'Grand Void,' 'Profound Cavern,' and 'True Cavern.' Each realm is wondrous, not simply graded by strength, but by deeper paths. Yet, knowing this brings little insight to the current constraints of Boundary Walker cultivation, for the breath of heaven and earth in this era is too chaotic, and the coming of the Age of Awakening has made the laws of the world unpredictable, especially in the north, where the surface appears calm but the laws are tending toward chaos.”

Yu Baili sighed at this point and stopped his explanation. Lin Changtian opened his eyes from the recollection. He exhaled the chaos from his mouth, smacked his lips, and retched. “How big is this forest anyway? Haven’t brushed my teeth in days—the taste is so invigorating.”

Legs numb from vomiting, Lin Changtian struggled to stand, stumbling forward with no idea of direction, wandering as his heart pleased, aimless and unburdened.

Of course, thoughts of the north always brought a smile to his eyes—memories he could not resist.

Changtian soared out of the forest, accompanied by clouds and mist, reaching for the moon within arm’s length.

...

The great battle between Lin and Zhou finally reached its climax. The Lin family’s four major legions—Gonggong, Zhu Rong, Fuxi, and Pangu—threw themselves completely into the fray, tearing at the Zhou family’s defenses without restraint. The most ferocious, the Fuxi legion, supported by Gonggong, crushed the last Xu clan stronghold in the defensive network overnight.

With the southwestern Xu clan’s defeat, the Zhou family’s Eight Branches, established over a century, scattered like birds and beasts, leaving only a few remaining forces to rush back to support the main family. By rights, the war at this point should have tipped victory decisively toward the Lin family, for the Zhou main house had always been seen as a marginal power, content to muddle along. Yet, when the fighting came down to close quarters, the Zhou family’s powerful biosynthetic mechs gave the Lin family a bitter lesson. In the first phase of confrontation, the Zhu Rong legion, facing the mechs directly, collapsed and retreated a thousand miles.

The Zhu Rong legion’s loss of more than half its strength taught the Lin family a harsh lesson. To retaliate against the mechs, the Lin family mobilized nearly all their high-level Boundary Walkers and Awakened from the rear to the Zhu Rong’s retreating front, intending to seize the Zhou family’s last hope in one decisive blow.

Meanwhile, the Zhou family, sensing the gathering storm, prepared their trump cards for a final desperate struggle.

As the situation in the north reached its most critical juncture, Lin Changtian finally emerged from the forest, beholding a towering city. Compared to the Middle Zhou, it was far beyond, not merely in its modern style, but in the profound ancient charm that could not be matched. Technology blended seamlessly with classical heritage, creating a natural harmony—truly a masterpiece.

Had it not been for the imposing projection of the words “Brahma Capital” atop the city, Lin Changtian would have leapt down already. With the Lin family’s rise, the central seat of Brahma Capital had become well-known throughout the north.

Gazing at the grand towers and bustling crowds, Lin Changtian recalled the hardships of braving the elements, knocked his head, his eyes spinning with schemes—a plan to slip inside sprung up effortlessly.