Immortality Begins with Krypton Life

Chapter 29 Remembering Kindness, Not HatredFrom what he had just seen in the dream, Blind Li’s peaceful years were all maintained by this dog.

It could create an invisible barrier and forage for food in the demonized village; surviving until now was definitely not just a matter of luck.

Perhaps there was more to it than that.

Chen Mu’s thoughts raced, and he made a decision in an instant; he suppressed all his Qi and quietly approached the old dog.

The old dog was still lying there with its eyes closed, its chest rising and falling slightly.

If not for Chen Mu knowing of its extraordinary nature, he would have simply taken it for a dying house dog.

Without hesitation, Chen Mu took out the bear paw gloves again, put them on, and gently pressed them against the old dog’s forehead.

The Flying Bear Dream Entry technique; this time, the target was this loyal and mysterious black dog.

However, this action of Chen Mu’s seemed exceptionally strange in the eyes of Liu Ziming, who had just experienced intense pain and was still somewhat dazed.

”Heh... heh...”

Liu Ziming endured the dull pain in his stabilized foot, his tone carrying a hint of incredulity and weak sarcasm.

”Chen Mu, have you truly gone mad? At a time like this, you’re checking to see what a dog is dreaming about? If it can even dream of a bone, that would be considered...”

Before he could finish speaking, he was interrupted by Chen Mu.

”This dog is very unusual.”

Chen Mu’s gaze fell back onto the old dog; his voice was low but carried unquestionable certainty.

Liu Ziming opened his mouth, watching Chen Mu’s focused profile. Recalling all the bizarre events since entering the village, that bit of sarcasm instantly choked in his throat.

Could it be that this half-dead old dog really hid a heaven-shaking secret?

Chen Mu ignored him, immersing his whole mind and body into the old dog’s memories.

His consciousness broke through the dim darkness, and gradually, the images became clear.

A young black dog was crawling slowly in a dimly lit cave, extremely thin, with every rib clearly visible.

There were a few other cubs in the cave that looked stronger and livelier, playing and chasing each other, but they never included it.

Occasionally, they would even gang up, squeeze it into a corner, and snatch away the food that originally belonged to it.

And deep within the cave, two huge, blurry figures were always shrouded in thick spiritual mist.

Their gazes were cold and critical, as if evaluating an unsatisfactory work.

Poor Aptitude, ignored, ostracized.

That sense of grievance and loneliness belonging to the little black dog slowly washed over Chen Mu’s consciousness.

Hunger was the norm; the food found in the cave was always prioritized for the stronger siblings.

The thin, small black dog was often dizzy with hunger, yet it could only lick water droplets off the cave walls to satisfy its hunger.

It tried to leave the cave to find food outside, but was always blocked by an invisible barrier at the entrance.

Finally, one day, after having its food snatched away yet again, extreme hunger overcame everything.

It didn’t know how, but it squeezed through a crack in the barrier and rolled out of that cold and oppressive home.

Outside was an unfamiliar mountain forest, terrifyingly vast to it.

It scrambled about in terror, avoiding danger and searching for food to fill its stomach.

Grass roots, insects, berries—anything would do; it was never picky, yet it could never fill its increasingly empty stomach.

Its physical strength faded rapidly, and its eyes became unfocused.

Finally, at dusk, with a rainstorm approaching, it exhausted its last ounce of strength and collapsed into the mud.

It whimpered in despair, waiting for the arrival of death.

Then, a pair of warm, large hands picked it up from the mud.

From there, the scene became vivid and bright, filled with color and warmth.

It was a simple-looking farmer with a hint of shrewdness—it was Blind Li.

Only back then, his eyes were very bright; he had not yet gone blind.

He had gone up the mountain to cut firewood, encountered the dying puppy, hesitated for a moment, but still wrapped it in his not-so-thick clothes and brought it home.

The subsequent scenes flashed by like a revolving lantern, filled with pure joy and extreme reliance.

Blind Li fed it rice soup spoonful by spoonful; the puppy licked it weakly, and its eyes regained their luster.

Slowly, the puppy grew up into a half-grown black dog, wagging its tail as it followed at Blind Li’s heels.

When Blind Li went to the fields, it chased butterflies on the ridges; when Blind Li returned home, it was the first to rush to the door to welcome him; at night, it would curl up at the foot of Blind Li’s bed and purr steadily.

Blind Li taught it simple commands, and it learned earnestly. Occasionally, when Blind Li was in a good mood, he would throw it a meat bone he usually couldn’t bear to eat himself, watching it trot away happily with the prize, a rare, contented smile appearing on the man’s face.

They went into the mountains to hunt together, and the black dog’s keen sense of smell became Blind Li’s best assistant.

Once, Blind Li accidentally wandered into a wild boar’s territory and was targeted by a temperamental boar. In the critical moment, the black dog, disregarding its own safety, barked wildly and lunged at the boar, biting it to buy precious escape time for Blind Li.

After escaping, Blind Li held the injured, bleeding black dog, which was still wagging its tail at him, his eyes turning red.

He couldn’t stop muttering, ”Good partner! Good partner!”

Year after year, the seasons turned.

In the courtyard, by the earthen bed, in the mountains, and in the fields, there were everywhere figures of the man and dog depending on each other.

The black dog’s eyes remained as clear as ever, filled entirely with the man who had given it a second life.

Blind Li might have been paranoid, cowardly, and obsessed with his lineage.

But at that time, before the black dog, he was a reliable and warm master, worthy of everything it could give.

These simple yet warm, happy times were relived over and over in the depths of the old dog’s fading consciousness.

In contrast, those tragic events, and even the moments it burned itself to support the protective barrier, only flashed by in the memories Chen Mu perceived, as if they had been deliberately downplayed.

It was as if, to the dog, those sacrifices and pains were just natural occurrences, a price that didn’t need to be emphasized.

What truly supported it to this point was always the warmth of their companionship.

Chen Mu’s consciousness was gently pushed away from the river of memory, returning to reality.

He slowly opened his eyes; beneath his palm, the old dog’s nose twitched slightly, then returned to silence.

It was still lying there, withered, weak, and on the verge of death.

Chen Mu withdrew his hand and silently took off the gloves. Looking at this old dog that had single-mindedly guarded its master, an indescribable emotion flashed through his heart.

People often say that beasts remember grudges but not kindness.

Yet this creature before him—what it remembered most deeply was never the neglect and bullying in the cave, not the despair of being near death, and not even the pain of sacrificing everything.

What it clung to and relived over and over was always that warmth, enough to illuminate its entire life.

It could even remember the kindness of a single meal.

By comparison, what of those people in Sangye Village, with their complex thoughts and calculations of gain and loss?

What of those who could send their parents to their deaths for their own sake, or ignore moral ethics for the sake of comfort?

The human heart can be treacherous; sometimes, it truly is not as sincere and pure as a dog’s.

Chen Mu sighed inwardly, a silent yet heavy thought.

This was not a simple judgment of right or wrong, but a most intuitive realization about the essence of life.

The old dog’s Dao was simple to the extreme, and pure enough to be moving.

Just as his heart was surging with emotion, Liu Ziming, who had been watching outside the courtyard and gasping in pain, suddenly let out a low cry.

His voice carried incredulous astonishment.

”Chen Mu! Look! Outside... the blood mist has dissipated.”

Chen Mu turned his head sharply to look outside the courtyard.

Indeed, that blood mist had now vanished without a trace.

Outside the courtyard gate, the dirt road of Sangye Village was empty; those demonic creatures that wandered at night were nowhere to be seen, as if last night had just been a nightmare.

The blood mist dispersed, and the daylight arrived; those husks had indeed, as previously hypothesized, retreated back to their nests.

A cold glint flashed in Chen Mu’s eyes as he looked at Liu Ziming, his tone calm yet resolute.

”That’s perfect.”

He walked back to the earthen bed and carefully put away the bear paw gloves, his tone devoid of any emotion.

”While they are resting, let’s go and kill all those monsters!”