Chapter Sixty: Revisiting the Old Haunt

Yin Seventeen returned to the place where his journey in this world first began—the small village where he had encountered the Saints. Perhaps it was because too many people had died here, leaving a lingering sense of dread among those who came after, but in the five years that had passed, no one had ever moved in to settle again. Now, the ruins were overgrown with wild grass, with not a trace of human presence to be seen.

“I’m back,” Yin Seventeen murmured quietly to the empty ruins.

He knew very well that his true home was not here, but he had nowhere else to go. He could only treat this place as a kind of spiritual anchor. People, after all, needed something to hold on to, some lingering hope or memory. Moreover, when he left the Sanctuary, the reason he gave to the Pope was that he wished to return home for a visit. So, here he was.

Clearing a patch of ground and sitting down, Yin Seventeen looked upon the ruins with a complicated expression. “Though I did not cause your deaths with my own hands, I cannot deny my responsibility in the matter.”

“If I have the chance, I’ll return often to pay my respects.”

In the past, he and his city had been transported to this world by that old Daoist priest, or rather, by the force behind him. But then, a terrifying bolt of lightning struck from the heavens, shattering the city into pieces and sending them plummeting to the earth. One of those fragments had landed near here, and it was the impact from that piece that destroyed the entire village.

Though I did not kill Boren, Boren died because of me.

Yin Seventeen always felt a deep sense of guilt over this.

After mourning the villagers who had perished, he turned to visit the graves of his three 'family members.' In the eyes of others, these had been his 'family,' and he could not allow them to be forgotten. He picked three bouquets of wildflowers from the nearby fields and offered them at the graves, standing solemnly before them in mourning.

“There’s nothing much to say—may you be born into better families in your next lives!” he sighed helplessly.

This world was filled with things beyond the ordinary, and reincarnation was one of them. The souls of the dead would enter the underworld, and through reincarnation, they would begin anew. The current Pegasus Seiya, for example, was the reincarnation of the previous Pegasus Saint. Of course, though Seiya was still Pegasus, he was no longer the same person he had been in his previous life. It was a unique mechanism of reincarnation, as if the soul was reshaped into someone else—its essence unchanged, but the person wholly different.

Disaster had struck from the heavens, and his three 'family members' had suffered enough misfortune in this life; he could only hope that they would find better fortune in the next.

Bidding farewell to his ‘family,’ Yin Seventeen followed a small path to the site of the old meteor crater.

Underground, the charred corpses that once remained had long since vanished, leaving only scattered white bones, many bearing the marks of teeth. It seemed wild beasts and scavengers had gnawed them to this state.

“May you too have luck in your next lives,” he prayed devoutly.

For these bones belonged to his true compatriots, those who had come from the same world as he. Yet their fates could not have been more different—Yin Seventeen had been carefully protected, safely arriving in this world, while his compatriots had perished before even touching the ground, reduced to charred remains. Now, their bones lay exposed to the wilderness, with not even a grave to shelter them.

Whenever he thought of this, Yin Seventeen could not help but sigh. In this world, perhaps only death could claim to be the ultimate equalizer.

As he lifted his right foot, preparing to collapse the crater and bury his compatriots’ bones, he hesitated and set his foot down gently.

“To cover it up would only draw suspicion—it’s better not to do anything unnecessary.”

The identity of someone from another world was too sensitive; to bury the bones might invite unwanted attention. He had worked hard to establish a clean background for himself and could not let a moment’s pity jeopardize his safety.

He could only let his compatriots lie exposed to the elements.

“But then again,” he thought, “so many were sent to this world—did I really survive alone?” Staring at the bones at the bottom of the pit, Yin Seventeen fell into deep thought once more.

The old Daoist had said before leaving that Yin Seventeen was but one of many chosen ‘seeds,’ and that there were countless others besides him—yet none would ever meet.

In other words, only the seeds were carefully nurtured and allowed to live; the rest were merely expendable. If, besides him, any others had survived, eventually they would cross paths in this world. After all, this world was neither too large nor too small, and as a Saint, it would not be difficult for him to traverse it.

Recalling his earlier suspicions about ‘parallel worlds,’ Yin Seventeen ventured another bold guess: there were not merely one or two parallel worlds, but many. The old Daoist had used worlds as soil, sowing the seeds one by one. Unless one day they gained the power to break through from one parallel world to another, they would never meet.

The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed, and Yin Seventeen nodded silently to himself. “That must be it.”

It was just a pity for those compatriots who had been sent here with him. Without a doubt, they were sacrificed as decoys to shield him.

Had the old Daoist sent only him, the target would have been too obvious. With so many thrown into the mix, his safety was better assured. Regardless, they were his compatriots, and they had died for his sake; he owed them at least a memorial.

“May you too be reborn into good families,” he prayed again, looking upon the bones in the pit. He dared not do anything more, lest he attract suspicion.

For seven days, Yin Seventeen remained, offering sincere tribute. Only then did he set out on his journey.

He traveled north, soaring over the Yellow River, heading straight for the Yan Mountains. Gazing out over the endless grasslands beyond the border, he sighed helplessly.

“As expected, it’s not here.”

This world’s geography was nearly identical to that of his own, but in his world, near the Yan Mountains, there was a great ancient military fortification—the Great Wall. Here, there was nothing.

A bit disappointed, Yin Seventeen followed the mountains northeast, searching as he went. The Great Wall stretched for tens of thousands of meters, built along the mountain ridges—an awe-inspiring feat of ancient engineering. If it wasn't here, perhaps some remnant existed elsewhere.

But Yin Seventeen traveled all the way to the Changbai Mountains and still saw no sign of the Great Wall.

In this world, there was no Great Wall.

He then turned south, arriving at Ziwu Ridge and Qiao Mountain.

The Records of the Grand Historian once noted, “The Yellow Emperor died and was buried at Qiao Mountain.” As the legendary burial site of the ancestor of civilization, this place held great significance for him. He had to see it for himself, for it would shape his attitude toward this land.

With supersonic speed, Yin Seventeen quickly circled Qiao Mountain.

“Not even an imperial tomb?” he exclaimed in shock as he landed atop a small hill.

All around Qiao Mountain, there were only dense, lush forests, rarely visited by people. There was not even a hint of a village, let alone an imperial burial mound.