I Just Wanted To Live but I Somehow Became Better Than the Protagonist

Compared to the ordinary man’s simple wish for fortune to smile upon him, to realize dreams of wealth and a blissful life, the cultivators saw deeper truths.

The governor’s actions were not born of foolishness, despite the wealth at his disposal. The notion of doing good deeds and accumulating merit was not to be taken lightly; the significance of good deeds varied with their scale, and so did the merit accrued.

The Way of Heaven silently observed all, and good deeds could not be forced; those obtained through coercion would never accumulate true merit. As for the purpose of merit, beyond aiding one’s cultivation, it could lessen the might of heavenly tribulations when faced with them.

How many cultivators have fallen to the trials of heaven? How many have perished beneath its wrath? The power of merit could enhance the chances of survival—who wouldn’t desire that?

Yet, as mentioned, the Way of Heaven watched all. To perform good deeds with ulterior motives would not yield merit; otherwise, poverty would have long been eradicated, and cultivators would be clamoring to alleviate it. In the end, everything hinges on fate.

Though the Lantern Festival bore a hint of coercion in its call for good deeds, it did not interfere with the process; the common folk’s chance to realize their wishes relied solely on luck, on the whims of fate.

After all, this event had persisted for over a thousand years, a testament to its worth. Perhaps it only added a smidgen of merit, but a little was better than none—others might yearn for it and still not receive it.

In any case, the Lantern Festival could be deemed a triple boon for the Spring Festival. It satisfied the desires of the common folk; it allowed the governor’s office to accumulate merit; and it provided spectacle for visiting guests.

As the most splendid vessel on the Qianlong River ascended amidst a burst of dazzling fireworks, the Lantern Festival officially commenced.

Some rushed to cast their paper boats, while others moved slowly, waiting until the last moment to release theirs.

A multitude of paper lantern boats unfurled across the river, illuminating the Qianlong in breathtaking beauty.

They did not drift away with the current; instead, they were drawn by an invisible force toward the governor’s ship.

The once-calm surface of the river began to churn, many lantern boats capsized or were pushed back to the shore, yet the common folk continued to launch new ones, the numbers undiminished.

Witnessing this scene, Ye Yong was inexplicably reminded of cultivation. In a thousand years, few could rise to the status of a sage; those who remained were either lost along the way or stagnated. Cultivators were like the lantern boats on the river, yearning to navigate the turbulent waters, to become part of that small, revered group.

Ye Yong was not alone in this sentiment; many first-time spectators of the Lantern Festival shared similar thoughts.

Qin Shiming felt the same; she couldn’t help but glance at Ye Yong, for in her heart, he was undoubtedly the one who could brave the winds and waves to reach the destination.

The atmosphere was ripe for poetic musings, yet Ye Yong flipped through the vast collection of verses in his mind, finding no fitting scene. If pressed to compose a poem, his well of inspiration was shallow; better to refrain than risk diminishing his image in Qin Shiming’s eyes.

Taking out the sweet treats prepared by the system, Ye Yong and Qin Shiming remained silent, watching the birth of the fortunate ones.

After a stick of incense had burned, three paper boats successfully reached their destination. Though they were soaked by the river, teetering on the brink of collapse, and even the flames within had extinguished, success was success; no one cared how they had endured.

—

Soon, someone retrieved the paper boats, unfolding them to reveal the names of the common folk, their home addresses, and the wishes they yearned to fulfill.

The first two were mere mortals, longing for wealth and riches, while the last was a wandering cultivator, expressing a desire to join the governor’s estate and become a practitioner within its walls.

Each paper boat was thoroughly inspected, ensuring no special materials or spiritual energies had been employed—this was only fair and just. The wishes were all quite standard, so the governor’s estate promptly declared the Lantern Festival concluded, with word to be sent the next day to the fortunate ones to claim their rewards.

Then came a dazzling display of fireworks, the air filled with a cacophony of explosions, turning night into day.

In Ninghai City, one could not dare to unleash such a relentless barrage of fireworks without first consulting the Dragon King, securing his approval.

After all, sound travels far beneath the water, and it resonates much louder than on land. Should one neglect to inform the Dragon King, he would surely be displeased. In such a case, a mere splash of river water upon the shore would bring discomfort to the common folk.

As the governor, a high official of the Great Zhou Dynasty, one must always consider the well-being of the people.

The fireworks lasted nearly twenty minutes, marking the official end of the Lantern Festival. Yet this did not signify the conclusion of the Spring Festival’s festivities; the Lantern Festival was merely one of many events in Ninghai City during this time. Numerous activities hosted by the wealthy and the commoners alike continued, such as couplets on painted boats, poetry recitals, and riddle guessing in the marketplace, all brimming with joy.

Ye Yong left the restaurant with Qin Shiming, the crowd by the riverside having thinned considerably. However, the streets remained lively. As they walked, Ye Yong suddenly caught sight of a very familiar, most unwelcome face.

The protagonist, Long Tian.

What a predicament! How could this guy be here?

Ye Yong’s mind was a whirl of confusion. He distinctly remembered from the novel that Long Tian spent his first Spring Festival at the Tianluo Sect, and on New Year’s Eve, the village where Liu Bo resided was razed by a sinister sect wielding beast tamers. Bu Liu Village was left desolate, not a single soul spared.

Liu Bo, like the other villagers, perished in the jaws of the beasts, his bones scattered to the winds. Days later, Long Tian, far away at the Tianluo Sect, heard the news and rushed back, only to find the familiar village reduced to ruins. He mourned for a long time, and when he erected a monument for Liu Bo and the villagers, he discovered clues about the sinister sect amidst the debris. After growing stronger, he avenged the villagers, bringing the entire sect to justice, thus closing that chapter.

As for why the dog author chose to kill off Liu Bo, it was quite understandable. With Long Tian’s knack for trouble, should an enemy investigate, oh, what do we have here? A kindly old man who raised you? Well, let’s go kidnap him. In such a scenario, Liu Bo would be taken hostage, leaving Long Tian in a precarious position, especially in the beginning when he was still weak and unable to cope. Thus, by writing Liu Bo’s death, Long Tian could break free, unburdened.

Now, seeing him on the streets of Ninghai City left Ye Yong utterly bewildered.

What went wrong? What had I done to trigger this butterfly effect?

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29 The Fringe

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As for whether it was possible that Ye Yong had mistaken someone for Long Tian, simply because they bore a resemblance?

Not a chance. Even if he couldn’t see Long Tian’s face, even if he were wrapped like a mummy, Ye Yong was certain that trouble would still find him, igniting a spectacle of arrogance and humiliation. The urge to confront him, to stir up chaos, was not merely a matter of appearance; it radiated from him, an aura that stirred something primal in the DNA of those who crossed his path.

It was as if the will of the heavens whispered softly in his ear: “He is weak; it is right to bully him.”

What kind of normal villain could resist such temptation from the heavens?

Even if they failed to defeat the protagonist the first time, barely escaping with their lives, the whisper would persist: “Don’t be cowardly; you have been empowered.”

In that moment, the villain’s confidence would surge, wouldn’t it? Yet what awaited them was often a chilling end—various regrets, eyes wide open in death, lamenting their choices.