Chapter 251: I Wasn’t Too Late, I Wasn’t!
“Yeah, what a coincidence. You’re really lucky,” Jiang Li said with a smile, raising his teacup and clinking it against A Tong’s wine cup.
A Tong felt like there was something off in Jiang Li’s tone, but after thinking it over, he couldn’t find anything wrong, so he smiled politely.
“Uncle Jiang…”
“Got your answer?”
“Yeah, I’ve got some ideas.”
The village celebrated for ten days. A Tong stayed for all ten, a smile constantly on his face as he kept the old village chief company.
Ten days later, A Tong said goodbye to the old chief. “Grandpa, the Nine Provinces are vast. This little corner we live in is just a small part of the world. I want to go out and see it for myself.”
The old chief was reluctant to part with him, but he knew A Tong had grown up. The tiny Cold Pool Village had become a shackle. So, with tears in his eyes, he said goodbye.
Once A Tong left, Li Nian’er suddenly felt the world spinning. The scenery changed, her chest pendant glowed, and she found herself standing once again at the village entrance.
“You two, why don’t you come inside and sit for a while?” The old chief walked out of the village to greet them.
“Village Chief, you don’t recognize us?”
The old man hesitated, looking Li Nian’er and Jiang Li up and down. “My memory isn’t what it used to be. Have we met somewhere before?”
“It’s nothing.” Li Nian’er shook her head and said no more.
Familiar scenes played out again: the village chief told the story of the evil flood dragon, and a few young men tried to offer children as sacrifice.
But this time, Li Nian’er didn’t step in.
Maybe the young men’s actions had stirred public outrage, because many villagers stepped up to condemn and block them.
Just a few ninth-level Qi Refining cultivators—couldn’t several thousand third-levels take them down?
With the villagers working together, the two children were saved again.
The evil flood dragon got angry, burst from the cold pool, came to the village entrance, and tried to devour everyone—only to be slain by the heaven-descending A Tong.
The villagers celebrated, clinking cups and cheering, just like before.
“Senior Tong, how many times has this illusion played out now?” At the banquet, Li Nian’er couldn’t help but speak.
At this point, how could she not see what was happening?
This entire event, from start to finish, was an illusion—a repeating cycle of illusion.
“Illusion? What illusion?” A Tong looked confused, not understanding what she meant.
“Senior Tong, even if I were the dullest person in the world, seeing the same thing happen twice would still make it clear—it’s an illusion.”
“Fellow cultivator, you’ve been trapped in your own illusion for five hundred years. Are you still unwilling to wake up?”
The illusion shattered. The real scene was laid bare before their eyes.
The entire village looked like it had been ravaged by a hurricane—collapsed buildings, utter chaos.
After the passage of time, all that remained of the villagers were skeletal remains. Each skeleton lay in a different pose, in different places: some lay on rooftops, some crushed beneath millstones, some knelt on the ground clutching children…
Their only shared trait: all of them had died while trying to flee. Clearly, none of them had made it.
Li Nian’er could imagine how terrified they must have been before death.
The massive bones of the flood dragon lay in the center of the village. A middle-aged A Tong with a weathered face cradled the old chief’s corpse, tears streaming down his face.
“Grandpa’s still alive. Uncle and Auntie are still alive. Everyone’s still alive!”
“I wasn’t too late, I wasn’t!”
A Fusion Stage cultivator, crying like a child in front of them.
Perhaps, in A Tong’s heart, he really was still a child—a child who had lost the only family he had left and couldn’t face the truth.
In reality, the illusion had only appeared to Li Nian’er. Jiang Li had seen through it from the beginning. The entire area within a dozen li was wrapped in illusion, created by a Fusion Stage cultivator. He had long used his Divine Sense to see what Cold Pool Village really looked like.
Now that she saw the truth, Li Nian’er had a rough idea of what had happened.
The old chief had probably spoken the truth before—the flood dragon had caused chaos, eaten countless people. A Tong had sneaked away and, in a secret realm, obtained a fortuitous opportunity, learned the Dao of Illusions, and became a Nascent Soul Stage cultivator.
The villagers couldn’t bear the dragon’s tyranny and tried to fight back. The flood dragon went into a rage, its enormous body crushing the village like a mountain, venom filling the air. The entire place became a graveyard. No one survived.
A Tong arrived too late. He couldn’t save a single soul. He might’ve even watched his grandfather get killed by the flood dragon before he could act.
Enraged, A Tong fought the beast and slew it.
But he couldn’t accept the truth, so he cast an illusion, telling himself over and over:
I wasn’t too late. I wasn’t too late. Everyone’s still alive.
As the years passed, the illusion replayed thousands, tens of thousands of times. His mastery of the Dao of Illusions deepened, and his cultivation rose with it—eventually becoming a Fusion Stage cultivator.
But even if an illusion is repeated ten thousand times, it’s still an illusion.
A Tong couldn’t change the fact that he was Cold Pool Village’s sole survivor.
Five hundred years had passed. The old village chief had probably reincarnated several times by now.
Jiang Li didn’t expose A Tong’s illusion immediately. He’d been debating whether to shatter the fantasy—or let the man live out his life in it.
He chose the former.
What Li Nian’er didn’t know was that A Tong hadn’t been the only one to enter the illusion. But all the others had their memories wiped and were sent out of the village after one cycle, so the illusion was never exposed—until now.
Li Nian’er had the protective pendant from her mother, which blocked A Tong’s spell and preserved her memories.
Jiang Li sighed inwardly. If he had followed the system’s original timeline and slain the flood dragon himself, he would’ve gotten the reward, and A Tong wouldn’t even have been involved. It would’ve been a happy ending.
This mission’s reward—the Scripture of a Hundred Poisons—was probably meant to be used with the flood dragon’s poison core.
Another reward was Dragonblood Wood. Used as firewood to boil flood dragon blood, it could maximize the blood’s physical enhancement effects.
The third reward was a Concealment Talisman. Jiang Li had seen, via Divine Sense, a rare item in the cold pool: the Extreme Cold Frost Mirror. It was the reason the cold pool existed.
The mirror constantly emitted freezing energy. Carried on one’s person, it could strengthen the body. But the cold aura was too noticeable—it would attract attention. That’s where the Concealment Talisman came in: to mask the aura.
The system was thoughtful. Too bad Jiang Li couldn’t use any of the rewards.
Besides, the flood dragon had died hundreds of years ago—the mission couldn’t be completed anymore.
Jiang Li didn’t know whether the system had calculated the avoidance of Cold Pool Village’s tragedy into its logic. If it had… then he would need to seriously reevaluate the system’s origin and purpose.
“Fellow cultivator, have you considered—if your grandfather, uncle, and aunt saw you in this state of despair—what would they think?”
A Tong’s body trembled. It was as if his grandfather stood before him, and he didn’t dare meet his eyes.
“Everyone must leave someday. But those who leave always hope their loved ones will remember them and carry on. Time doesn’t stop for one person’s death, but one person’s growth can halt because of it.”
“Do you really want to live like this forever, trapped in a past that no longer exists?”
A Tong slowly stood up and thanked Jiang Li.
“Thank you for waking me up, fellow cultivator. I haven’t even asked your name yet.”
“You’ve probably heard of me. I’m Jiang Li.”
A Tong froze for a moment, then stammered awkwardly, “I hope you won’t take offense, Jiang Li… this is actually the first time I’ve heard that name.”
Jiang Li remained perfectly composed, showing not a hint of embarrassment.