Looking at the signature at the end of the letter, it was indeed his father's handwriting. There was no forgery.
Jiang Chen stared blankly at the letter in his hands, a jumble of emotions swirling within him.
He had transmigrated into this body of Jiang Chen, inheriting his memories and his flesh and blood. Toward Jiang Feng, this father, and this paternal love, Jiang Chen had always treasured them deeply.
In the less than two years since his rebirth, the bond between father and son had been elevated further through shared hardships on multiple occasions.
It was fair to say that in Jiang Chen's heart, Jiang Feng's status was in no way inferior to that of his father, the Heavenly Emperor, in his previous life.
As for his mother, Jiang Chen had always believed from his inherited memories that she was already dead, and so he felt nothing in particular about it.
Now, suddenly learning from the letter that his mother was not dead at all — that she was still alive — Jiang Chen was startled, though he felt no especially strong emotion.
However, the fact that Jiang Feng had left behind only a letter and set off on the road to find his wife without even knowing where the Upper Eight Domains were — that unwavering resolve was something else entirely.
This boldness, this deep and abiding love, made Jiang Chen respect his father even more.
The doubts that had lingered in his heart were now completely resolved by the appearance of this letter.
Why had Jiang Feng always been so indulgent toward his son? Why wasn't he strict like other fathers?
Because Jiang Feng carried guilt toward his wife.
Why couldn't any resonance be found in Xue Tong's bloodline?
Because Jiang Chen's mother and Xue Tong's mother were not sisters at all. Her origins were extraordinary — she came from the so-called Upper Eight Domains.
From what it sounded like, that was a place far more powerful than the Sixteen Kingdoms Alliance.
From his father's letter, Jiang Chen could see the determination in his father's heart — the kind that came with a willingness to die.
If he couldn't find his mother, Jiang Chen believed it was very likely that his father would never be seen again in this lifetime.
In the letter, his father had repeatedly emphasized that Jiang Chen must not come looking for him.
Clearly, the Upper Eight Domains were no simple matter. With no certainty of success, his father refused to let his son go to his death.
Jiang Feng had even gone so far as to threaten self-harm to keep Jiang Chen away. That spoke volumes about just how dangerous this journey was — a venture where survival was one chance in ten.
"Father, you've truly set me an impossible dilemma." Jiang Chen closed the letter, rubbed it between his palms, and the paper turned to ash in his hands.
As for the news about his mother — since his father had always treated it as a secret, Jiang Chen naturally did not want anyone else to know.
"Young Master, did the letter say where the Marquis went?" Xue Tong asked, his voice trembling slightly. Seeing the heavy expression on Jiang Chen's face, he was consumed with guilt.
If only he had informed the Young Master sooner — would things not have turned out so badly?
Jiang Chen let out a soft sigh. "My father has gone very far away, and he won't be returning for the time being. Xue Tong, this isn't your fault. You may go."
Seeing Jiang Chen's listless manner, Xue Tong's guilt deepened even further.
Jiang Chen knew that Xue Tong was a man who valued emotional bonds, and that his every expression probably affected Xue Tong's mood.
However, Jiang Chen truly bore no ill will toward him. His father had clearly made up his mind to leave. Even if he hadn't gone this time, he would have left eventually.
As long as that obsession in his heart remained, he could depart at any moment.
This was none of Xue Tong's fault, nor anyone else's.
It was a man's love for his wife. A mighty, irresistible force that drove his father onto this journey into the unknown.
No wall Jiang Chen could build — not even ten of them — could hold back that kind of force.
Xue Tong's choice not to disturb him during his seclusion, as the captain of his personal guards, had been the right one. There was nothing to fault there.
Although from the letter Jiang Chen had learned that Xue Tong was not actually his cousin and shared no blood relation at all, he did not hold it against him.
Setting aside the fact that he was a transmigrator who had retained memories from his previous life, even the original Jiang Chen had not placed much weight on blood ties.
He valued Xue Tong because he admired the man's character and his potential.
It was the same as his relationship with Jiang Yu. Blood ties played some part, but the most fundamental factor was simply a natural affinity. That affinity was what awakened genuine emotion.
Even his relationship with his father, Jiang Feng, was like this.
If, at the moment of his transmigration, Jiang Feng had been cold and indifferent, perhaps Jiang Chen's impression of this father would have been greatly diminished.
But at that moment, Jiang Feng had already been rallying men to fight to the death against Dongfang Lu.
It was this selfless, all-or-nothing paternal love that had stirred the emotional whirlpool spanning two lifetimes, and made Jiang Chen accept this father at once.
Because across both his lives, these two fathers were virtually identical — their love as steady and immense as a mountain.
"Across all the myriad heavens, in mortal realms and celestial courts alike, if there is one thing that neither man nor god can see through, it must be this word: 'love.'"
A husband's love for his wife.
A father's love for his son.
This love, this devotion — it is the thread that binds mortal world and heaven together, passed down unbroken through all generations.
If heaven had feelings, heaven too would grow old.
Could it be that the collapse of the myriad heavens, the crumbling of all order, was also caused by this single word — "love"?
Jiang Chen sighed and smiled wryly, deciding to hold back the urge to go searching for his father.