Chen Yi's Past: The Closest Brush with Death

Chen Yi had always been steady—calculating before acting, deliberating before moving, engaging only in battles he was certain to win.

Thus, to confirm that entering the River of Time wouldn’t profoundly alter the historical trajectory of the Purple Star Continent, he traveled back over 800 years, to the moment he first crossed into this world.

Memories from the haze of infancy were untraceable—or perhaps nonexistent. He only clearly remembered opening his eyes for the first time in the wilderness: leaves rustling in the wind, dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, and a lone wolf padding leisurely toward him...

Back then, he was just a baby—no swaddling clothes, no crying—lying on a soft banana leaf, watching the wolf with calm, clear eyes. He vaguely thought those sharp teeth would probably hurt if they sank into him...

That was the closest he had ever come to death.

Fortunately, a kind-faced old man drove the wolf away and saved his fragile life.

The old man was a cultivator named Chen Dalei, though his talent was mediocre. After over 500 years of cultivation, he had only reached the eighth layer of the Foundation Establishment stage.

The natural lifespan of a Foundation Establishment cultivator was 500 years, meaning the old man didn’t have much time left.

At that point, Chen Dalei’s vitality was nearly depleted. In the final stretch of his life, restless from prolonged stillness, he decided to use his remaining strength to find a burial site with good feng shui.

But instead of a burial site, he stumbled upon a plump, fair-skinned grandson.

Originally, he had planned to find a decent family to raise the child. Yet, after a lifetime of solitude, the old man’s heart softened at the sight of those bright, watery eyes. He resolved to spend his last days raising the boy himself—skipping fatherhood entirely and jumping straight to grandfatherhood...

Those were truly carefree days.

And the most relaxed, joyful period of Chen Yi’s life.

In his previous life, he had also been alone, toiling like an ox for meager wages, with no time for leisure until his body gave out in a dimly lit rented room. Looking back, he still felt a pang of guilt toward his kind-hearted landlord...

In this life, though the old man wasn’t wealthy, as a rogue cultivator, he at least ensured Chen Yi never went hungry.

Moreover, he was widely knowledgeable—though prone to spinning tall tales. He often entertained young Chen Yi with absurd stories, like how even immortals in the heavens had to relieve themselves, and that rain was just the gods urinating—so Chen Yi shouldn’t go outside during a downpour...

Chen Yi learned much from him. Later, as he grew and saw the broader world, he realized these were all fabrications. But so what?

The old man had introduced him to the world—albeit a wildly distorted version. But if you ignored the facts, couldn’t you argue the world itself was at fault?

Thus, Chen Yi rejected conventional wisdom, forging his own logic.

"Unyielding in purpose though the world misleads; steadfast in resolve though all others doubt!"

That was the principle the old man had taught him.

Yet, on the day Chen Yi turned eighteen and successfully broke through to the Foundation Establishment stage...

Before he could share the good news, he returned to their thatched hut to find the old man reclining in his rocking chair by the door, face still wearing that gentle, affectionate smile, bathed in lazy sunlight as if waiting, as usual, for Chen Yi to return from cultivation.

Back then, he didn’t fully grasp the concept of death. But as a Foundation Establishment cultivator, he instantly sensed the lifelessness in that chair.

In that moment, it felt like ten thousand needles pierced his heart. Breath stolen, vision darkening.

The old man had taught him one final lesson.

"Without ascending to immortality, one remains but an ant."

Chen Yi buried him, kneeling before the grave, laughing through tears that soaked his robes. He vowed to rise above, to witness the sights the old man never could.

That was the last time Chen Yi ever shed tears.

From then on, a legend was born.

And now, Chen Yi had returned, traveling upstream through the River of Time...

...

The verdant slopes of Illusory Star Mountain hummed with life, its clear streams murmuring softly.

At the foot of the mountain stood a thatched hut.

The old man’s grip on the bamboo broom suddenly stilled. A glimmer of relief flickered in his clouded eyes as his frail, hunched frame trembled. With great effort, he shuffled to the doorway and lowered himself into the rocking chair, forcing a tender smile toward the direction where his grandson cultivated.

"Ah Yi... Grandpa doesn’t have much time left. I’m afraid I won’t live to see you break through to Foundation Establishment..."

Chen Yi’s throat tightened. A breeze rustled the jujube tree in the yard, its leaves whispering. For an instant, he was no longer the dreaded Calamity Sovereign who terrified the world—just the child once shielded by his grandfather’s back.

His expression shifted through sorrow, hesitation, anguish... before settling into resolve.

Now he was certain: history held no record of his presence. Or rather, the moment he arrived, the "Chen Yi" who should have been meditating atop the mountain, attempting his Foundation Establishment breakthrough, had become him.

He was the only one.

Heart pounding, hands trembling, he removed his concealment cloak, letting his dark hair flutter freely in the wind.

With a faint smile, Chen Yi stepped onto the moss-covered stone path before the hut. The power of time melted around him, solidifying everything into reality.

"Is that... Ah Yi?" The old man’s hoarse voice reached him.

Chen Yi’s chest constricted. Stumbling forward, he rushed into the courtyard.

"It’s me, Grandpa!"

The moment his palm touched the old man’s withered hand, sealed memories shattered like ice. Like a wanderer returning home after endless trials, Chen Yi’s hardened, icy dao heart seemed to thaw under that warmth.

Instinctively, he tried to channel life essence into the fading old man—but the instant it flowed, the backlash of karma struck!

To Chen Yi, it was negligible—a pinprick, not even breaking skin.

But for the Purple Star Continent’s history, it was cataclysmic. This was ordained history. The old man’s influence on Chen Yi was immense, and Chen Yi’s impact on the continent even greater.

Forcing longevity upon one fated to die risked upheaving the River of Time—possibly birthing new tributaries, warping history until it collapsed under contradictions.

The realization sobered Chen Yi instantly.

He could save his grandfather—just not like this. Established history couldn’t be rewritten. He could endure the consequences, but the Purple Star Continent’s timeline couldn’t.

Only after the old man fulfilled his historical role, his influence on events minimized, could Chen Yi intervene.

Yet, with that single wisp of life essence, the old man’s dull eyes regained a flicker of light.

With great effort, he exhaled weakly, gazing fondly at Chen Yi. "Ah Yi... you’ve grown. You’ve become capable... but also reckless."

"Did you forget what Grandpa taught you? 'Plan before acting; think twice before moving.'"

"You returning from the future... this old man is happy. But paying a steep price just to prolong my withering life? That... I don’t like."

"People, after all, must die someday. I used to worry about you, but now it seems... you’ve grown into someone remarkable....."

Chen Yi remained silent, only tightening his grip on the old man’s hand.

Yet the old man saw things clearly.

The Chen Yi before him should still be striving to break through to the Foundation Establishment stage. So where did this more mature, more powerful version of him come from?

Perhaps it was the regret of not being able to see him one last time—this must be why the future Chen Yi had returned to the present, to bid him farewell.

"Ah Yi, don’t grieve, don’t mourn. Once this old man breathes his last, cremate me. Turn my ashes to the wind, scatter them over the sky and sea..."

"I’ll become the breeze, the rain... always watching over..."

Before he could finish, the old man’s hand went limp.

His wrinkled face still carried that same kind, gentle smile.

Just like the last time Chen Yi had seen him—back when he had just broken through to Foundation Establishment.