Chapter Twelve: Abuli's Resolve (Part Two)

“What? I hadn’t even figured out how to comfort him yet, and when he woke up, he was the one consoling me for feeling so terrible...” The old man spoke, grabbing the wine jug beside him and taking deep gulps, draining half the jug in one go.

Liu Yueming patted the old man’s shoulder, then led Hua Queyue towards the house. As Hua Queyue passed by the old man, his gaze lingered on the empty right sleeve fluttering in the breeze, then shifted to the massive iron sword resting beside the old man. His expression stiffened for a moment, but after considering, he followed Liu Yueming inside.

“Zhou Yu, this is Uncle Hua. Let him take a look at you,” Liu Yueming said as soon as he entered. But then he saw Zhou Yu’s face streaked with tears and froze on the spot.

“Zhou Yu, don’t give up. I believe you’ll get better,” Liu Yueming said, then turned and left the room. His nose was stinging with emotion. He’d witnessed Zhou Yu’s tireless effort, his relentless training, his fearless fighting—now Zhou Yu was crippled, and Liu Yueming felt a deep ache in his heart.

Hua Queyue said nothing, going straight to Zhou Yu’s side. He bent over, lifted Zhou Yu’s eyelids, and checked his pulse—only to find no pulse at all. With a sigh, Hua Queyue placed his right palm on Zhou Yu’s chest. His hand glowed with a verdant light, and a wave of life-rich green energy flowed from his palm into Zhou Yu’s body.

After a while, the green light faded. Hua Queyue withdrew his hand and said, “I imagine you already know—your meridians are utterly destroyed. Though you survived, you’ll never cultivate again.”

After a pause, Zhou Yu asked, “Why?”

Hua Queyue was momentarily surprised, then explained, “While the body’s energy isn’t stored in the meridians, its flow and transportation depend on them. Without these pathways, it’s like having a mountain full of treasures but no road to transport them—utterly useless.”

Zhou Yu asked, “If there’s no road, can’t one be made?”

Hua Queyue’s expression grew grave. “That’s how you ended up like this—by forcefully breaking open your meridians. You’ve already tried this once. You’re lucky to have survived.”

“But I didn’t die when I forced open those narrow meridians,” Zhou Yu insisted, though the memory of that pain still made his heart race with fear. Still, he was unwilling to give up.

“I don’t know how you survived, nor how you endured such pain. But I must tell you: you survived purely by chance. You are the first to live after forcefully opening their meridians,” Hua Queyue said.

A glimmer sparked in Zhou Yu’s eyes. “If I didn’t die the first time, I won’t die the second. If no one’s ever survived, that means no one’s ever tried to carve their own road to the mountain of treasures, right?”

Hua Queyue was stunned. He thought for a moment, then said, “It’s true—no one’s ever tried. But think about it: with your meridians destroyed, even if you could withstand the pain, you wouldn’t know where to create the correct path. Even a slight misstep, and you’ll punch holes in your own body with that energy. Could you survive that?”

Zhou Yu closed his eyes. After a while, he said, “Thank you. I think I know what to do now.”

Hua Queyue repeatedly warned Zhou Yu not to act recklessly. Finally, he added, “Even if you’re determined to die, don’t do it here. After all, I’ve given you a Hundred Herbs Pill and infused you with life energy. If you still end up dead, wouldn’t that be a disgrace to me?”

Zhou Yu was nearly speechless at these words. He’d thought this man was a saint, but it turned out he just cared about his own reputation.

When Hua Queyue left, he deliberately avoided Liu Yueming, clearly not wanting to discuss Liu Wujian with him.

Abuli, who had been standing nearby, didn’t understand the conversation between Hua Queyue and Zhou Yu, but he sensed something important had transpired.

Abuli asked, “Zhou from China, are you really alright?”

Zhou Yu nodded with difficulty. “Abuli, you said you want to go back?”

Abuli nodded vigorously. “I must go back—no matter what! My mother, my younger brothers and sisters are there. It’s poor, but it’s my home.”

Zhou Yu mustered a smile. “Abuli, believe me—we will go back. You’re right. Because that’s our home.”

“Abuli, do you know? Our home is safe now. Your mother and your siblings are all well. There’s a version of you right by their side, keeping them company and protecting them,” Zhou Yu said.

“Really?” Abuli asked.

Zhou Yu nodded. “Yes, really. That version of you will wait for you to return, so you can continue caring for your mother and siblings.”

“Then I’m relieved, Zhou from China! We must return together—back to our homeland! When we do, you must come to my house as a guest. You’re my brother from China.” Abuli brightened.

“Alright, Zhou from China, I should go. I need to care for our injured companions. Rest well, I’ll come check on you,” Abuli said, bidding farewell.

Watching the tall, slender Abuli walk out, Zhou Yu called after him, “Thank you, Abuli—my brother from Africa.”

Zhou Yu closed his eyes. After a while, beads of sweat formed on his brow. He clenched his teeth tightly, and finally, the index finger of his right hand twitched.

With the help of Baidu, Zhou Yu began trying to slowly recover sensation in his body. Though he had just managed to move his index finger, the stabbing pain that followed was excruciating.

That evening, the old man brought in a bowl of spiritual porridge, said to be brewed from a variety of magical herbs.

He propped Zhou Yu up against the head of the bed, then scooped up a spoonful of the porridge and fed it to him.

The herbal porridge was fresh and clear, exuding a grassy fragrance that was invigorating. Zhou Yu opened his mouth and took a bite. It tasted faintly of mint, but a hundred times better than any mint candy. Before long, he’d finished the entire bowl.

“You really do have an appetite. Looks like I’ll have to cook a whole pot,” the old man said, cheered by Zhou Yu’s good spirits.

“No wonder they say good teachers produce outstanding students,” Zhou Yu joked.

Liu Yueming, who had been sitting by the table, stood up and said, “I’ll go bring the pot.” With that, he headed out.

Zhou Yu and the old man exchanged glances.

After finishing the porridge, the old man and Liu Yueming both left the room—not because they didn’t want to stay with Zhou Yu, but because they couldn’t bear to see him like this. Though Zhou Yu acted cheerful, they believed he was forcing a smile, which only made them feel worse.

The old man and Liu Yueming sat together in the corridor, drinking steadily.

“You hold your drink well,” the old man finally remarked, breaking the heavy silence.

“This is my first time,” Liu Yueming replied, still icy and aloof.

“Who is Liu Yueming?” An imperious voice suddenly rang out. The cups in the old man and Liu Yueming’s hands vibrated with the force of it, each developing fine cracks.