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The newt watched as Gordon tumbled out of the boulder and threw himself into the raging river of fire. At that moment, he saw the magma rise, the fire brilliant, like a crimson throne rising to welcome the monarch.

The Bitter Owls swarmed in, and one of them grabbed the fastest, grabbed Gordon with both arms, and raised it above his head, crying and laughing in his throat, like a howl exploding from a suffocating chest.

The golden feathers continued to burrow out of Gordon's skin and quickly covered his body. The bitter owl howled, and its thick feathers fell one after another, revealing its bony body. "Toot toot!" The fire slurry was boiling and bubbling, and the bitter owl was trembling in pain, and flesh and bone flowed down like a hot candle, melting in the river of fire.

However, the newt suddenly could not hear the pain in the cry of the bitter owl. The howl gradually slowed down and softened, like a mist floating on the surface of a lake, hazy and hazy, wandering and drifting.

With a "dang bang", the stabbing sword slipped from the palm of the ghost newt. He listened in amazement, remembering that he had been stealing and wandering when he was a child, and that he was confused about the road ahead, and he didn't know where to go.

The cry of the bitter owl grew deeper and deeper, like music played in the midnight valley, lingering in a roundabout way, silent and lonely.

The ghost newt seems to have returned to the late nights of hard martial arts, gritted its teeth, endured the pain, and slowly became a "monster" that others could not avoid.

The low cry gradually turned and continued to rise, like a spark bursting in the abyss, getting brighter and brighter, until it turned into a series of brilliant fireworks that rose into the sky, illuminating the depths of the soul of the newt.

For the first time, I touched the faith of a martial artist, for the first time I realized that I was no longer a tool for killing, and for the first time, cultivation was no longer painful.

The newt looked up and saw the bitter owl slowly sinking, a little submerged into the boiling fire, but the cry never stopped, one after another, flowing into the dry eye sockets of the newt.

"Why are you saying this to me?" In a trance, he heard Gordon ask again.

Because I've been lonely for too long.

The magma flooded its neck, and the bitter owl raised its head, smiled, and let out the last cry of its life.

It was a song full of joy! Shining and agitated, high-pitched and sonorous, like a phoenix reborn from the fire, it has faded away all the suffering in the world, and the golden and red glorious river of fire has also been eclipsed.

In this life, the newt has never heard such a moving sound.

He slowly fell to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes.

"I accept your challenge!" He burst into tears and laughter, stared at Gordon, who had become a bitter owl, and leaped into the river of fire.

"I'm Gordon, I'm human." Gordon repeated it inwardly over and over again, reminding himself.

The golden feathers were thickly wrapped around his body, and his consciousness gradually blurred, his hands and feet turned into claws, and his throat howled out of pain uncontrollably.

Gordon reluctantly cast the Tibetan abyss style, struggling to stick to the line of clarity in his heart, with the ups and downs of the surging magma, bumps and drifts, as if many years had passed.

Pain, despair, remorse...... Like a surging tide of fire, it will never end. In the confusion, he once again saw the long river of time, hidden deep underground, roaring and rushing. He wanted to swim across, but the river was too far away, too remote, to reach out.

If I can't swim through, I'll always be a bitter owl. Gordon struggled with all his might, reaching out in vain and letting out a mournful howl.

"Your leg is hard to heal." A voice suddenly sounded, and he followed the voice, and the monk sat by the river of time, his feet wet with water, and his eyes were pure and vicissitudes.

"My legs would have been able to run a long time ago." Gordon struggled to stretch his arm, but he couldn't catch the monk, and the two sides seemed to be separated by countless worlds.

"That's not running." The monk stared at him silently, his figure seemingly close at hand, crystalline droplets of water shimmering and jumping on his bare feet.

"And what is running?" Gordon exhaled the blazing heat in his chest.

"Running in one direction is the real running." The monk asked, "Where is your direction?" ”

Gordon pondered blankly, his mind in a daze. The figure of the monk became fainter and fainter, as if it was about to drift into smoke.

"I want to be like you!" Gordon paddled his limbs desperately, trying to catch up with the monk, and the lava trickled down from the feathers, "This is where I'm running!" ”

"People are never the same." The monk shook his head slowly.

"People and bitter owls are not the same!" Gordon kept waving his arm at the monk, "Help me!" You can! ”

"Why can't I be? The micro-technique can help you once, the Tibetan abyss style can help you once, is it that you are waiting for others to help you in this life? Waiting, how can it be considered running? The monk closed his eyes and sighed softly, "Your leg is hard to heal. ”

"But ......"

"But I tried my best, but I was too tired today, and the secret was too hard to find, but I became a bitter monster...... Every time you say 'but,' you wait again. Even if you have a direction, can you still run to it? ”

Gordon was stunned for a long time, and suddenly roared: "But people are not lonely! When I was paralyzed, my father would help me! In the event of a sandstorm, Atai will help me! When it bleeds, the cicadas will help me too! Isn't that how people run, step by step? ”

"I'm running alone." The monk tilted his head and looked at Gordon intently, his eyes flashing with childlike curiosity.

"So you fell and couldn't get up again, didn't you?" Gordon raised his arm and pointed to the river of time, "You didn't make it past the end!" ”

The monk was stunned for a long time, silent.

In a secular sense, he is dead, and what remains in the river of time is only an immortal soul imprint. In a certain stirred wave, it resonates with the young man in front of him.

"Because there's no way one can get past the finish line." Gordon's eyes lit up, and his mind became more and more sober, "On the far, small road, there are many, many crutches that you can't see, and you can hold them and keep running forward!" ”

The monk said, "Then your leg will never be cured." ”

Gordon asked rhetorically, "Can't you run if you can't cure your legs?" ”

The monk was silent for a moment, then asked again, "Then where are you going?" ”

"Just keep running and you'll see it one day."

"What if you're like me and fall halfway through?"

"People are never the same!" A quiet smile appeared on Gordon's face. At this moment, it suddenly became clear to him that what the bitter owl wanted to reach out and grab was not a stand-in, but those lost crutches.

And he already had it inadvertently.

So he'll always be Gordon, not a bitter wolf.

The monk smiled, slowly stood up, and stretched out his arm to Gordon.

Through the dusty time, through countless years of waiting, the monk and the boy are connected in the most mysterious and solemn way in life, looking at each other and clasping their hands.

The lava river exploded, and the bottom of the river cracked into a bottomless ravine, zigzag into the depths of the earth's core.

"Flowers bloom and fall, only faith does not die." The monk whispered.