Chapter 9: Her Adventure

Liu Liang said this, her hand at her side clenching tightly. She didn't dare call out that word "Mom," and she figured Zhou Lanping wouldn't dare to hear it either. Give her more time; they still had plenty of time. She hadn't grown up yet, and she hadn't gone astray. In this life, she would live well, and she would certainly be able to grow into a towering tree.

She would be able to provide her mother with a place to shelter from the wind and rain.

"For me?"

Zhou Lanping hurriedly picked up the bowl. As soon as she lifted it, she smelled something sweet and sour.

She couldn't help but take a sip. It had an apple flavor—a little sweet, but not cloyingly so. It was a pure apple taste, so delicious it could make her bite her own tongue off.

The sweet and sour flavor was like eating a piece of chilled watermelon in the height of summer; it was incredibly refreshing.

"Liangliang, is there apple in this?"

Only then did Zhou Lanping remember to wonder where the apple pieces in the bowl had come from. What extra apples could they possibly have at home? The only apple was the one Grandma Wang had given her.

She had assumed Liu Liang had eaten it all, and seeing her daughter eat made her happier than eating it herself.

That was what it meant to be a mother; even if she were starving to death, she wouldn't bear to let her daughter eat one less mouthful of food, one less grain of rice.

"I couldn't finish it, so I put it in there."

Liu Liang’s hand behind her back remained clenched.

"I'm going to sleep now. Don't stay up too late."

She turned and walked away as she spoke. In truth, she didn't dare face Zhou Lanping right now; she was afraid that the guilt would make her collapse. But in Zhou Lanping's eyes, she was just being shy and awkward.

"And she says she's cold-natured and unreasonable. I think she's just being a stubborn child." Her muttering made Liu Liang, who had just stepped into her room, pause for a moment.

Fine, let her say whatever she wants.

Stubborn is stubborn; people always have times when they aren't.

If she says she's unreasonable, then she's unreasonable. She would eventually grow up and become sensible. Not being sensible for one lifetime was her mistake; not being sensible for two lifetimes would be her sin.

Once you've suffered enough, you learn what is right and wrong.

Once you've made enough mistakes, you learn how to act in the future.

She gently closed the door. As she walked over, she picked up the schoolbag she had tossed on the floor long ago. She weighed it with one hand.

It was quite light.

That wasn't right. She didn't believe it and weighed the bag again.

This bag should have held at least twenty jin of books. With so many books inside, it shouldn't be this light. Although she had long since finished school, she still remembered the feeling of her shoulders being pressed down by the weight of her bag.

But what she was holding in her hand now shouldn't be called a schoolbag; it should be called a schoolbag skin.

Could it be...

She suddenly thought of something and threw the bag onto the table. As she kicked off her shoes, she sat down cross-legged and tried to find the sensation of *qi* within her body.

For her, this was a matter of extreme familiarity. After all, in that other world, having lost a soul, everything she did daily—aside from the necessities of life—was this cultivation method: a technique of using *qi* as breath, using breath for nourishment, and accumulating it over time.

In that world, this might not have been anything special, as everyone could practice it; it only differed in the degree of purity. The purest could save lives, and even the impure had health benefits.

She didn't actually know what level she had reached back then; she only heard the old man say that if not for her missing soul and lack of spiritual consciousness, she might have cultivated the purest "Breath of Life."

In that world, she had been muddled, and she didn't remember much—she couldn't even recall what her master's face looked like.

But strangely, she remembered those techniques, and she clearly remembered the patterns of how that energy flowed. Perhaps it was because of familiarity, or perhaps it was because they had been her constant companions day after day.

So, as she did it now, it was like instinct. She remembered the mental cultivation, the movements, and even the circulation through her meridians. Bit by bit, she felt for those points of *qi* within her body.

However, the two worlds were very different. That world was very strange—though she couldn't quite explain how—but she knew for certain it wasn't purely materialistic.

What could happen there might not happen here.

What could be learned there might be impossible here.

She was using her own body now. If there were no *qi* points, even if she followed the old techniques, she would likely just end up with numb legs and nothing to show for it.

She carefully felt every inch of her body.

The result: nothing.

She couldn't find it, and she couldn't feel it. It was like a stone sinking into the sea. When something becomes an instinct, a habit, you don't need words to know if it exists, where it is, or where it has gone.

But it wasn't there. Even after trying time and time again, she still couldn't feel anything. She even tried to circulate the technique to try and condense it again, but it still didn't work.

As expected.

She stretched out her hand. It was a beautiful hand—the hand of a young girl. Her fingers were like white scallions, slender and delicate, with perfectly shaped nails of a pale pink. Five little half-moons sat on her nail beds, looking both healthy and pretty.

This was her own body, her twelve-year-old body. It wasn't the twenty-six-year-old version of herself, riddled with illness and scars, nor was it the version of her that had possessed those strange encounters.

So, she was no different. Even if heaven had let her be reborn twice, she was still no different.

No, she *was* different. She wasn't the her from her past life. In this life, she could distinguish right from wrong, she would have a brain, she would make sure she lived well, and she would take her mother and live a good, proper life.

She slowly relaxed her body. Although she was a bit disappointed—after all, if she really had it, it could have been her "golden finger," and while not much, it would have been incredibly useful, something that could change her life's trajectory.

But now that it was proven she didn't have it, she had no choice but to accept it. Time would pass, life would go on, and she would find other ways to ensure she and her mother lived better lives.

And, to die a few years later.

Just as she had stopped searching for her former power, she suddenly felt a very strange sensation in the little finger of her right hand. It was something familiar, something that existed in her memory and in her soul.

This was the *Nourishing Breath Technique*.

She didn't believe it and felt again, carefully, for that twitching in her right finger.

It wasn't a muscle twitch, nor was it a nerve spasm; it was something that came from the pulsation of her blood.

It was actually still there. It really existed.

Even Liu Liang, who prided herself on being calm, almost screamed out loud.

She had already given up; she had already been considering other ways to survive.

As it turned out, heaven had played the biggest joke on her, but it had also given her the greatest surprise.

This single spark of hers might just be enough to burn everything down.