Morning light pierced the clouds, casting golden radiance over the rolling mountains, also illuminating the blue stone stairs that wound downward toward the world beyond the mountain gate. The dew glittered on the steps and grass beside the path. The air was filled with a cool, moist grass and earth scent that refreshed the heart.
Tang Xiaoqi stood beneath the simple yet dignified archway of Qingxu Temple's mountain gate. His blue robe gently fluttered in the cool morning wind. He did not fly, did not use any body movement technique. Just like decades ago, when that ignorant and timid child was just taken in by Qingxu Temple, he chose to walk down this road he had traveled countless times step by step, with feet firmly on the ground.
Only, this time, his steps were neither hesitant nor uncertain. On his shoulder crouched a rabbit spirit with snow-white fur and intelligent eyes. The little creature seemed to also sense the unusual atmosphere, unusually quiet, only using its ruby eyes to curiously look at the familiar yet soon-to-be-farewelled scenery.
Step by step.
The solid blue stone path transmitted familiar sensations. The pines and cypresses beside the road were still verdant. Among branches, early-rising spiritual birds chirped melodiously. The gurgling sound of mountain streams mingled with the rustling of bamboo groves carried by the breeze, weaving together a serene yet lively mountain morning symphony.
He walked slowly, even could be called slow. His gaze slowly swept across everything along the way.
That was the old pine tree he had leaned against when Third Senior Sister had trained him to exhaustion, collapsed on the ground. The bark patterns seemed unchanged.
That was the place where he had excitedly yet nervously met with Senior Brothers and Sister on his first mission down the mountain. That protruding rock was still there.
That was his secret corner where he had secretly shared roasted spiritual potatoes with the rabbit spirit. A faint whiff of char seemed still lingering.
That was the cliff where he had practiced sword, contemplated, and gazed at the distant sky countless times under the moonlight. The sea of clouds churned beneath his feet, as if it were yesterday.
Every blade of grass, every stone, every scene carried too many memories. Here was the sweat and tears of his growth, the joy of breakthroughs, the confusion of setbacks, the fun of joking and playing with fellow disciples, and more importantly, the trust and protection forged through life and death.
This road recorded every trace of his journey from an unknown orphan to the World-Purifying True Lord renowned throughout the Southeast.
The further down he walked, the more majestic and tranquil Qingxu Temple appeared behind him. Looking back, halls and pavilions were hidden and revealed among the layered peaks and swirling mist. Flying eaves and upturned corners outlined elegant silhouettes. The sounds of morning bells and evening drums seemed to still echo in his ears, carrying an ancient and unchanging serenity and dignity. The mountain-protecting great formation's light flowed beneath the morning sun, like draping a light golden veil over the entire sect, sacred and inviolable.
There was his home.
There was the Master who carefully taught and guided him, showing him the way forward.
There was the Senior Brother who was steady and reliable, bearing the sect's heavy burden for him.
There was the Third Senior Sister whose face was cold but heart warm, always guarding by his side with her sword.
There was the Second Senior Brother whose thoughts were free and unorthodox, yet always giving him unexpected help at critical moments.
And there were countless disciples who respected and trusted him, who cultivated and protected this pure land together with him.
A strong sense of reluctance wrapped around him silently, like the morning mist in the mountains. His throat tightened. His nose tingled. He knew this departure, he did not know when he could return. In cultivation years mean nothing. Sixty years outside might equal only a few years in the mountains. But he might also encounter misfortune, forever separated.
The rabbit spirit seemed to sense his low mood. It gently nuzzled its fluffy head against his cheek, making tiny purring sounds, as if comforting.
Xiao Qi reached out, stroked the rabbit spirit's soft fur, took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the parting sorrow that was about to overflow.
He thought of the Sect Master's profound intent, of the Senior Brothers and Sister's pact, of his own bottleneck at Nascent Soul peak, of the Invitation to the Way from Tian Shu City, and of the broader cultivation world filled with powerful people.
Parting was for a better reunion. Staying could neither help him break his own constraints nor allow Qingxu Temple to stride toward a more brilliant future. He needed to experience, to temper, to prove his Dao on that larger stage, to pursue that supreme realm.
His gaze became firm again. That trace of reluctance transformed into gentle power hidden deep in his heart. He turned this attachment to home into motivation to move forward. He wanted to become stronger, strong enough to sweep away all threats, strong enough to make Qingxu Temple stand forever indomitable, strong enough to protect all the people and things he cared about.
Steps, no longer hesitant.
He deeply gazed once more at that mist-wreathed sect, as if wanting to firmly engrave this tranquil and harmonious scene into his soul's depths.
Then, he resolutely turned around, never looking back.
The blue-robed figure descended the long stone steps, one step at a time, firmly. The rising sun stretched his shadow long, casting it on the moist stone slabs. The mountain gate archway gradually receded behind him, finally hidden by forests and mountains, invisible.
Only the rabbit spirit on his shoulder occasionally glanced back at the increasingly distant mountain peak. Its red eyes also showed a trace of human-like attachment. But this was quickly replaced by curiosity and excitement about the unknown world ahead.
Mountain wind brushed past, carrying the scent of distant places.
Tang Xiaoqi's pace grew faster and steadier. When he finally stepped down the last stone step, standing on the public road outside Qingxu Temple's sphere of influence, he felt as if breaking through an invisible membrane. The entire world opened up before him.
The road ahead was long, the path treacherous and far.
But his heart was like a millstone, his will like a sharp sword.
Descending the mountain gate again, he was no longer the ignoramus from years past. This journey was not for surviving, not for empty fame, only to prove his own Dao, to see all the mountains and rivers, to meet all the heroes of the world.
His figure merged into the sparse carriages and streams of people on the public road, heading east, toward that legendary Central Plains cultivation civilization core, gradually fading away.
Behind him, Qingxu Temple still stood tranquilly among misty peaks, like a silent mother, watching her child depart, awaiting his return.