These were not Sanskrit in any ordinary sense — they were extraordinarily ancient, evidently the proto-characters from which the script had originated, impossible to trace definitively, representing the very embryonic form of Sanskrit.

As such, they were extremely difficult to translate precisely. Yang Xiao had enlisted a friend to seek out a foremost Indian authority on ancient Sanskrit to decipher them, and even then only managed to produce a rough approximation.

Since these were proto-Sanskrit, they gave rise to several possible meanings — the divergence from later Sanskrit was simply too great. Each character carried multiple layers of meaning, making the whole affair a tremendous headache.

Perfect Enlightenment — this was one possible translation.

Gateway of Wisdom — this was the second possible meaning.

A Sacred Object That Opens the Great Dao of Heaven and Earth — this was the third interpretation, the most unusual, and the most confounding.

Ye Fan stood in a daze, unable not to be shaken. This unassuming little stone Buddha apparently had extraordinary origins — ones that exceeded all imagination.

The first meaning — Perfect Enlightenment — was clearly speaking of Buddhahood. Self-enlightenment, enlightenment of others, and perfect enlightenment — these are the three stages. Ordinary mortals possess none of them. Bodhisattvas reach the second stage: personal awakening, teaching and transforming living beings. Only a Buddha achieves perfect completion, severing all delusion and affliction utterly.

The second meaning — Gateway of Wisdom — was a general statement, but its accompanying line of annotation claimed it was literally a door to be opened.

Seemingly leading to Lingshan.

This annotation was even more astonishing than the translation itself. Ye Fan was moved. He had just returned from the Tibetan region, where for a brief instant he had sensed a vast and mighty ripple — one not weaker than Mount Sumeru.

Traveling from the World of Sorrow toward Lingshan — these were words that set the heart trembling. Deeply mysterious. Could this little stone Buddha truly connect to some hidden realm? The thought demanded deep contemplation.

The third meaning — A Sacred Object That Opens the Great Dao of Heaven and Earth — was vague, a loose translation; even the translator himself was uncertain of it and offered no further elaboration.

Ye Fan was unsettled and full of doubt. He had never imagined that the little stone Buddha he had brought back was so steeped in mystery. But then — why had it been left behind in a remote and uninhabited wasteland, discarded like a worthless object?

Yang Xiao wore an odd expression. Even ordinary Sanskrit was one thing, but these ancient proto-characters were virtually unheard of in India — only one or two objects at the level of national treasures bore such markings. He asked Ye Fan where he had obtained them, and with a well-meaning but cautious tone reminded him that the state maintained extremely strict oversight of cultural relics.

Ye Fan could only respond with a helpless sigh. Ever since he had sent out a few small gifts and Yang Xiao had determined they were over two thousand years old, Yang Xiao had apparently concluded he was trafficking in cultural relics.

Xu Qiong gave Ye Fan a mobile phone and saved her own number in it. After so many years away, holding such a communication device again left Ye Fan in a brief daze — he felt oddly out of place with it.

Living in the world naturally required money — everything demanded it. And yet the things he carried were far too extraordinary; casually revealing any one of them would create enormous trouble.

With no other option, he took out a white jade bottle, erased the Dao markings and divine nature from it, crushed it into dozens of fragments, and handed them to Xu Qiong, asking her to use her connections to help put them up for auction.

Though Xu Qiong had already mentally prepared herself, watching a jade vessel of such flawless, spiritual perfection be destroyed like this still left her stunned.

And when she entrusted the pieces to be auctioned, the old master appraiser during the evaluation beat his chest in anguish, overwhelmed with grief. He declared that this was a sacrilege — to shatter such a peerless treasure was an incalculable loss to the world of jade artistry. It was nothing short of a crime.

Xu Qiong was numb to it. She had once seen Ye Fan burn an entire pile of treasures more mysterious than this in a cemetery — a scene that had felt almost dreamlike. And the few ornaments she herself wore were extraordinary in their own right, as though her flesh and bones underwent a cleansing each and every day.

Ye Fan set aside his sorrow and went about doing the things he needed to do — visiting the families of former classmates, ready to lend his aid wherever it was needed.

Half of his classmates had been buried on the ancient star Fiery Planet more than twenty years ago. The rest had been scattered across the northern stellar region. After so many years, he was the only one who had survived and come back.

How pitiful are the hearts of parents everywhere. When the white-haired must bid farewell to the black-haired, the grief is immense. Even though years had passed, some families had never emerged from the shadow of it. In that era, most families had only one child — to lose that child was to lose everything.

Ye Fan let out a soft sigh. The tragedy had not fallen on his family alone. Of the eleven families he sought out, several of the elders had already passed away long ago.

More than twenty years had gone by. Most of these elders were now in their seventies or eighties. In this era, with medicine having made considerable strides, such a lifespan could not even be called long. The reason was simple — a sickness of the heart had no cure.

Back in the northern stellar region, Ye Fan and Liu Yunzhi had been bitter enemies. But when it came to family, he visited the families of Liu Yunzhi, Wang Yan, and Li Changqing all the same after returning, and if they needed looking after, he would not stand aside.

The material circumstances of most families were reasonably comfortable — only a few were genuinely struggling. What truly plagued them was the wound within, especially in their old age.

And for that, Ye Fan could do nothing. He could not bring the dead back to life, nor could he return the few who were still alive elsewhere. All he could do was quietly slip spiritual medicines into their food and drink, strengthen their muscles and bones, cleanse their flesh and blood, prolong their lifespans, and then find ways to improve their material circumstances.

Yet he did not know whether what he was doing was truly right. Even if their lives grew longer, if there was no joy in their hearts — was that a good thing or a bad one?

“There are a few who could come back…” Ye Fan murmured to himself, and then exhaled quietly.

The Five-Colored Altar was deep within the ancestral temple of the Feathered Transformation Divine Dynasty. Countless cultivators had surged in to compete over the Green Cauldron, the Immortal Scriptures, and other treasures — it had been extraordinarily dangerous. Even he could not have been certain he would make it back; all he could do was strive and fight for the chance.

At the time, he and Pang Bo had not brought Zhang Wenchang and Liu Yiyi with them, wanting to confirm whether it was safe before making a decision, so as to spare those two from sharing in the danger.

As it happened, inside the ancestral temple they had found Earth’s coordinates and immediately entrusted them to the Black Emperor and the others, to be passed on to Liu Yiyi and Zhang Wenchang when the time came, so they could cross back to Earth.

“Perhaps, after many years, others may still return…”

But Ye Fan did not know — that after he had left, the Desolation had appeared, and the only divine array leading to the altar had been destroyed by it. Without that transportation array, relying on one’s own strength alone to enter the Desolate Ancient Forbidden Land and ascend the Five-Colored Altar was all but impossible. Crossing the starry void had become nothing more than a legend.

Why Pang Bo had suddenly departed — for Ye Fan, that remained a mystery to this day. He had never understood it, but he believed there must have been some inescapable reason.

He had found the families of most of his former classmates, and had done everything within his power — even, when necessary, causing a stir, healing those on the verge of death and reversing their decline.

When Ye Fan went to find Zhang Wenchang’s family, his heart was overwhelmed with mixed feelings. He still remembered, at the far end of the starry sky, Zhang Wenchang’s dejected and desolate air — a young man in his twenties whose face already looked like that of a man of sixty or seventy, a man of meager talent who was constantly bullied by fellow disciples and called a “half-ruined old man.”

In the end, he had been squeezed out entirely and opened a small tavern to scrape by, wooden and hollow-eyed each day, enduring every humiliation in silence.

Once, Ye Fan had flown into a rage and killed ten men in succession, cutting down many who had wronged him, and ultimately had Zhang Wenchang sent to the Peak of Great Mystery — which had finally changed his fate.

And yet he knew that Zhang Wenchang had never truly been happy. His heart had always been heavy with longing, always missing his parents. Ye Fan still remembered that one time Zhang Wenchang had drunk himself senseless and collapsed on the table, weeping aloud.

“When I left, my wife was already with child. Our baby was about to be born — she needed me most then, and I disappeared. I came to this place…”

Those heartbroken words still echoed in his ears. Ye Fan shook his head hard.

More than twenty years had passed. Ye Fan met Zhang Wenchang’s own son, and the two resembled each other greatly, leaving Ye Fan briefly in a daze. If only Zhang Wenchang were here — the child he had thought of day and night had already been born.

The bond between father and child runs deep. The young man was not very talkative either, but he was sharp of mind, and upon seeing Ye Fan immediately called out his name.

“I’ve seen you before. You were in the relics my father left behind — there were photographs of you. You — is my father still alive?” He was both stunned and urgently pressing.

Ye Fan nodded. He was glad for Zhang Wenchang’s sake, and sorrowful for him at the same time. Zhang Wenchang’s wife had loved him dearly — she had borne this child and had not abandoned either of his aging parents.

“My stepfather is an orphan. My mother married him only so that she could take better care of me, and so that my grandfather and grandmother would be looked after too.”

Hearing this, Ye Fan was overwhelmed with complex emotions — gratified on Zhang Wenchang’s behalf, and at the same time, heavy-hearted for him.

“My father disappeared. But I know that back then, my mother loved him very deeply — she has never been able to forget, even after all these years. Sometimes she sits alone, lost in thought.”

This world holds too many things that cannot be helped. Life cannot be started over. Zhang Wenchang had already left this world behind — all that remained was the regret of it, and a helplessness nothing could undo.

“My stepfather is a good man. He treats my mother well, and my grandfather and grandmother too. As a family… we are happy enough.”

Zhang Yi’s eyes filled with tears, but he was composed, did not break down — only asked, again and again, about every detail of his father’s life in that other world.

When he heard Ye Fan describe his father’s hardships, how he had wept in drunken grief, crying out that he missed his wife and child and felt he had failed them, Zhang Yi wept, and choked out:

“He never raised me. But I don’t blame him. He had no choice — he didn’t abandon us on purpose. Truthfully, I’ve always missed him too. Because my mother said he was truly a good person. The fault lies with the stars. The fault lies with fate.”

Ye Fan patted his shoulder and said nothing. All he could do was recount things faithfully.

“Are you an immortal? Can you take me to see him?” Zhang Yi asked, full of yearning.

Ye Fan shook his head. “I can’t go back myself. I’ve said too much today. Your life as it is now is good — I shouldn’t disturb your peace. In a little while, I’ll erase some of your memories. Happiness, peace, contentment — I believe that’s what your father would most want to see for you.”

“No — you can’t do that!” A middle-aged woman came rushing in, agitated.

This was Zhang Wenchang’s wife. Ye Fan looked up — he had already sensed her arrival and was not surprised.

“You have no right to take away what we know. Whatever may come, whatever the outcome — these are precious memories in our hearts!” Zhang Wenchang’s wife said through her tears.

Ye Fan had met her a number of times in the old days and had even attended their wedding celebration. In the blink of an eye, more than twenty years had passed. Everything had changed, yet remained.

“Ye Fan — you and Wenchang were good friends. Could you really bear to leave us blank, with everything simply erased? You must know — for us, these memories are something utterly irreplaceable!” Zhang Wenchang’s wife wept.

“That’s right. These memories won’t disturb our lives. They can’t be cut away.” Zhang Yi stepped back, steadying his mother with his arm.

Ye Fan did not know how he left. He walked in silence, step after step. He did not erase the memories of mother and son. They were right. To do so would have been too heartless — they had the right to know.

Upon leaving, he set down a few small “objects,” along with two bottles of spiritual medicine. He didn’t know what else he could do.

The pleasant sound of a mobile phone ringtone broke through — it was Xu Qiong calling. He pressed answer and brought it to his ear, and in that instant, Ye Fan was jolted wide awake. His face changed color. “What — you’re saying Pang Bo he—”