NOVPUB1132: Dong Ping’s change (1)
1132: Dong Ping’s change (1)
There was no shortage of stories about cultivators who had formed blue-grade pillars in the foundation establishment realm yet still failed to reach the palace realm.
But the four founders of the Vast Blue Merchant Company—despite having white and red-grade pillars—not only broke through to the palace realm but even advanced to its latter stages.
Their story was a testament to how wondrous whatever they found in that ancient ruin must have been—for it to transform what was essentially worthless rock into precious gems.
Before his mind could get swept away by the mystery of that treasure, Yang Qing quickly reined in his thoughts.
Knowing the founders had mediocre aptitude still didn’t explain why Li Gang would be transporting the heart-quenching mulberry dew in such a peculiar manner.
Wait… could it be…?
Yang Qing’s eyes flashed as a thought crossed his mind.
“Seems you’ve caught on,” Dong Ping said with a slight smile, noticing the subtle change in Yang Qing’s expression. 𝓃𝓸𝓿𝓹𝓾𝓫.𝓬ℴ𝓶
Without waiting for him to confirm his guess, Dong Ping continued,
“That treasure did overturn their fortunes and gave them far more than they could have ever achieved on their own by granting them the impossible—but even it had its limits,” he said, a slight sigh escaping his lips.
“They’ve reached those limits,” he added, his tone dropping slightly.
“Both in terms of their cultivation realm…
and their lifespan,” he added, the mood turning slightly somber.
Lifespan was the one denominator cultivators still shared with mortals.
No matter how powerful they became—whether they could shatter mountains or overturn rivers with a simple turn of their hands—they still faced the inevitable reminder that they had a running timer on their lifespan.
The only difference between them and mortals was their when was a bit further down the line.
But it still didn’t change the fact that it was still there and it would soon run down for them all.
Doesn’t look like he’ll have to worry about that for a while—especially him, thought Dong Ping, a flicker of envy rising as his gaze fell on Yang Qing.
He couldn’t help but lament his own situation.
He still had about 2,000 years left to live.
By mortal standards, that was an unimaginable figure left to live—but to someone who had once possessed a lifespan of 30,000 years, it felt no different than a mortal who only had five years left.
That creeping sensation—the awareness of his limit drawing closer—was both unnerving and humbling.
It was why he could no longer afford to postpone breaking through to the domain realm.
If he had wanted to, he could have triggered his tribulation 12,000 years ago.
But he kept delaying it as he was unable to mentally bring himself to take that step.
He couldn’t do it, not until he fulfilled one last promise—the one he made to his mother and grandfather on their deathbeds:
To have a family.
And to ensure he didn’t die alone.
He had made that promise when he was just a child, and back then, he hadn’t put much weight on it.
As he grew older, though he never forgot it, it gradually faded into the background.
His focus shifted entirely to the sword dao, pursuing it with single-minded dedication.
It wasn’t until 12,000 years ago—when he reached the peak stage of the palace realm, a single step away from the domain realm—that the promise he had made as a child finally moved to the forefront of his mind.
He couldn’t help but smile ruefully as he thought about the person he had been 12,000 years ago.
When that promise resurfaced, the first emotion he felt was regret—regret for having made it in the first place.
Up until that point, nothing mattered more to him than his pursuit of the sword dao.
It consumed his entire being, and he reveled in the freedom of devoting himself wholly to it.
Nothing else mattered—just him and the endless sword river of the grand dao.
It was that very obsession that led him to become a rogue cultivator despite his talents.
He believed that path would leave him unencumbered by the fetters of life, leaving him free to chase the sword dao to its deepest, most profound depths.
It was that simple, single-minded focus that allowed him to achieve everything he had today with far fewer resources than most.
If not for the promise he made as a child, he would have already attempted to break through to the domain realm 12,000 years ago, when he first felt its doors within reach.
But he couldn’t ignore that promise—not when he was on the verge of facing the tribulation of the domain realm, where a single misstep could mean his death.
While he had confidence in making it through to the domain realm, because of its lethality, he wasn’t 100% certain, and that little bit percentage of uncertainty was what made him waiver.
Not because he was afraid of dying, but because he didn’t want to die without fulfilling the promise he made.
At the time, he regretted that promise.
It made him waver, pulling his focus away from the one thing he truly cared about and toward something he never had any interest in.
As long as he had his sword, he had all the family he needed.
But as a sword cultivator, he had to keep his word.
Sword cultivators—the truly accomplished ones—cultivated not just the sword, but also the heart.
The sword reflected the heart, and the heart reflected the sword.
If he allowed his heart to gather rust by breaking his promise, it would inevitably stain his sword path.
And that, he could not allow.
So, he postponed his breakthrough and turned his focus toward fulfilling his promise as quickly as possible—just so he could return to what he loved.
But things didn’t go quite as planned.
At the start, he didn’t care who his partner was—only that they bore him a child to fulfill his obligation.
After all, his heart was already taken by the sword dao.
His plan was simple: find someone, have a child, remain in the child’s life for fifty years, secure a path for them—which included giving them a significant portion of his wealth—and then return to his cultivation.
But reality didn’t unfold the way he expected.
