Chapter 1662: Rising from Ruin

The snowstorm had ceased. A blinding white blanket covered the world, stark and desolate, as if the entire earth were shrouded in mourning, a silent, tragic elegy for what was lost.

Chu Feng lay like a dead man beneath the snow and ice. The cold was piercing, but it could not compare to the chill in his heart. He felt only an icy stillness, life utterly devoid of meaning.

He was no different from a corpse, unwilling to move, unwilling to think, unwilling to let his spirit revive. He only wished to lie silently on the frozen earth, never to awaken.

To him, living was torment, an endless wound. He could not accept the deaths of his loved ones, nor could he bear to recall the horrific images of his wife and child's brutal demise. Those memories were like blades and swords; each thought was a strike that made his heart gush blood, piercing his very soul with agony.

Death might be simple, an end to all suffering, a release from sorrow and the madness of pain. Yet, deep within him, a faint, blurred voice echoed: "I... cannot die. Not until I have my revenge!"

It wasn't until one day, amidst a deafening clap of thunder, that a flicker of his spirit returned from his state of numbness. The ice and snow had melted, and he lay on the muddy, barren earth, briefly jolted awake by the spring thunder.

But soon, his vision blurred red as blood. He let out a long howl, like a rampaging beast or a mad prisoner battering his cell. His hair disheveled, he knelt on the ground, gasping for breath.

Day by day, night by night, it all resurfaced in his mind. The suffocating, tragic scenes returned, driving him mad, making him roar. Then, he stumbled to his feet and began to run across the land.

Anyone who saw him would believe he had completely lost his mind. His vitality and spirit were gone, replaced only by pain and bestial growls. His eyes were unfocused, tinged with red.

He ran until nightfall, unsure how many miles he had covered, before collapsing onto the desolate ground with a thud. His chest heaved with intense pain, and the bloodlust in his eyes receded slightly, allowing him to regain some clarity from his madness.

He looked down at his hands, where dried blood still clung. Then he looked at his torn battle-robe, splattered with a shocking, vivid red – the blood that had sprayed when his own child's body disintegrated, the last trace the child had left behind.

Chu Feng's heart ached, threatening to drive him mad again. He clasped his hands over his chest, protecting the lingering bloodstains on his ruined battle-robe, and looked up at the sky in despair. His eyes were filled with endless hopelessness.

"Only this remains..." Chu Feng gazed at the blood on his clothes, as if holding the most precious thing in the world, fearing it would vanish in a blink and be gone forever.

He had no tears left to shed, yet he whimpered, his chest tearing with pain. Each memory was like an immortal sword piercing his heart. The more he tried to suppress them, the clearer the events of that day became, a relentless barrage of blades, spears, and halberds, leaving his heart riddled with holes and constantly gushing blood.

The images of that day were like a heavy, blood-red mountain crushing him, almost pulverizing him, making him gasp for air in agony.

The night wind was considerable, rustling Chu Feng's hair. It was gray-white, dull, and completely lusterless. He stared at the long strands lifted by the breeze, lost in thought.

Once, he had been full of laughter and fury, vibrant and full of vigor, venturing into the mortal world. He had walked the earth with brilliance, spirited and confident, single-handedly overcoming all rivals of his generation.

Now, there was only endless desolation, bitterness, and pain. The light of his confidence and strength had completely faded, leaving behind only silence and gloom.

He lifted his head blankly, feeling helpless, dejected, and desperate. Even though he had regained his senses and no longer lay like a corpse on the ground, he felt that his former self had died. How many past events could be relived? How many moments of joy could be recreated? He was no longer the youthful man who had ventured into the mortal world and shone across the land. Though not old, his long hair had turned gray-white. His entire face, despite retaining a youthful appearance due to his power, was pallid, utterly devoid of color.

"I, too, once boldly ventured through the world with soaring ambition, intending to eradicate every strange enemy. But now, nothing remains!"

He had lost all his family and friends, all the brilliant heroes. They were all gone, all fallen in battle, leaving only him.

The young Chu Feng of yesteryear, who cared for nothing and always wore a dazzling, sunrise-like smile, was completely gone. His demeanor had drastically changed, a shadow of his former self. He questioned himself: "Am I dead?" The vast world offered nothing to yearn for. His entire being was cloaked in gloom; there was no light in his heart, only dimness.

Much later, Chu Feng, trembling, carefully dabbed the blood from his hands onto his tattered battle-robe. As if cradling his own child, he gently placed it into a stone jar, preserving it within an unbreakable space, and within his own memory, full of pain.

The moon was large and bright, illuminating the ground brilliantly. Its pure light reflected the myriad splendors of the past human world. Chu Feng, in a trance, seemed to see countless forms of life, the bustling mortal world of before, and one blurred familiar face after another, smiling and waving at him from afar.

But as he walked forward, straining to see, everything vanished. Under the full moon, the great world had become ruins, an endless desolation. Lone wolves howled like weeping souls, tombs littered the landscape, and scattered bones lay everywhere along the roadside. The scene was utterly desolate and bleak.

Chu Feng staggered onward. An entire era had been buried. In this vast world, was he truly the only one left?

The bright moon shone from above, yet the human world could never return to its past. The moon remained the same moon that had illuminated a glorious age eons ago, witnessing humanity's brilliance and enduring legacies. Though the moon was still present, humanity's past was all that remained: broken walls, crumbling ruins. Peerless heroes and ageless beauties had all turned to dust.

He regained some clarity, no longer mad, but he couldn't help but want to wail. He couldn't conceal the bitterness and pain in his heart. He wanted to weep, but could only utter hoarse, low growls.

The bright moon illuminated past and present. Its light was hazy, yet anything but soft, like an icy veil, chilling to the bone, unable to conceal the sorrow of ages.

How many heroes had become history? How much brilliance lay buried beneath the ruins? The long expanse of history, the magnificent scrolls of glory, all burned to ashes. Looking across the vast world, only he remained, alone amidst the desolate ruins.

Chu Feng walked alone in gloom. The path ahead was dark, without a single companion. His heart held endless melancholy, desolation, and a loneliness he had never known, experiencing the profound solitude of millennia.

Many days passed. Chu Feng didn't know where he was. He had been mad, disoriented, yet he could not escape the dark recesses of his mind, unable to see any light.

He told himself to live, to become stronger, not to remain in eternal despair. But he couldn't control himself, constantly immersed in the past, thinking of those people, those memories. What could he, a solitary man, do now? What could he change?

In the final battle, everyone had died. What power did he, the sole survivor, possess to change this world?

He would never forget the sight of all the quasi-Immortal Emperors falling. Even Desolate, Ye, and the Empress had died in battle. From then on, there were no Emperors in the world. Could he, alone, stand against a force as overwhelming as a raging torrent?

Even if he became an Immortal Emperor, venturing forth alone would only lead to him being crushed to dust.

Who were those who had died? They were the pinnacles of their respective historical eras, the protagonists of great ages, the most brilliant heroes of their times. Yet, in that final battle, all had perished.

Chu Feng leaned against a rock, his heart aching, but powerless.

Those figures, that group reflected against the vast sky, were a grand assembly of history's most brilliant heroes. They had all gathered, all elites had emerged, but ultimately, they could not defeat the strangeness. In the end, Emperors fell, humanity suffered, all dying in battle. Their heroic spirits' wishes remained unfulfilled, their fervor chilled by despair, clogging his chest.

"Emperors have fallen, worlds are wounded; saints and sages are all buried beneath the ruins!" Chu Feng stumbled through the dark, alone, without aim or direction. Only his hoarse words echoed under the night sky.

He couldn't see the path ahead. So many people had died. He once harbored an ambition to devour the heavens and a fierce desire for revenge, but ultimately, he felt bewildered and powerless. How could he alone defeat the entire plateau, the four Origin Ancestors, the three Immortal Emperors, countless strange beings, especially when the pinnacle combatants in the cursed land could endlessly resurrect...?

Chu Feng walked for months, traversing shattered mountains and rivers, passing through ruined wastelands. He didn't know which great world this was, a scorched land stretching for thousands of miles, where no human presence was ever seen.

Sometimes clear-headed, sometimes disoriented, he remained in despair but alive, wandering aimlessly, often in a state of madness. He had become the true "Madman Chu." If any of his old acquaintances were to see him, they would undoubtedly shed tears of sorrow. The Chu Feng who once dared to provoke anyone, the fearless "Devil Chu," had actually gone insane, reduced to such a tragic state.

Whenever he regained lucidity, he would run across the land without abandon. When exhausted, he would simply collapse, lying motionless, gazing up at the sun, moon, and stars, sleepless and silent.

He told himself inwardly to clear away the darkness in his heart, to stop despairing. He had to face the bloody reality eventually. Even if he might be outmatched in the future, he had to pull himself together. The great era was gone, and only he remained. If he didn't rise for revenge, who else would stand up?

He raged, ran, remained sleepless, and lay prone, simply to soothe the endless wounds in his heart. He wished to heal with time, to mend his shattered spirit.

He told himself: "Hibernate, adjust, adapt. I will eventually step out, to face the cursed land, to face that terrifying plateau!"

Stumbling and pausing, Chu Feng slowly healed his emotional wounds. There was no one to talk to, no sign of the past human world with its myriad forms. Only remnants of wild beasts could occasionally be seen.

The days of Chu Feng's madness grew fewer, but he became increasingly silent, walking this ruined land for nearly two years.

Until one day, he found signs of human life. He saw villages amidst the ruins and rebuilt towns. Humanity in this world had not completely perished after all.

Furthermore, he successively encountered other races. Although the land was severely damaged, many communities had survived, albeit with very few people.

Chu Feng traveled through one settlement after another of various races. Many areas of this world had been affected, with millions of miles scorched, but some regions had retained their original appearance, not severely damaged.

Until one day, Chu Feng felt utterly weary and stopped in a small town. Without any other thoughts or concerns, he simply lay down by the roadside and slept. He told himself it was time to break free, to rest in this long-lost mortal world, and ultimately to sweep away the gloom and despair, dispelling the darkness in his heart.

Image, honor, and disgrace—he had long discarded them along the way. He walked when he wished, collapsed when he wished, completely oblivious to the gaze of passersby.

Now, he was dressed in rags, his gray-white hair disheveled. His face was pale and bloodless, like a long-ill person collapsed on the road, drifting in and out of consciousness.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he felt a gentle touch. He opened his eyes, observing his surroundings and the people around him.

The dilapidated small town had narrow streets and bustling pedestrians. Two years had passed, yet the cataclysm of the past still prevented people from fully recovering from their fear.

Beside him was a child, no more than four or five years old, who had gently touched Chu Feng, waking him up.

The child's small face was grimy, and his little clothes were even more tattered than Chu Feng's. Only his eyes were pure, though at the moment, they held a timid fear of Chu Feng.

The child's small hand held half a steamed bun. He carried it carefully, as if it were a treasure, afraid to lose it, holding it in both hands as he hesitantly offered it to Chu Feng.

Chu Feng was startled. Having just woken up, he hadn't fully collected himself.

The child made soft "Ah-ah" sounds, gesturing again to Chu Feng, urging him to take the bun.

He was a mute child, unable to speak, only able to express himself through sounds and actions.

Chu Feng quickly understood his meaning. He glanced around and realized the child's plight: he was a poor, little beggar.

Chu Feng sighed. This child had such a kind heart. So young, only four or five, and mute, yet he was sharing the scarce food he had managed to beg.

Soon, the child gestured again, pointing to an old man lying in a street corner in the distance. With a timid smile, he made more "Ah-ah" sounds, seemingly explaining something.

Chu Feng's perception was incredibly strong, and he understood. That was the child's grandfather, with whom he depended on. The grandfather had likely told the child that Chu Feng, lying on the roadside, might be sick, hungry, or unconscious.

Suddenly, Chu Feng's expression froze. The old man had been dead for two hours; his body was already cold.

But the child was completely unaware.

The child made two "Ah-ah" sounds, broke off a piece of the bun with effort, gently placed it in Chu Feng's hand, then turned and ran to the street corner. With a happy smile, he gently shook the old man, making "Ah-ah" sounds, holding up the bun, wanting to feed him.

At this moment, Chu Feng's nose tingled with emotion. This poor, sensible little beggar didn't yet know that his grandfather had died.

The child made several "Ah-ah" sounds, but failed to wake his grandfather. He then gently covered the old man with a thin, tattered blanket, contentedly waiting for his grandfather to wake up. From time to time, he would look down at the bun in his hand, a happy and satisfied smile on his face, yet he couldn't bring himself to eat it.

At this moment, Chu Feng's heart was deeply moved. Such a simple child, a toddler who had even lost the ability to speak, so carefree and with an incredibly contented, pure smile, made his nose tingle.

The simple human affection between the child and the old man seemed to instantly dispel the dark regions in Chu Feng's heart. He felt a long-lost warmth surging within him.

The four or five-year-old child was innocent and ignorant of many things. He happily held the bun, guarding the old man, completely unaware of the truth that his sole guardian, his grandfather, had died.

When he saw Chu Feng looking at him, he would smile shyly and timidly, making two "Ah-ah" sounds, as if bravely greeting him.

In an instant, warm tears streamed down Chu Feng's face. He thought of his own child, Chu An, whom he had failed to protect, and whose growth he had never witnessed, not even spending a single day by his side. What was Chu An like as a child? Was he also as innocent, pitiful, and endearing as this little boy?

In that moment, Chu Feng felt a pang in his heart. His eyes, long since dried of tears, blurred completely. He tried desperately to imagine what his own child had been like, how he had been as a toddler, taking his first steps, babbling his first words...

Chu Feng trembled. He looked up at the sky, not wanting to cry anymore, but he couldn't control his emotions.

He had never seen Chu An as a child, so he could only constantly imagine. A tiny figure in his mind gradually became clearer. Comparing it to the child before him, their eyes were equally pure.

Never having truly seen his own child in infancy, Chu Feng projected the image of the little boy onto his memories, and the two figures began to overlap.

Chu Feng couldn't resist. He walked over, knelt down, and gently embraced the child in his tattered clothes.

The child was initially scared, making two "Ah-ah" sounds and offering a pleading smile, shielding his grandfather. But seeing Chu Feng crying and merely holding him gently in place, not trying to force him away, he finally relaxed.

After a slight hesitation, the child reached out a small, dirty hand and carefully wiped away Chu Feng's warm tears.

"My child!" Chu Feng cried. In that moment, holding the child, he saw him as his own. A sudden surge of emotional resonance overwhelmed him; his feelings burst forth, and tears streamed down his face.

The child became somewhat frightened, timidly making "Ah-ah" sounds, as if quietly comforting Chu Feng. But unable to speak, he could only produce simple syllables.

"Good child, you're so small, yet you're comforting me? From now on, you are my child!" Chu Feng picked up the child. His heart held bitterness, pain, and pity. This child had deeply touched his soul, and he resolved to raise him well.

Chu Feng secretly buried the old man, all while the child watched innocently. He repeatedly told the child that the old man had fallen asleep, then woken up and gone on a long journey, and would only return much later. From now on, Chu Feng would live with him and wait for the old man to come home.

It wasn't entirely a deception. Chu Feng settled in this small town, creating a home, a small courtyard for himself and the child. For now, he had no grand, distant plans. He simply wanted to stay with this mute child and raise him.

In his heart, he harbored too many regrets, having failed to fulfill many duties. He hadn't been there for his own child's growth, nor had he protected him. Chu Feng yearned immensely, dreaming of returning to Chu An's early childhood to make up for all he had missed.

Now, he regarded the child as his own.

After the initial unease, fear, tears, and longing for the old man, the child gradually adapted. As days turned into weeks, he was no longer timid. He had good food, and someone kindly protected him and stayed by his side. He began to smile foolishly again.

After some time, Chu Feng felt that the cold, dark corners of his heart were completely filled with warmth.

He didn't see the child as a substitute, but genuinely loved him, wholeheartedly considering him his own.

As he washed the child's small face and dressed him in new clothes, Chu Feng's heart trembled. The corners of the child's eyes and brows truly bore a slight resemblance to his own.

Was this a compensation and gift from heaven?

No!

Having endured too much, even the so-called heavens had been transformed into a desolate realm. How could Chu Feng believe in any "heaven" or "destiny," which were merely things casually torn apart by the strange ancestors?

Chu Feng used his extraordinary abilities to treat the child's body. He was no longer mute; he slowly recovered and began to speak.

One year, two years... Many years passed. Chu Feng accompanied him as he grew up, intending to see him marry, have children, and live a peaceful, fulfilling life.

As the child gradually grew, Chu Feng's heart became increasingly radiant, sweeping away all gloom. His former vibrant self was slowly returning!

"The world's evolvers, the heroes of the past, have almost all been buried. Only I remain. How can I allow myself to despair? On these broken ruins, even if I am the only one left, I must eventually stand forth!"

Over more than a decade of ordinary life in the small town, Chu Feng's inner world grew increasingly calm, and his eyes became more expressive. His state of mind had undergone a profound transformation.

"Rising from ruin!" As time flowed on, the child of yesteryear reached the age for marriage and children. Chu Feng's own conviction grew increasingly firm. A broken heart and a shattered world could no longer confine him. One day, he would march into that plateau!