"They may be fanciful terms from an older era."
"Perhaps they were only the confused writings of an old man attempting to remember a world that no longer exists."
Zhuquan De's words remained inside Yang Lujia's mind.
For a moment, he wondered whether the old man had intentionally allowed those terms to remain inside his notes. Zhuquan De was careless about many things, especially when wine was involved, but Yang Lujia did not believe he would accidentally write words such as Finance, Chief Executive Officer, or typographical error without realizing how strange they were inside the Verdant Archive.
His grandfather knew something.
Perhaps he had lived in a world similar to one of Yang Lujia's previous lives. Perhaps he had only encountered someone who came from such a place.
Yang Lujia did not know.
He also knew better than to continue asking when Zhuquan De had already decided not to answer.
His hands remained inside his sleeves. Only his right eyebrow moved slightly before his gaze lowered toward the gourd resting upon the old man's lap.
More specifically, he looked at Zhuquan De's hands.
The old man's fingertips had been permanently stained black.
The marks did not come from ordinary Ink. No amount of washing or medicine had been able to remove them because they were not truly stains. They were traces left behind after Zhuquan De repeatedly burned portions of his own life force.
Yang Lujia had only learned the truth three years ago.
At the time, the Chronicle Lord had summoned him into the main hall of the Dragon Brush Sect. Yang Lujia initially believed the meeting concerned one of the manuscripts Zhuquan De had ordered him to copy.
Instead, the Chronicle Lord told him something the old man had hidden for most of his childhood.
When Yang Lujia was three years old, the Verdant Archive had begun rejecting his existence.
His body gradually became paler. His shadow weakened, and people sometimes failed to notice him even while he stood directly in front of them. Several objects he touched also lost the impression left by his hands after only a few moments.
Reality had begun removing him.
The Chronicle Lord described it as a sentence being slowly erased from a manuscript because it had been written upon a page where it did not belong.
Yang Lujia had been aware that something was wrong.
Although his body had only been three years old, his mind already carried the memories of two previous lives. He noticed when his reflection became incomplete. He noticed when his footsteps stopped leaving marks upon wet ground and when several disciples failed to remember speaking with him only moments earlier.
However, he pretended not to understand.
Whenever Zhuquan De examined him, Yang Lujia behaved like an ordinary child. When the other disciples whispered about the strange changes happening to him, he ignored them and continued playing with whatever the old man had placed in front of him.
He did not want Zhuquan De to become more worried.
It accomplished nothing.
Not long afterward, Zhuquan De announced that the Chronicle Lord had ordered him to attend to an important matter outside the sect.
The excuse had been false.
For three months, Yang Lujia remained under the Chronicle Lord's care while Zhuquan De disappeared into a forbidden region.
When the old man finally returned, several disciples had to carry him through the gates.
His cultivation had permanently fallen. Most of the inkways inside his body had been damaged, while the life force surrounding him had become so weak that the sect's Revisionists initially believed he would not survive the night.
However, Zhuquan De had refused to release what he held inside his hands.
It was a single drop of a substance guarded by an ancient Ink Beast living within the forbidden region.
The Chronicle Lord had not told Yang Lujia its name.
He only explained what it did.
Zhuquan De used that drop to anchor Yang Lujia's existence to the Verdant Archive. It repaired the connection between his body, soul, and Reality before the Archive could completely erase him.
The procedure saved Yang Lujia.
It also destroyed most of what Zhuquan De had spent his life cultivating.
At the time, Yang Lujia had known none of it.
Zhuquan De told him that he had been injured while helping an old friend. He then spent several weeks complaining that the sect's Revisionists lacked competence whenever they ordered him to remain in bed.
Yang Lujia had believed the explanation.
Not completely, but enough that he did not question it.
'He did not only rescue me from the battlefield.' Yang Lujia looked at the black marks covering the old man's fingertips.
Zhuquan De had already risked his life for him twice.
The first time allowed Yang Lujia to survive his first thirty-seven breaths. The second allowed him to remain inside a world that had attempted to remove him.
"Grandpa," Yang Lujia said.
Zhuquan De raised the gourd toward his mouth.
"You do not have to keep pretending."
The old man stopped.
Yang Lujia stepped away from the support beam. "The drinking. The excuses. Acting as though your injuries came from something unrelated to me."
Zhuquan De slowly lowered the gourd.
Yang Lujia continued before he could interrupt. "I know what happened when I was three years old."
The old man became completely still.
Only the liquid inside the gourd continued moving.
"The Chronicle Lord told me three years ago," Yang Lujia said. "He explained why you left the sect and what happened to your cultivation."
Zhuquan De did not immediately look at him.
The hand holding the gourd trembled slightly. A single drop of Dragon Ink Drip escaped from its opening and landed upon the porch.
The liquid glowed briefly before entering the old book cover beneath their feet.
"Did that old fool have nothing better to discuss with you?" Zhuquan De eventually asked.
"He believed I deserved to know."
"He believes many things."
"He was right."
Zhuquan De clicked his tongue. "Ungrateful brat. Your grandfather spends years hiding something, and you allow another old man to ruin all that effort."
Yang Lujia looked at him. "You nearly died."
"I survived."
"Your cultivation was permanently damaged."
"I still possess enough strength to strike you."
"That is not the point."
"It is one of the points." Zhuquan De placed the gourd beside him and leaned back against the bench.
"A grandfather does not keep a record of everything he gives his grandson," he said. "You were disappearing. I found something capable of stopping it, so I brought it back."