“I don’t want to drink, I want to go back, I don’t want to drink!”

“I won’t drink either. My great vengeance is unavenged—how could I forget?”

Henry Johnson watched. Countless ghosts—some sorrowful, some in tears, some indifferent, some irritable, some unwilling—each displaying the myriad facets of human life.

A lifetime of love and hate, a world of ups and downs, a bowl of Forget River water—once drunk, the next life is but a road of strangers.

“Will you drink?” The woman raised the chipped bowl in her hand.

“Of course I will. But people say Martha is an old woman, yet I find you are a young lady.” Henry Johnson smiled gently.

The ghosts nearby struggled, but the two of them continued to laugh, the overlapping of time and space creating a mysterious effect.

“Old woman or young girl, it’s just one form of life. I am still myself.” The girl aged rapidly, turning once more into an old woman, yet her peerless beauty of years past could still faintly be seen.

“You are you, and I am me.” Henry Johnson said softly, “It’s time you returned what belongs to me.”

Martha smiled: “When people are alive, under the sway of the seven emotions and six desires, karma inevitably arises. That mysterious force of fate gathers into a long river, becoming this Forget River. Crossing the Bridge of Reincarnation, drinking this soup—no matter if you become immortal or saint, human or demon in the next life—the karma and mortal dust of this life are severed. The so-called rolling red dust is nothing more than this. Henry Johnson, your ninety thousand years of waiting, your ninety thousand years of defiance—what have you gained? Are you still unwilling to let go? This life has fate but no destiny, so why force it?”

“I said it back then: in this life, I have no regrets; in this life, I will not forget!” Henry Johnson laughed heartily.

He reached out, took the bowl of soup—it was still warm—and drank it in one gulp.

“Actually, it tastes pretty good!” Henry Johnson looked at Martha, who had turned back into a young girl, and smiled.

“While you still remember, carve the name of the person you loved most in this life, and the one you most wish to wait for in the next. Only then, when you reincarnate, can you see your past life.” Martha said softly.

In the space-time beside them, a vortex appeared, with a stone atop it, carved with four large characters: ‘The Other Shore Blooms Like a Flower’.

“So this is the legendary Other Shore Stone? It can record past, present, and future lives, and connect heaven, earth, man, gods, and ghosts?” Henry Johnson was quite curious, and chuckled, “I see the Three-Life Stone, but only my present life; I pass the Terrace of Longing, but see no past. Do you think I need to write anything?”

“Even if your faith is invincible in this world, the power of fate and mortal dust will eventually erase everything.” Martha said tonelessly.

“As long as I exist, there is a mark. This fate—what it cannot erase is me!” Henry Johnson laughed, put down the bowl in his hand, and looked up at the sky.

At this moment—

The ever-unchanging blood moon in the underworld suddenly split in two, without a sound. Immediately, the heavens and sky trembled, and a terrifying storm swept across the world. In an instant, the countless ghosts in the overlapping time and space were instantly scattered, their souls utterly destroyed.

But the golden scroll in Henry Johnson’s hand radiated golden light, forming a shield of light that protected him tightly.

“Looks like I’m lucky—fate really can’t erase me.” Henry Johnson laughed.

But the Martha before him now looked grim, waving her hand to block the oncoming energy storm. “Damn it, who is attacking the underworld? How could the blood moon shatter?”

The blood moon, ever since the birth of the underworld, had existed eternally, said to be born with the heavens, coexisting with all realms, the source of the supreme power of the underworld, and, along with the sun, the lunar star, and Ziwei, one of the highest stars of heaven and earth.

Next, in the sky, a terrifying blood sword suddenly appeared, breaking through time and space, shattering the defense of the Other Shore Stone, breaking the barrier of the Longing Stone, slashing toward the Bridge of Reincarnation, and annihilating the Martha woman!

A stream of blood soared to the heavens—a celestial god fell!

“You have ninety thousand years of defiance. I’ll grant you a stroke of fortune. This is a drop of purple blood—may you remember the vow you once made!” A gentle voice sounded in Henry Johnson’s ear.

Henry Johnson held the golden scroll in his hand, gazing at the drop of purple essence blood that appeared before his eyes.

Even as calm as Henry Johnson was, his heart was moved.

Before ghosts reincarnate, the level of talent in their next life is already determined. There may be some fluctuation, but not much. But when some celestial gods reincarnate, even if their true spirit memories are sealed, they can still carry their own bloodline essence into the next life.

Within the bloodline essence of celestial gods lies a mysterious power. Through the channel of reincarnation, there is a chance it can be carried over, and though the probability is not high, it can greatly enhance one’s aptitude.

Henry Johnson knew that if he did not accept this drop of purple blood, as the black-armored war general had said, after reincarnation he would only have an eighth-grade bloodline. But if he reincarnated with the essence blood, talent would no longer be a problem.

The bloodlines of celestial gods are divided into three grades: the lowest is red, higher is gold, and the peak is purple!

Above all the heavens, only purple reigns supreme. Purple is the most noble and sacred color.

“To receive this fortune, I thank my senior for the gift. If Henry Johnson ascends the holy path in the next life, I will repay you a hundredfold!” Henry Johnson bowed respectfully.

He knew that to break through the protection of two great treasures with a single sword and slay Martha, such power could only belong to the Supreme of the King’s Hall or the Bodhisattva of Yin Mountain in the underworld—an existence that stands at the very peak even among celestial gods.