Journey to the West: Treasure Vase of the Great Dao

Gazing at Liu Yanchang, protected by the Treasure Vase of the Great Dao, Yang Jian's eyes flashed a hint of disgust and he murmured softly, "Lu Yu, don't stop me, let me kill this bastard who has destroyed one's innocence."

Yet Lu Yu responded with a light chuckle, "True Monarch, it seems you wish to make this child an orphan at such a young age and let him experience the pain you once endured?"

These words rendered Yang Jian silent, as long-forgotten memories sealed deep within his heart unwittingly surfaced.

The face of his father seemed to traverse the distance of time, reappearing before him, a troubled yet kindly love spread across his weary face.

Even after so many years, the mountain-like love of his father still brought warmth to him, always shielding him behind his slender figure during those arduous years. When the Heavenly Soldiers descended from the sky, his father charged forward resolutely, merely to carve out a path of survival for him and his sister.

Though he was so slight of figure, the duty of fatherhood drove him to meet his death without hesitation.

It was precisely for this reason that he was unwilling to accept the benevolence of the Jade Emperor, always listening to orders but never the summons, steering clear of the Heavenly Court.

A wry smile emerged on Yang Jian's face, as he realized he had, unwittingly, become like his unforgiving uncle.

With a gentle wave of his hand, a powerful force sent Liu Yanchang rolling on the ground, but even at this moment, he steadily protected his child under him, refusing to let even the slightest harm come to him.

In that instant, his silhouette reminiscent of his father's made Yang Jian lose himself in a myriad of thoughts.

He coldly cast a glance at Liu Yanchang, saying, "Get lost, and never let me see you again."

With those words, a gust of wind swept through, carrying Liu Yanchang along involuntarily. By the time he could see again, he found himself far from Mountain Hua, faint human voices in his ear. Looking more closely, not far ahead was a small village hidden behind a Peach Grove, a few sparse homesteads nestled within, where the crowing of chickens and barking of dogs could be heard, and wisps of smoke gently rose, painting a bucolic scene.

Clutching his child, tears welled up in Liu Yanchang's eyes. In just one night, his happy family had been reduced to this state: his beloved wife was detained under Mountain Hua, and he was powerless to help. Had it not been for the intervention of the Scholar in the green robe, his own life would have been lost.

There was a time when he considered himself above others, confident that he could carve out his own place in the world, his literary grace winning over his wife's affection made him incredibly proud. But faced with absolute power, he felt as insignificant as an ant, lacking even the strength to resist. This realization brought deep dejection to the once excessively proud Scholar.

Looking down at the small boy in his arms, the newborn son was sound asleep, his cherubic face still bearing the traces of a smile, sleeping ever so sweetly.

Looking at the child who bore a striking resemblance to his wife, a gentle look flashed across Liu Yanchang's eyes—this was the child he had with her, the continuation of his own life. He gently caressed his son's chubby cheeks, and the child moved his small mouth slightly but did not wake up.

"Xiao Chenxiang, from now on, it's just you and me," Liu Yanchang sighed softly.

After his wife had been captured, he was in total despair, contemplating ending his own life. However, Chenxiang's crying pulled him from his despondency; he realized he could not die yet, for there was a child who needed his care.

"You must be fleeing from trouble too," an aged voice rang in his ear, and an elderly white-haired man leaning on a cane slowly approached.

With refined manners, Liu Yanchang asked, "I am without a home to return to, may I rest in the village with my child?"

The old man said with a smile, "We're all refugees here in this village, people just like you. If you don't mind, please, sir, come in. I have nothing else to offer, but a hot cup of water is something I can provide."

And so, Liu Yanchang settled down in the village, becoming the village teacher due to his literacy.

Many of the village children adored this teacher not only for his good looks and gentle temperament but also for his profound knowledge. The only thing was, he didn't smile much, often gazing sorrowfully in the direction of Mountain Hua not far to the west.

Xiao Chenxiang too won the hearts of the villagers—everyone pitied him for losing his mother at such a tender age and cared for him deeply.

That night, having put Chenxiang to sleep, it was late into the night. Darkness enveloped the earth, and a silver moon rose slowly, its light dispelling the shadows.

Liu Yanchang stared blankly at the window; moonbeams showered in from outside, casting a silver veil over the worn wooden table.

"Ah!" Overcome by the scene, Liu Yanchang let out an involuntary sigh. Once, he and his wife had strolled under such moonlight, played in the dense woods, but now, he was alone, wondering whether his wife beneath Mountain Hua could see this beautiful moonlight and whether they would ever be reunited in this life.

At that moment, he suddenly smelled an unusual fragrance, a wave of drowsiness overwhelming him. His eyelids felt as heavy as mountains, impossible to open despite his struggle, and, giving in to the tiredness, he laid his head down on the table and fell asleep.

Several dark figures approached from the outside, led by a tiny, broken-down old man. He wore a rustic hemp robe, and a long beard hung from his lips, exceeding his chin in length.