Charles Harris was lamenting, shedding tears as he tended to his wife's corpse. He had already made up his mind—not to run anymore. He was the only one left; what was the point of running? There was nothing left—parents, wife, children, relatives, servants—nothing at all...

Charles Harris remembered that it had been ten years since the Disaster of Yongjia. During this time, the Jin people of the north had lived in dire misery. Especially since King Zhao, Shi Le, ascended the throne, he had enacted numerous laws specifically targeting the Jin people: Jin people were not allowed to harm wild animals, while the "nationals" could bully and rob the Jin at will, and so on. Life for the Jin in the north had become unbearable.

Lately, the Heavenly King (Shi Le) had become even more credulous of slander. According to what Charles Harris knew, it seemed that a monk had told the Heavenly King that the Jin people were regaining their strength. This made the Heavenly King determined to exterminate the Jin people of the north. At the beginning of the year, he issued an order to kill the Jin, leaving the Jin people of the north with no way out.

Charles Harris's family was a local powerful clan. Although they were respectful to the authorities and often paid tribute to the nearby "nationals," these people from the grasslands were like wolves, their desires insatiable. After the court issued the order to kill the Jin, they began to besiege the fortress where Charles Harris's family resided, even using captured Jin people from the surrounding area as human shields in their assault. After holding out for twenty-nine days, the fortress was breached. Because Charles Harris was the direct heir, he escaped with the family’s armed men and a few close relatives.

Charles Harris dared not imagine the fate of his clansmen who fell into the hands of the "nationals." He had once witnessed with his own eyes a "national" hollow out a living Jin person, removing their organs, then hang them over a fire to smoke-dry. That "national" even cheerfully said that this was the best way to preserve the flavor.

What flavor... the flavor of human flesh? Or the taste of terror?

After escaping, Charles Harris followed the family’s armed men southward, intending to seek refuge in the southern Jin dynasty. But on the way, they encountered a small nomadic squad of "nationals." The family’s armed men were scattered and killed, and Charles Harris was separated from his family. When he came to his senses, he found himself back on the battlefield. There, he found his wife... a wife who had been eaten until only her head remained, her expression twisted and terrifying, as if asking him, why not die together?

"Yes, why not die together?"

Charles Harris muttered numbly to himself. As night fell, the sound of crows echoed around him. He picked up the dagger in his hand, looking at it again and again, over and over. The ridiculous thing was, he just couldn’t bring himself to stab—did he still want to live??

"Let me read a book one more time."

Suddenly, Charles Harris rummaged through a pile of debris and pulled out a bamboo slip. Because it was getting dark, he couldn’t really see which part of his books this bamboo slip belonged to. He just brought it close to his eyes, but the content he saw was utterly baffling. It wasn’t from any book he knew; it was written in vernacular.

"Do you want to understand the meaning of life? Do you truly want to... live?"

"Yes, or no?"

Charles Harris stared in confusion. He didn’t remember any such passage in his collection of books—he could practically recite them all by heart. How could there be something he didn’t know?

And... the meaning of life, truly living?

Was it to live as recorded in the books, as the Han people once did?

Or was it to have his wife, children, and parents all back by his side, with no more so-called "nationals," able to walk the streets in peace?

"To live? Ha, to live..."

"Alas, I actually still want to live..."

"What a petty man I am, what a coward I am!"

Charles Harris lamented, weeping bitterly, yet with a sense of longing, as if with a dream, as if with the last desperate struggle. He reached out and touched that word with his finger...

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Chapter 7: Lord God?

Henry Clark woke up. When he came to, he was still in a daze. After a few seconds, he suddenly propped himself up and saw the giant wolf lying right in front of him.

(That's right, I died... No, I didn't die, otherwise what am I now!?)

Henry Clark's thoughts were in turmoil for a moment. He kept feeling his own body for a while before finally letting out a breath. His body was intact, with hardly a wound to be found, no pain inside, not even the blister on his finger from lighting the campfire remained—it had healed completely.

Henry Clark simply couldn’t figure out what had happened. He clearly remembered that last night, when fighting the giant wolf, it had pinned him to the ground. Just that one blow had twisted his spine, and his internal organs were probably severely damaged. At the time, he knew he was about to die. But now, why was he completely unharmed?

True Qi? No, not to mention that he didn’t even have True Qi yet—even if he did, it would be impossible to recover from such severe injuries. Maybe with True Essence, but even at the Foundation Establishment level, True Essence couldn’t heal this. After all, it involved the spine and internal organs—who knows how much power it would take to fully heal overnight.

Henry Clark thought for a long time but couldn’t figure it out. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it—he was starving. Looking at the giant wolf’s corpse in front of him, he couldn’t help but drool.