Douluo Dalu: Ascension Across the Realms

One week later. Creaaak— It was late autumn, yet for some reason, the snow had arrived earlier than in previous years. Since the sudden bliz

One week later.

Creaaak—

It was late autumn, yet for some reason, the snow had arrived earlier than in previous years. Since the sudden blizzard three days ago, the once lively streets had fallen into silence, blanketed in stillness.

The door of the medicine hall swung open with a soft creak. Outside, everything was wrapped in a silver-white shroud. Snow covered the entire avenue in front of the shop. Tucked in a remote corner of the Imperial Capital, this area had seen little foot traffic, and even after three days, no one had come to clear the snow.

In the distance, a hunched figure was slowly sweeping the thick snow. But against the backdrop of the falling blizzard, his efforts seemed futile—like a cup of water trying to extinguish a cart of fire.

In this world of white, the rooftops and houses were buried beneath layers of snow, hiding their original colors. Chen Xiaoming tightened the heavy cloak around him, slung a travel pack over his shoulder, and stepped outside, locking the medicine hall door behind him.

"Uncle Chen! Off early again to drink wine?"

From not far off, Da Niu, who had risen early, spotted Chen Xiaoming and called out with a teasing grin.

For the past week, Chen Xiaoming had risen at dawn and spent his days sitting in the tavern. Among the neighbors, gossip spread—some said he'd fallen for one of the singing girls at the inn, which was why he went so often.

Da Niu had heard those rumors, and he didn't mind. Uncle Chen was getting older, always living alone. Da Niu actually hoped he could find someone to grow old with, to share his days.

"No, Da Niu. Your Uncle Chen is leaving."

His steps light, Chen Xiaoming walked toward the blacksmith shop. A week ago, he had made his decision—to walk his own path.

"You're going back home, Uncle Chen?"

Da Niu was taken aback. When he was younger, he'd asked Chen Xiaoming where he was from, only to be told it was far away.

All he knew was that Uncle Chen had come to the capital to earn money—he said he needed a lot of money to get married. In his hometown, the bride price was high—unbearably high.

"No, not going home. Just going out for a while. I'll be back."

Chen Xiaoming shook his head. Home? After a few short decades, he could barely remember what "home" even looked like.

"Da Niu, bring me a few more flasks of fruit wine."

The wind carried a sharp chill, the snowflakes dancing wildly in the air. Chen Xiaoming pulled his fur cloak tighter around him and adjusted the leather cap on his head.

Da Niu responded immediately and hurried inside. Not long after, he returned with a brown bundle slung over his back. The outlines of wine flasks could be seen bulging from within.

"It's cold out. Drink it on the road," Da Niu said, handing over the bundle.

Chen Xiaoming nodded, took the bundle, and casually hung it behind him. He looked around, then let his gaze settle on Da Niu. He patted the young man's shoulder. A barely visible orb of light silently flowed from Chen Xiaoming's hand into Da Niu's body.

The orb transformed into a warm current, nourishing his flesh and blood.

"Huh? Why doesn't it feel so cold anymore?"

Stretching his limbs, Da Niu let out a surprised murmur. He grabbed a handful of snow, yet no biting chill met his skin—it felt almost... warm.

"Heh. I'm off."

Chen Xiaoming chuckled lightly and said no more. He turned around, walking away with calm grace.

With every step, the snow beneath him let out a soft crunch. Snowflakes drifted endlessly, landing on his fur-lined cloak and hat. Unknowingly, his figure had already faded into the distant street, lost in the swirling white.

Only after Chen Xiaoming had vanished did Da Niu snap out of it. He had forgotten to ask how long this "house call" would last.

He looked once toward the tightly shut doors of the medicine hall, but thought nothing of it. After all, Uncle Chen had gone out on visits before.

The cold wind howled, and the snowfall thickened. Da Niu shook his head and began tidying the blacksmith tools. In weather like this, no one would come to forge iron.

He decided to close shop for the day. After locking the door, he retrieved a flask of fruit wine from inside and walked toward Wang Lin, who lived beside the medicine hall.

"In this weather, I bet Uncle Wang's craving wine."

With a chuckle on his lips, Da Niu felt like a boy again, sneaking wine for Wang Lin like he used to in his childhood.

...

Snow fluttered across the sky, blanketing heaven and earth in white. Chen Xiaoming moved steadily, his footprints marking a lonely trail. On a day like this, few walked the road, and fewer still braved the storm like he did.

"Hey, isn't that Doctor Chen from the North District?"

Some early risers, huddled beneath the eaves of their homes, caught sight of his familiar figure and recognized him at a glance.

In the past ten years, Chen Xiaoming had gained no small reputation in the capital with his skill in medicine. Many residents owed their lives to his medicine and kindness.

"Doctor Chen! The snow's heavy, take this umbrella!"

A plump woman dashed over, holding an oil-paper umbrella. Despite the falling snow, she ran with determination and handed it to him.

Chen Xiaoming glanced at her, then gave a small nod and accepted the umbrella. He vaguely remembered saving this woman's life a few years ago. She had been poor, and he hadn't asked for payment.

"Thank you."

He opened the umbrella and nodded politely. His gaze lingered between the woman and the umbrella, something stirring faintly in his heart.

Was this what they called karma? Saving a life was the cause; the umbrella was the effect.

He sensed it—but sensing and comprehending were two different things. Enlightenment was not so easily reached.

The woman didn't linger in the cold. After handing over the umbrella, she turned and ran toward a nearby figure—a man who stood quietly in the snow with his own umbrella.

The woman slipped under the shelter of the umbrella and sweetly clung to the man's arm. She turned to Chen Xiaoming and gave him a grateful nod before walking away.

Chen Xiaoming smiled faintly. But his eyes followed a smaller figure behind the couple—a chubby-faced child peeking out, eyes sparkling with innocence as pure as the falling snow.

One little hand held his mother's tightly. The other clutched his father's, utterly fearless of the swirling storm.

Chen Xiaoming stood still as the family disappeared into the distance. Then, with a wry smile, he shook his head.

The snow continued falling. In his hand, the oil-paper umbrella swayed gently. The cold solitude that once clung to him now felt a little warmer.

At the capital's gate, the guards had not closed the way despite the snow. Merchants, peddlers, and common folk still bustled in and out—life continuing despite the cold.

Chen Xiaoming blended in like any ordinary man, walking unnoticed among the crowd departing the city. Nothing about him drew attention. Not until they passed through the city gates did a flicker of brilliance flash through his eyes as he gazed out across the boundless snowy expanse beyond the capital.

"From this day forth," he whispered, voice steady with resolve, "I shall walk my own path."

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