The Bitter Homecoming

The furious dragon surged, toppling mountains and splitting ridges as it roared, shaking the heavens. The mighty Yellow River, its familiar, tumbling yellow waves, carried all before it for a thousand li, rumbling and thundering, shaking the very earth.

It was the Yellow River of memory, the familiar, churning waters, a dragon racing to the sea!

How many times had he dreamed of the Yellow River? How many times had he dreamed of home? Xiao Chen stood on the riverbank, his black hair flying, obscuring his resolute face. He let out a long cry, stirring the river into thousand-foot waves as the great dragon roared, hurtling into the distance.

Gazing into the distance, that land more familiar than any other breathed a captivating air, as if some magic called to him. Xiao Chen soared into the sky, flying swiftly over the heavens. His destination was only one: a small village by the banks of the Yellow River.

Closer—he truly saw the familiar mountains and ravines. This was no dream. Xiao Chen understood that he had truly returned to the World of Immortality.

He had never imagined that he would come back this way. The years of ceaseless bitter cultivation, all for the hope of one day returning to the mortal realm. How many times had he dreamed of this? How many times had he woken in disappointment? And now—after so many years of striving—he had been swallowed by a spatial "sea eye" and brought back.

Such… fortune!

Bitter laughter, helplessness, but most of all—excitement. The hand of fate was so unpredictable, leading him by such a strange path to fulfill his dream.

Closer, closer still. Flying along the Yellow River, he finally reached that familiar land. Gazing from afar at that stretch of earth, Xiao Chen’s heart surged with waves, and his eyes grew blurry. But no tears fell. He wanted to cry out, yet his throat seemed blocked.

He wanted to speak, but could not.

He descended to the riverbank. Step by step, Xiao Chen walked forward along the yellow earth road toward the small village a few li away.

By the side of the road, a great green boulder held many memories of childhood. He had climbed it with his young friends; it was the gathering place for the village children after meals before they went to play, fish, and swim in the Yellow River.

And the ancient trees lining the road—planted by his grandfather’s grandfather—now stood with gnarled roots and branches like coiled dragons, their old limbs sprouting new leaves. This was where the elders loved to gather.

The air was thick with the scent of earth, mingled with the fragrance of grass. The hopeful season of spring—Xiao Chen loved it. Always had, still did. This season always gave a feeling of promise.

He had arrived. Finally, the village entrance. Ahead, rows of willows shed their catkins like dancing snowflakes.

Yellow-green grass, soft willow fluff, new green in the fields—everything was steeped in the breath of home. Everything was familiar. Everything was dear.

Rows of simple houses were hidden behind the drooping willows. Xiao Chen’s eyes grew misty.

At the village entrance, a pair of white-haired elders, supporting each other, came forward, gazing down the yellow earth road.

A piercing pain struck Xiao Chen’s heart. How many times had he dreamed of this in the World of Immortality? White-haired parents, forlorn, standing at the village gate in their lonely old age, clinging to that faint hope, gazing down the road… waiting for the wandering son who had been gone for years to return.

Every time he dreamed this scene, Xiao Chen would wake with a start, feeling tears at the corners of his eyes.

Xiao Chen rushed forward, raising a cloud of dust on the yellow earth road.

"Chenzi…?"

A hoarse voice came from ahead, full of doubt and disbelief.

Xiao Chen stopped at once. Those were not his parents. Something seemed wrong in the village. It was nearly noon, yet utterly silent, as if devoid of life.

He wiped the blurring tears from his eyes and looked ahead. The two white-haired elders were his great-uncle and great-aunt—his father’s uncle and aunt.

"Uncle…"

"Chenzi, is it really you?!" The two elders hobbled forward, their hair white as snow. They grabbed Xiao Chen’s arm.

"It’s me. I’m back." Xiao Chen struggled to calm himself and supported the elders. "Uncle, what happened in the village? My parents… where are they?"

The elders were nearly eighty, their skin wrinkled like dried orange peels, their bodies thin as sticks. Trembling, they touched Xiao Chen’s face and squeezed his hands. "Chenzi… it really is Chenzi…"

"It’s good that you’re back, good that you’re back!" The old man sighed deeply. "Eight years. It’s been eight whole years!"

Yes, Xiao Chen had left the mortal world for eight years. One year trapped on Dragon Island, three years recovering in the Pure Lands of the Barbarian and Forest Tribes, four years in the Ancient God Wasteland. He had left when he was twenty; now he was twenty-eight.

"Child, your parents have suffered bitterly these last years. Year after year, day after day, every evening they would come to the village gate and gaze down this road, hoping for your return." The elders sighed, poking Xiao Chen’s forehead. "You heartless boy—gone for eight whole years! Eight years—how many eight years do old people have? Their hair has turned white…"

Tears streamed down Xiao Chen’s cheeks. He slapped his own face twice. "It’s my fault. It’s all my fault."

The elders caught his hands. "We know you must have had your reasons, or how could you not come back? Don’t worry—your parents are still alive, but… alas!"

"What happened?" Xiao Chen’s brows shot up.

"Still the same Chenzi! The moment your brows rise, the hooligans for ten li around stay quiet for half a month. You haven’t lost your fire." The elders sighed again. "But this time… it’s not local scoundrels causing trouble. It’s the National Religion of the Nine Provinces, whipping up storms. They’ve forced every man and woman in the village—even those over fifty and children under ten—to go to the upper reaches of the Yellow River to build some vast project. Some say it’s called the Ancestral Dragon Platform; others call it the Heaven-Reaching Death Bridge…"

"Now, only old folks like us, waiting for the coffin, and children under ten are left. Such cruelty!" Both elders were angry and anxious. "Many have died building that accursed thing. In the past, only your parents stood at the village gate at dusk. Now, all the old people gather here every evening, afraid their children won’t come back, afraid of sending off the young in black while their own hair stays white."

"My parents…"

"Your parents have to go every day to build that Ancestral Dragon Platform or that Heaven-Reaching Death Bridge, whatever it is. No one over fifty in the village is spared."

"Despicable!" Xiao Chen’s eyes shot two dazzling beams of light, and the substantialized force shattered a willow tree beside them.

The two elders stared in shock and grabbed him. "Child… don’t do anything rash! Your great-uncle knows you’re skilled in martial arts, but you can’t fight the authorities, or you’ll bring disaster on the village."

"Uncle, don’t worry. I won’t act rashly. I’m just going upstream to see."

"No!" The two elders held his arms tight, afraid he would do something reckless. Xiao Chen had to assure them, "I truly won’t cause trouble. I just got back. I want to see my parents first."

"The sun is almost down now. There’s no need to go. They should be on their way home. Don’t worry—your parents are well. They were always kind and gentle, and since you disappeared, the villagers have been very sympathetic and looked after them. Even at the river embankment, they don’t have to do heavy labor."

It was clear the two elders feared the so-called National Religion, terrified that Xiao Chen would stir up trouble and bring calamity to the village.

Xiao Chen found it strange. There had never been a National Religion before. After questioning, he learned that this religion had only been established in the last two years and had swiftly become the empire’s foremost teaching. It was said that ageless immortals dwelt within its ranks—once, at the imperial palace, they demonstrated great powers, calling wind and rain, scattering beans to form soldiers, even summoning heavenly troops. The emperor was deeply impressed.

The sun was indeed setting. Unwilling to defy the two elders, Xiao Chen accompanied them back to his home, which he had left eight years ago.

It seemed… never changed. Everything in the courtyard was as before, as if he had only been gone a moment.

He pushed open his own door. The sheets were clean, the quilt neatly folded, the desk and wooden chair spotless—the same as when he had left. Xiao Chen’s nose stung. He knew his mother, who loved to tidy the house, had kept it that way, cleaning it every day.

When the child travels a thousand li, the mother worries!

He could see how much his mother had missed him.

He went to his parents’ room. It was as tidy as ever. Absently, he noticed a few small wooden knives and swords on the pillow… Xiao Chen felt his eyes fill with moisture.

Since childhood, he had loved playing with knives and swords. His father had carved these for him when he was young. When he grew up, they were stored away in a side room. But now… his parents had placed them by their pillow.

This was longing!

His parents missed him deeply, thought of him constantly, hoping he would return. They had taken out his childhood playthings and laid them by the pillow… such deep longing! In their lonely old age, they clung to a fervent hope, praying he would come home soon.

Tears fell. Xiao Chen could imagine his parents’ suffering and loneliness in recent years, their anxious hearts yearning for their son.

Aged elders hoping for the return of a wandering son, refusing to believe that their missing child had met with misfortune—day after day, night after night…

In the room, he picked up strands of pure white hair. His parents had truly aged. Their once salt-and-pepper hair was now completely white… His heart ached.

He had to see them. Now!

Xiao Chen shook off the elders who were following him and rushed to the village entrance. A crowd of a dozen old people and a dozen children were already there, gazing down the road.

"Eh, is that Chenzi?"

"Chenzi is back!"

"It really is Chenzi!"

Eight years had left no mark on Xiao Chen. He was a cultivator of the Sky-Mastery realm, his lifespan extended by centuries, his appearance still that of a twenty-year-old. So the village elders recognized him, and the children stared at him with curiosity.

The elders surrounded him, asking where he had been all these years.

Just then, a child cried out happily, "They’re coming back! They’re coming back!"

At the end of the yellow road, the villagers were returning—men and women, covered in mud, utterly exhausted, supporting each other.

"That accursed National Religion! Working people like beasts!" an elder said, heartbroken. "We’ve already lost over a dozen from our village. Heaven knows how many of these few dozen will survive… Wuwu…"

In the distance, a white-haired old woman cried out and stumbled forward. Her shoes fell off, but she didn’t notice. Barefoot, tears streaming, she fell several times on the yellow dirt road.

"Mother!"

Xiao Chen shouted and rushed over. He fell to his knees and caught the old woman.

"Chenzi, my child… is it really you? Wuwu… my child, you’re back at last… Wuwu…" Her hair was completely white, her face wrinkled, but the gloom on her kindly face slowly lifted. She hugged Xiao Chen’s head and wept loudly, her calloused hands stroking his cheeks.

"Child… my child…" His mother repeated these two words, tears streaming, frantically touching his face.

"Chenzi!" His father also stumbled over, covered in mud, his tired, haggard face bursting with an excited smile. White hair was so stark, wrinkles piled deep, showing his age.

"Father!"

Xiao Chen crawled forward on his knees, and the family hugged each other, crying bitterly.

In this world, everything could be false—only a parent’s love was never false.

Parting for eight years, he had finally returned to the mortal realm. Xiao Chen held his aged parents close, his heart aching as if cut by knives, tears falling like rain. They had truly grown old… and he had been gone so long.

Looking at their white hair, feeling the calluses on their hands, Xiao Chen felt both pain and a rising anger. Their family had been well-off; they never needed to labor so hard. Yet here they were, in their twilight years, suffering so bitterly, their hands covered in calluses. All because of the "National Religion." He clenched his fists, unable to suppress his fury.

"Xiao Chen, is it really you?"

"Xiao Chen, you’re back!"

"Xiao Chen, you damn rascal—eight years!" The ones pushing through were his childhood friends.

"Yes, I’m back." Xiao Chen looked at these former companions, overwhelmed with emotion, calling each by name: "Big Zhou, Little Hu, Erbing, Xiucai, Guangtou…"

"It’s me!"

"It’s me!" Big hands reached out, gripping his tightly.

Xiao Chen’s parents wept with happiness, watching their son reunited with the friends of his youth.

"Wuwu…"

Someone began to cry.

"Xiao Chen, you’re back… but three of the friends we grew up with are already dead. If you hadn’t returned, you might never have seen us again."

Hearing this, the whole village grieved. The small village had fewer than a hundred people, but more than a dozen had died recently.

His friends were all covered in mud, exhausted, with whip wounds on their bodies, some injuries shocking to see.

"Do you remember Dazhuang? He was a straight-tempered man—just talked back to the overseer at the riverbank, and they beat him to death. And Xiaohan—always sickly, never strong. Even though we all shared his workload, he still died from exhaustion. And Xiaohai…"

Dazhuang, Xiaohan, Xiaohai… childhood friends, gone just like that.

Looking at his parents, then at his weary friends, Xiao Chen felt a fire rising in his chest, his fists clenched tight.

"If those children hadn’t helped us move stones and push carts, we would have died long ago at the riverside…" Xiao Chen’s father said, full of emotion. His mother was wiping tears from the faces of those she still saw as children.

"I’m back. I won’t let you suffer anymore!" Xiao Chen straightened up, gazing toward the upper Yellow River, his eyes shooting cold light.

"Chenzi, don’t do anything rash! That’s the National Religion of the Nine Provinces—its power is unimaginable. They’ve not only conscripted the villagers near the Yellow River as laborers but also brought hundreds of thousands of slaves from all over the country. No one dares to resist." The village elders all sighed.

"Yes, Xiao Chen, don’t be reckless." Even his childhood friends advised him. "We know you’re skilled in martial arts, that you’ve traveled since your teens and are a formidable fighter. But the people of the National Religion are stronger than you can imagine. We’ve seen their inspectors fly—they know magic!"

"That’s right. Once, we saw more than a dozen young people flying against the current on flying swords, heading upstream along the Yellow River."

"Those men were handsome, the women beautiful as flowers, but they showed no mercy. We saw a girl—a beautiful young girl—unleash her flying sword. It streaked across the sky, turned once, and cut off the heads of more than a dozen martial arts masters."

Xiao Chen frowned. What had happened to the mortal world? There were now such experts, and not just one or two—the so-called National Religion seemed to have many such cultivators.

Seeing everyone’s worried expressions, Xiao Chen had to assure them that he wouldn’t cause trouble. But he still promised to find a way to free them from their predicament soon.

How could he let his parents keep working as laborers? How could he watch his friends suffer? Xiao Chen had to act, but he needed to plan carefully. The people around him couldn’t simply roam the world—they would continue to live by the Yellow River.

Back at home, almost all the villagers came to see Xiao Chen’s return. Such was the simple nature of the small village—only about thirty households, but when anything happened to one, everyone helped.

Very late, he saw off the uncles, aunts, and friends.

His parents held his hands, talking endlessly, pouring out their years of longing.

Xiao Chen listened quietly, struggling not to weep.

As they spoke, they seemed to remember something and sighed deeply.

"Father, Mother, what’s wrong?"

"Don’t you feel that something is missing?"

Xiao Chen looked at them in confusion.

"Ruoshui came to visit us several times every year. But after the beginning of last year, she left enough wealth for us to spend for generations, and then she never appeared again."

Xiao Chen’s expression froze.

"Don’t blame the girl," his father said with a sigh. "She is the same age as you. She waited for you for seven years. Ordinary girls marry at fourteen or fifteen, but she was already twenty-seven and still unwed—in the Nine Provinces, that makes her an old maid. To tell you the truth, we urged her many times not to wait for you…"

"She…" Xiao Chen wanted to speak, but his throat felt blocked.

"She left last year after giving us a great many jewels, and hasn’t been seen since." His mother sighed. "Such a wonderful girl. Prettier than the fairies in paintings—well-mannered, gentle, and virtuous. Even the Cold Fairy herself couldn’t replace a daughter-in-law like that!"

Xiao Chen walked to the window and silently gazed at the starry sky. He had long been prepared for this result, but it still felt bitter. Had he missed her by only one year? Was Ruoshui truly destined to become the water that flows past his life?

Staring at the stars, Xiao Chen whispered to himself, "I quietly send you my blessings… praying for you in the distance…"