As the sun set and night fell, Mo Jiwu walked to the gravestone, lay down on the spot where the body lay, and embraced the headstone.
Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Grief?
Longing and anger?
None of it mattered.
He had already made his decision after hearing the young man’s story a little while ago.
All he had to do now was keep his wife company for the night until morning came, so he could keep her company again.
After a few minutes of blank thought, Mo Jiwu slipped straight into the realm of dreams.
For someone like him, locked away for 130 years, learning to sleep quickly and shut his mind off was something he had mastered long ago.
From that came his strange ability of hibernation.
But it was more than sleep.
If he let it run its course, the hibernation could last years.
Once, he woke up to find himself turning into stone, dust having settled over him.
The cemetery caretaker made his usual night rounds but saw Mo Jiwu sleeping from a distance and wisely chose to let him be.
Time passed, and the sun began to rise over the rows of tombstones, announcing a new day and once again confirming the continuity of time.
Every fraction of a second passes, and no amount of money in the world can buy it back.
It means humans must account for their time, avoid regrets, and keep striving toward their goals.
Of course, none of this meant anything to Mo Jiwu, who opened his eyes slowly.
He looked around calmly, confirming his location once more, before sitting up.
_I haven’t slept like this in years.
Is it because I’ve resolved everything that was weighing on me?
Hmm, not exactly.
I’m just ready now.
I’ve learned everything I need to make my decision certain.
And now…_ With that thought ending on _and now_, he turned to the gravestone with loving, gentle eyes and a soft smile.
“Good morning, my dear.
I hope you’re well.” He reached into his large bag, pulled out a cloth handkerchief, and began wiping the gravestone gently, as if afraid of damaging it.
After cleaning it thoroughly and making sure there was no dust left, he put the handkerchief back in his bag, zipped it up, then leaned forward and kissed the gravestone gently and quietly.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you soon.” With those calm words, he stood up, put on his backpack, and walked away from the grave, his previous expression vanishing once more.
After leaving the cemetery, he walked along the path until he reached a store and went inside.
The person behind the counter was startled by the small, ragged boy entering his shop and said immediately, “Hey kid, do you want some food or—” “Do you sell large, sturdy plastic bags?” Mo Jiwu cut him off directly, uninterested in any nonsense coming from his mouth.
“Uh?
Yes?
Bags?
Yes, we have them, all sturdy.
What size do you need, kid?” Seeing that he wasn’t a beggar but a customer, the shopkeeper’s attitude changed.
Mo Jiwu ignored that and answered directly, “Big enough to fit my bag easily and seal it.
Give me two.
No, three.
I want three bags.” “Right away!” The shopkeeper hurried off for half a minute before returning with a small bundle, the bags folded neatly.
“9 credits, please.” Mo Jiwu nodded, set his bag on the floor, opened it, and rummaged through a specific section, pulling out some banknotes from 130 years ago.
He took a 10-credit note, put the rest back immediately, and zipped the bag closed.
He placed the money on the counter, took the bags, and left without waiting for his change.
“Hey, kid, wait for your change, come back!” the shopkeeper shouted after him, but Mo Jiwu was not in the right state of mind for that.
As the shopkeeper put the note in his cash drawer, he finally noticed it was different.
“This… isn’t this currency from the last century?
How is it still so new?
And how is it still around?
They changed the currency fifty years ago.” Realizing this, he thought he’d been scammed by a vagrant, but then he remembered old money could still be exchanged at the bank, so he let it go.
Meanwhile, Mo Jiwu returned to the cemetery and went deep into the thick trees, to a place no one would enter intentionally.
With a thought, his spirit ring appeared behind him and glowed, indicating it was activated.
Nothing around Mo Jiwu changed except his body, which glowed faintly before the light faded, with nothing else happening—or so it seemed to anyone watching.
Of course, no one was there to watch him.
Then he began to work.
With speed and strength that didn’t match his appearance, he started digging with a rock, using it like a shovel.
After a few minutes, he had a hole suited for a four- or five-year-old child—or for his bag.
He opened the three bags, placed the backpack inside the first, tied it up, then put it into the second and third before sealing the outer bag tightly so it wouldn’t open and to protect it.
He threw the triple-wrapped bag containing his backpack into the hole and covered it with dirt.
He picked up the rock he had used to dig, placed it on the ground in front of him, took a smaller, sharper stone, and began to carve.
‘Here lies’—he paused, thinking quietly before writing again—’the lamppost, Hong Xing’s husband.’ The handwriting was messy and tangled, barely legible, except for the name Hong Xing, which was bright and beautiful, as if written by a master calligrapher.
That was the result of writing Hong Xing’s name for years in the cave so he wouldn’t forget it.
He could write it even with his eyes closed.
Finally, after preparing his own grave and burying his last possessions, he left the cemetery again.
He wandered until he left the crowded streets behind, where cars and trucks began to move faster due to fewer people around.
There he stood, waiting for a speeding car to help him on his way.
After a few minutes, he spotted a car speeding at around 110 km/h.
The driver seemed reckless, not caring that he was still in the city, but that was exactly what Mo Jiwu wanted.
A car at that speed would be enough to kill even a two-ring Soul Master if they didn’t use their abilities.
So when the car approached, he prepared to jump in front of it.
The few passersby didn’t notice his strange behavior.
And so he jumped—but against his will, his body jumped backward.
He had intended to throw himself in front of the car to die.
And so Mo Jiwu lay there, not understanding what had happened.
He had wanted to jump and kill himself.
How had he ended up jumping backward?
He hadn’t ordered his body to do that.
He got up after thinking for a moment, then waited again to try once more and see what would happen.
While waiting, he moved his legs as if walking in place, even tried jumping forward onto the road, and there was no problem.
He could control his body as usual.
So he assumed it was because he had prepared to die that he lost control for a second.
And so a truck came at a moderate speed this time, but its weight and inability to brake quickly would ensure his death.
He smiled as he watched the truck approach and jumped again, with the will to die in his mind… backward.
Mo Jiwu found himself staring at the sky again in bewilderment.
Why?
Why couldn’t he kill himself?
He searched his mind, and suddenly a memory surfaced.
Right before leaving the cave, he had made a promise to the one who had imprisoned him there for all those years.
“No… impossible… that can’t be.
The mistake is mine.
Yes, I jumped backward twice myself.
This damn body is still afraid of death and pain.” Mo Jiwu talked to himself, reassuring himself, denying that memory.
“I’ll try again this time and succeed in dying.
Come on, you damn body, let’s kill ourselves and go to my dear.” He encouraged himself quietly as he walked to change locations.
After jumping backward twice like that, he noticed some people had stopped to watch him, especially because of his vagrant clothes.
He looked like he was trying to kill himself—and he was, but he wasn’t succeeding.
After walking for about fifteen minutes, he came across an abandoned four-story building.
He studied the building, analyzing whether jumping from it would be enough to kill him.
_Hmm, if I jump and land headfirst, my skull will shatter… perfect._ He walked to the entrance and, without stopping, his dead eyes flashed dark blue.
His spirit ring materialized behind him and glowed, and with it, his body kicked the old door, shattering it, and he entered without stopping, his eyes fixed on one place: the stairs.
He climbed the stairs until he reached the roof door, which was also locked.
He kicked it open again.
So he reached the roof.
The first thing he did was sprint at full speed.
With his first ring’s ability activated, his speed already surpassed that of ordinary humans.
His goal was the edge of the roof.
To avoid mistakes, he jumped two meters before the edge.
He did clear the edge, and with joy, he prepared to die—but his hand, outside his control, grabbed the edge of the roof, and with a single pull, pulled him back onto the roof.
It was a movement impossible for a normal human hand, and he heard a cracking sound from his joints.
But the faint purple veins glowed briefly, and the injured hand healed.
This time, Mo Jiwu said nothing.
He simply climbed down from the roof, left the building, and continued on his way as if he hadn’t just tried to kill himself.
For the first time outside of talking or thinking about Hong Xing, his expression changed, and emotion surfaced in his eyes.
That emotion was fear and uncertainty.
But he still had some hope of dying.
After leaving the building, he continued walking toward the bridge that bordered the city to the east—the same bridge he had entered the city through, and the same bridge he had taken for the damn work trip that cost him his life.
Nearly two kilometers long, with a massive steel frame, the long bridge stretched out of the city, with cars entering and exiting at speed.
Beneath it, a great river stretched as far as the eye could see.
Beside the bridge, Mo Jiwu descended after a three-hour walk to reach the river.
This time, he decided not to jump from the bridge.
Jumping was useless.
On the way here, he had jumped several times while lying on the sidewalk, trying to kill himself.
So when he reached the bridge, he decided to enter the river himself and drown.
With nothing on him after burying his bag, he didn’t bother removing the rags he wore and entered the river directly.
As noon approached, the river water grew warmer, but it was still cold due to the river’s massive size.
He walked and walked until his feet no longer touched the ground, then began swimming until he was about thirty meters out.
He put his head underwater and let himself sink.
This time, he was happy.
Mo Jiwu opened his mouth wide, ready to fill his lungs with water.
But it didn’t happen.
His spirit ring glowed behind him, and his body swam quickly back toward the shore against his will as he watched helplessly.
Once out, his body collapsed onto the ground, staring at the clouds again.
After a few seconds, tears streamed from his eyes with undisguised grief.
“Why?
Why won’t you even let me die?!” A cry of sad, angry weeping echoed from under the bridge, but there was no answer.
Mo Jiwu struck the ground with his fist, leaving fist-shaped imprints in the dirt.
Because of his spirit ring’s ability, his hand wasn’t injured this time, but it was as if he didn’t care.
He continued screaming his question as he cried.
“Isn’t 130 damn years of torment in solitude enough?
Why won’t you let me die?
I want to die.
I want to meet my wife.
Why?
Why are you forcing me into this?!” He screamed as if speaking to someone in front of him, but his eyes were seeing that memory.
After the 130 years ended and he obtained what it had taken him 130 years to get, he finally asked to leave.
But before he could go, he was asked to make a promise: not to commit suicide or seek death intentionally for ten full years.
At the time, he agreed immediately.
It was just a verbal promise, and his memory was nearly gone, not like now.
All he cared about was getting out.
At that time, the door opened.
He was told that his body contained energy that could replace food and water, heal wounds, and last two weeks until he reintegrated into human society—those purple veins.
And now… now he realized that even a verbal promise had power.
Every time he tried to kill himself, his body would work against him.
Mo Jiwu kept pounding the ground, screaming, crying, begging for death, but no one answered or fulfilled his wish.