2603: C2603 My Path

C2603 My Path

Sixteen days.

The White-robed Celestial King sat silently on all sides of the Taiping Army for sixteen days.

Everyone was waiting for the last grain of sand to fall, but that moment never came.

On this day, Zhang Shou seemed to have gotten tired after sitting down. He stood up and walked to Meng Fan's statue with Ling Ling's support. He looked at the statue for more than two hours in silence.

With Meng Fan's sculpture as the center, the domain of several thousand meters in radius was completely covered in dust. The ground was wiped flat, the mountains, valleys, gullies and rivers were all turned into nothingness.

Only this statue was still standing in midair.

Zhang Shou raised his head and looked at the statue without saying anything for a long time.

"Grandpa Zhang …" Ling Ling broke the silence softly. "What kind of person do you think he is?"

"I don't know." "I'm not Creation God, and it's impossible for me to know everything in the world like the back of my hand. It's just that a year ago, a message came from the Myriad Heavens: someone became the creator and turned into the only person in history, Minor Heavenly Tao."

"Why does he hate the Heavens so much?" Ling Ling asked again.

Zhang Shou did not answer because this question was even harder than the previous ones.

The firmament was the name the many kings of peace called the Heavenly Dao.

Zhang Shou also wanted to know why there were people who hated the firmament so much.

From ancient times until now, whenever any living being stepped into the Celestial King Stage, they would have to go against the heavens and change their lives. To fight against Heavenly Dao, they would not be restricted by many laws but the more powerful a Divine King was, the more one would know about one's own weakness.

Zhang Shou suddenly remembered a story from his childhood.

"Ling Ling, let me tell you a story."

Ling Ling nodded obediently. "Alright."

"A child who grew up in a small mountain village and didn't know a single word and hadn't seen anything. When he was twelve years old, a fortune-teller came to the village and learned the first word from him.

Then he went around the city, shouting all over the illiterate village, showing that he knew a word.

A few days later, he learned another word.

Still ostentatious.

As time passed, he had learned many words, no longer boasting to the villagers, but instead, facing his fellow villagers, there was a kind of arrogance deep in his bones. In his eyes, the villagers were all unlearned villagers, but he was different.

A year later, he began to waver.

He, who had known many words, was very proud. He felt different from the villagers, but he didn't know where he was different, because he had to follow his parents and plow the fields, feed the cattle and sheep, and also play with the dirty children.

he asked the fortune-teller, who answered his questions.

However, the fortune-teller couldn't give him the answer either.

After a few more days, the child learned all the words that the fortune-teller knew.

In the heart of a child, the fortune-teller was the most knowledgeable person in the world. However, once a fortune-teller knew something, even a child could learn it, then the fortune-teller would no longer feel knowledgeable.

And the children no longer flaunted themselves to the other villagers.

He began to think.

Think about everything.

Finally, one day, the fortune-teller said that if you wanted to know how different you were from the others, you had to leave this village, because in this village, like the other villagers, you were a villager.

The child picked up his backpack and left.

After months of trekking, he walked out of the mountains and into a town.

At the end of the street, he saw many words that he did not recognize.

He saw the real scholar.

He saw the old master.

He saw the goddess-like woman in the brothel.

He saw the horses, he saw the landscapes.

In front of all this, he was dumbstruck and incredulous.

The most important thing was …

Dressed in tattered cloth and covered in mud, he only knew two to three hundred words. In front of all these people, he was pathetic, weak, and not even worth mentioning.

Self-abasement.

Embarrassed.

Pain.

Shame and indignation.

All sorts of negative emotions occupied his mind.

For the next few years, he worked as a handyman in this small town, doing all sorts of dirty jobs. He worked tirelessly, especially in a brothel, washing toilets for more than a year.

But he never gave up reading and learning the words.

It took him four years to grow from a young man to an adult.

It also took him four years to finish reading all the books in this brothel.

That year, he was eighteen years old and knew three thousand words.

He became the most knowledgeable person in the brothel, and the bawd no longer let him wash the toilet. Instead, she let him take care of the county magistrate, the minor officials, and the occasional guest who came from abroad.

Although these kinds of merchants rarely appeared, every time, the children would not accept a single cent to take care of these people. Moreover, they would always follow behind them, unwilling to leave as they talked about some interesting things that happened outside the country.

The county magistrate had an inscription poem; he was responsible for washing the brush.

The county magistrate had written a good poem, but others were unable to explain the essence behind it.

The child said that the strokes were like dragons and snakes, and that the strokes were full of spirit. The county magistrate was very happy and gave the poem to him.

So the child's position in the city changed.

He became the most transcendent existence in the brothel, even the bawd had to give him something.

Every day, besides visiting the yamen, he would receive a few distinguished guests. When he had free time, he would write poems and compose music for the women in the brothel. However, most of the time, he was still studying.

Read some books borrowed from the county magistrate.2

At the age of twenty, the child had read all the books in the county.

Everyone in the county said that he was the person with the most knowledge, that he could become a scholar, that he could even become a top scholar, that the county governor had even invited him to be his aide, and that he had even given him a set of real estate.

But he was always polite and humble and kind.

The county magistrate asked him why.

The more he knew, the more he realized he knew nothing.

Thus, he gave up on all good prospects in the county and headed for the capital.

Twelve years later, he had read ten thousand books.

However, his knowledge was not that outstanding in the capital. In the past few examinations, his reputation had been ruined, and he was born into a poor family, so his days were short. He could only write for people and paint for them.

That woman had raised him for a long time.

One day, the woman died of old age.

He was also gradually getting short on money.

His days were getting more and more bleak.

Then he got sick.

He did not have the money to see the doctor and had stood for more than ten days. He knew that he was approaching his end and felt somewhat sad, so he took up his brush and wanted to leave behind some things.

After a few days, he wrote many poems, but was torn apart by himself, leaving nothing behind.

In the end, he lay alone on the bed.

As he was dying, he wrote a sentence in very white.

"I was born in the mountain village and died in the capital. I read over ten thousand books before I found out that there were ten million books in the historical department of the capital."

After Zhang Shou finished speaking, he paused for a while and continued, "When a living being becomes stronger, it will understand how weak it is in front of the Heavenly Dao. Just like that person, the more you know about it, the more you realize that you know nothing.

This Meng Fan is just like that kid. One day, he suddenly realized that in front of the Heavenly Dao, he was so weak, like an ant.

A moment of silence.

Ling Ling suddenly asked, "But was that scholar feeling regret before he died?" Would he regret that he should not have left the village when he was young, or would he regret that he should not have left that small city? "Grandpa Zhang, I don't think he would regret it. If he were to stay in the mountain village, he would be a villager. If he were to stay in the county city, he would be a teacher. But when he arrived in the capital, he read ten thousand books.

Zhang Shou was stunned and looked at Ling Ling in surprise.

Ling Ling said, "He doesn't hate or fear them. When he chose to walk forward, he already had his own path. Perhaps in the eyes of outsiders, he has no path of his own."

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