coobybook Chapter 2588 Mortal World
Chapter 2588 Mortal World
The stone steps in front of the clinic still retained the afternoon heat.
The noise was like a surging tide, and the laughter was like needles.
Meng Zhiyuan did not turn around. Instead, he spread his sleeves outwards and stood firmly beside the boy, as if to keep all those gazes and words out of his robes.
Meng Zhiyuan suddenly stopped being angry.
He looked down at Meng Sheng, his gaze devoid of intensity or resentment, only a profound calm, like the expression one might have when gazing at a mountain.
He spoke slowly, his voice soft, yet clear as a drop of water falling in an empty room:
“Sheng’er, they will feel at ease when you are like this.”
The boy did not react.
Meng Zhiyuan continued speaking, as if he were explaining the truth of the world.
When you are at the peak of your career, they look up to you and say you are a celestial star.
"When you sink, they breathe a sigh of relief and say you're nothing special."
"The two sentences sound contradictory, but they actually mean the same thing."
His gaze swept over the crowd on the street, his calmness terrifying.
"They don't care what you are, they only care whether they can accept it."
A gust of wind blew, raising a light dust cloud.
"People judge others by their position, not their hearts."
"If you're taller than them, praise them; if you fall, trample on them."
"It's not evil, it's fear."
He bent down to straighten the boy's clothes, his movements still composed.
"Your current state is a good thing for them."
"Because they can finally stop looking up."
"There's no need to admit that you were once less than a child."
His voice lowered, but became even more steady.
"remember."
"What can be brought down by a few idle words is never true ability. The real thing is not in people's mouths, but in their bones."
"As long as the bones aren't broken, the person won't fall."
Someone in the distance was still laughing.
Meng Zhiyuan had already taken the boy's hand and walked forward.
"The greatest skill of a crowd is to make the same mistake together."
"So don't look at them as something you've lost."
Being understood by the majority is never a good sign.
The long street gradually receded into the distance.
His back was as straight as a pine tree.
And those sounds suddenly seemed as light and thin as dust.
Meng Sheng looked up somewhat blankly and took a deep look at his father. Suddenly, he felt that his father, who had always had the air of a scholar, had become a great man.
Six months later.
Once Meng Sheng shed his prodigy status, he appeared to be just an ordinary person.
He used to enjoy being with people, but now he prefers to be alone. His personality has become withdrawn and he doesn't fit in with those around him. Even his father and mother have become depressed because of this.
That day.
He sat on a hillside ridge, gently tossing pebbles downwards.
Suddenly, Meng Sheng looked up and saw birds in flight. He chuckled to himself and suddenly longed to fly like them.
rub--
He squinted and saw what appeared to be a streak of light flashing across the sky. It was moving very fast, and he couldn't make it out clearly, but soon he looked down again.
"What exactly is that Heavenly Gate... and why is it inside my body...?"
Meng Sheng muttered to himself, realizing that he hadn't become dull-witted, but rather that he often thought about this matter.
He sighed deeply.
He was just about to get up and leave.
suddenly!
A strange, blood-stained bag fell from the sky, seemingly from the direction of the streak of light. By sheer coincidence, it landed right on the old tree on the edge of the field. Meng Sheng's bewildered eyes were filled with curiosity, and he swallowed hard.
His face was somewhat pale, and he had an innate fear of blood.
But as if by some strange twist of fate, Meng Sheng actually took a step in that direction.
Not bad.
That was a cultivator's storage bag. It seemed that the bag had fallen here because the cultivator was severely injured in the battle. Meng Sheng climbed the tree with great effort, sweating profusely, and it took him a full half hour to reach the top.
He was obsessed with obtaining this item.
"what!!"
Bang!
He accidentally stepped into a hole and fell hard, grimacing and unable to recover for a while. But he grinned foolishly, staring intently at the strange bag he was clutching in his hand.
Meng Sheng stared intently at it with bright, piercing eyes.
Goodness...
Meng Sheng finally came into contact with the matter of cultivating immortality by chance, which meant that a vast and boundless world of cultivation was slowly unfolding before his eyes, and also meant that... the old demon Meng had returned to the world.
……
Thirty years later.
The mist over Bingyun Mountain remained, but few dared to look directly at the figure walking slowly along the mountain path.
Meng Sheng stood tall.
He was tall and slender, not imposing, but like a bamboo swaying in the wind. His frame was well-defined, and he exuded a calm and composed demeanor. His shoulders and back were straight, and his steps were unhurried. Every step he took seemed to be calculated with precision.
His face was not sharp; the lines were clean and straight, his brow bone was upright, his nose was high but not steep, and his eyes were deep and calm, like the surface of a lake after a long storm, seemingly calm but actually unfathomable.
When making eye contact, there is no pressure, but people subconsciously fall silent. The corners of their lips are usually flat, without a smile or coldness, just a habitual restraint and self-control.
Years of weathering have not left a rough mark on his face; instead, they have given him a gentle, scholarly air.
His every move still revealed the discipline he had cultivated in the old schoolhouse—his robes were neat, his cuffs were clean, and his fingers were long and strong, yet he did not show any ostentation.
Judging by his appearance alone, he looked more like a scholar going to the capital to take the imperial examination.
But when he calms down, his demeanor changes.
He seemed to sink into some kind of invisible weight, his aura became restrained, and his presence became extremely strong, like a silent and immovable mountain.
Over the years, he has been a Foundation Establishment cultivator.
The entire area within hundreds of miles of Bingyun Mountain had to defer to him. He was so powerful that ten years ago he almost single-handedly quelled a sect in Bingyun Mountain. His fame spread far and wide, and no one dared to covet or offend the Meng family anymore.
The mountain breeze is very gentle today.
The pine shadows of Bingyun Mountain are layered in the thin mist, like pages of an old book unfolding, one upon another, with no end in sight.
Meng Sheng stood before the earthen mound of Xinlei, his clothes plain and simple, without a trace of murderous intent. The mountain wind brushed past his shoulders and then dispersed into the forest, as if he were walking from one era to another.
My father passed away last autumn.
My mother passed away when spring was just beginning to warm up.
It took no more than a year.
He had lived through more than forty years, weathered storms and snow, witnessed cultivators at the Qi Refining and Foundation Establishment stages fighting for their lives, sects collapsing, and spiritual light obscuring the sky.
But then you suddenly realize that a mortal's life is so short that there's no time to look back.
Short to—
A courtyard, from the moment the new tiles were laid to the moment moss grew on the corners of the walls, only took a few rain showers.
A child goes from being a source of joy and laughter around one's knees to leaving home and never returning, in just a few years.
They possessed no earth-shattering magical powers, nor any supernatural abilities to overturn mountains and seas.
Yet their lives were remarkably brilliant.
Brightness—
A call that comes as smoke rises from the stove in the early morning.
A gentle reminder while sewing under the lamp.
The sign outside the courtyard gate reads, "Be careful on the road."
These tiny, almost imperceptible sounds, scattered throughout the years, are heavier than mountains.
For a cultivator, sixty years is merely one step in their cultivation.
Sixty years is a lifetime for an ordinary person, but it encompasses the entire human world.
In just a few decades, they provided warmth under one roof, raised a child, and placed their hearts in the care of others.
Then he left quietly.
Like a lamp.
Regardless of how dark it is, just make sure to light up the room.
The wind blows the ashes of paper money over the new grave.
Meng Sheng stood quietly, his eyes lowered.
The world is vast, lifespan is long, and the path to immortality is endless.
But what truly makes people reluctant to look back is never the pursuit of longevity.
It was that part.
It's as short as it can get.
Yet, they lived their ordinary lives earnestly.