Chapter Eighteen: The Mountain Remains a Mountain

Invisible chains bound Jiang Pingchuan’s body, causing blood to gush from his seven apertures, his appearance becoming grotesque and terrifying. His mind was buzzing, as if someone were constantly nagging him. Blood overflowed from Jiang Pingchuan’s eyes, painting everything he saw in crimson. Remarkably, the eight Dao crystals within him began to crack, and the liquid true energy in his Dao field swiftly dissipated as it vaporized.

Jiang Pingchuan felt as if someone were trying to forcibly separate him from his own body. One massive hand pinned him down, while another attempted to extract his three souls and seven spirits. Unable to withstand the pressure on his head, he finally bowed it. The moment he lowered his head, a cold snort echoed in his mind, as though admonishing his weakness and incompetence.

Thud—

With his head bowed, Jiang Pingchuan was forced to his knees, his hands pressed against the ground. To his horror, even the floor of the Scripture Repository began to crack, unable to support his weight, leaving a deep pit beneath him.

His mind buzzed again. From between his brows, a transparent command character gradually enlarged. The script, no longer rounded and smooth, became sharp and straight, resembling several razor-sharp blades pieced together. Contorted in agony, Jiang Pingchuan raised his bloodied face to gaze at the scarlet prison in his eyes.

The command character spiraled upward above his head, and Jiang Pingchuan felt the pressure from the giant hand ease significantly. He understood that the transparent character was shielding him from most of the burden.

His form began to shift; purple eyes shone with intense battle spirit, a dark red battle robe billowed in the wind, and crimson cloud gilded boots glimmered with a faint, sinister firelight.

The youthful face grew resolute, with slender, arched brows extending to his temples, exuding a wicked aura. Jiang Pingchuan sensed the transformation—he knew it was still himself, yet he couldn’t comprehend why he had become this version or from where he had come, nor what he was meant to accomplish.

He felt a purple energy, absent since his enlightenment, not true energy but something more akin to a summoning force. Whenever it appeared, he could always avert disaster.

Jiang Pingchuan saw his current form was not under his control, but was dominated by a man radiating a malevolent charm.

The Emperor Howling at Five raised his gaze to the command character above, seized it in his hand, then flung it forcefully. A brilliant flash streaked across his palm, vanishing and manifesting as a phantom spear.

With a complicated look, the Emperor Howling at Five glanced toward another corner of the Scripture Repository—the location of the withered greenwood tree. Jiang Pingchuan, too, had noticed that place. He wondered why this man’s expression grew so complex when looking that way.

“Boy, I am still barred by the Heavenly Taboo and cannot help you much. Don’t disgrace me in the days to come,” the Emperor’s tone was tinged with both wickedness and helplessness.

Before Jiang Pingchuan could react, a dazzling red light wrapped around the Emperor Howling at Five, launching him toward the thunder prison above Jiang Pingchuan’s head. He thrust the spear, and wild winds howled as purple energy surged from every direction, converging at the tip.

The Emperor vibrated his arm, and the divine spear emitted a piercing shriek. A massive skull opened its jaws, swallowing the prison whole. The skull cackled as it shrank, finally settling in the Emperor’s hand.

He looked up at the sky—a giant hand hovered above him, unmoving, as if its master hesitated.

Boom. “Nine Sovereign, you’d best mind your own affairs,” the Emperor snapped, shaking the spear and dispersing the hand, which trembled and faded into the heavens with a sigh. The Emperor returned to the repository, handing the purple skull to the bewildered Jiang Pingchuan.

“This contains the Heavenly Thunder Prison. In moments of peril, use your blood to invoke it and preserve your life. Live well. Don’t die so soon—hold out until I return. Then, together, we’ll find the origin, and seek her as well.”

The Emperor tapped the heart of the skull in Jiang Pingchuan’s hand, then vanished.

Jiang Pingchuan stared in confusion at the tranquil repository. Everything he had just experienced felt like a dream, but the purple skull in his hand and the cracks in his seventh and eighth Dao crystals proved otherwise.

He collected his thoughts and looked at the repository. Unbeknownst to him, the three-layered matrix had ceased spinning. Overjoyed, Jiang Pingchuan swiftly began to study the three layers of the Universal Law scripture.

The scripture reflected in his eyes, matching the content of his first reading in his mind. Soon, he finished reading the matrix, which, sensing something, shattered into points of light that poured into the ancient book on the ground.

Sitting cross-legged before the book, Jiang Pingchuan picked it up again. His first and second readings revealed many discrepancies, with numerous techniques making little sense.

He picked up the Universal Law once more. This time, the book nearly snapped his arms—it was exceedingly heavy. Silver light flickered in his eyes as he scanned the tome, seeing that the original Universal Law was so thick it dwarfed his own body.

Puzzled, Jiang Pingchuan flipped through the book. Now it seemed like the simplest, most accessible manual. Every technique appeared deeply familiar, as if he had studied it countless times, etched into his mind or even onto his Dao crystals.

Indeed, the Dao crystals displayed the content he had just read. The eight transparent crystals reflected different techniques depending on his study, categorizing and engraving them accordingly.

He noticed the Dao crystals appeared hierarchical. The seventh and eighth had few engravings, while the first six were densely inscribed. After finishing the Universal Law, Jiang Pingchuan observed that only a third of the techniques were etched onto his crystals.

This meant his current strength was insufficient to comprehend the rest. Suddenly, he realized the path of cultivation was arduous yet vibrant—a journey where, like a traveler, one could never predict the next scenery to behold.

Jiang Pingchuan looked at the last page of Universal Law. It was blank except for the two words “Obey” and “Defy,” constantly alternating.

He guessed these words were testing whether his memorization followed the path of obedience or defiance. Before he could see the result, the book grew transparent and lighter, until he felt nothing but a stream of air before him.

Jiang Pingchuan understood he had memorized all the techniques in Universal Law, though he didn’t know whether he had followed the obedient or defiant path.

“Pingchuan, my young friend, congratulations, congratulations!”

A hollow, distant voice echoed through the repository. Jiang Pingchuan stood, looking toward where the eight characters had been; the voice emanated from that direction.

“There’s no need to search for me. This is but my will. I am Chu Yunge, my will left a millennium ago, when I achieved enlightenment upon viewing the scriptures. I never expected a thousand years to pass before Pingchuan would perfect his comprehension of Universal Law and thus draw forth my will.”

The elder’s voice was deep and distant, reverberating through the repository. Jiang Pingchuan recalled that Yan Qingxia had told him the second Maoshan cultivator to achieve enlightenment in the repository was Chu Yunge.

He mused to himself—could this Chu Yunge be the elder before him? But the timing didn’t match; when Chu Yunge achieved enlightenment, he should have been about the same age as Jiang Pingchuan, yet his voice sounded so aged.

“Senior, I don’t understand—why does your voice sound so old? Didn’t you achieve enlightenment around the same age as me?” Jiang Pingchuan voiced his confusion into the void.

“Heh, when I achieved enlightenment, I had cultivated for fifteen years, just as you have, and left this will. Later, I departed Maoshan to seek the path of origin, but unable to transcend the Heavenly Taboo, I perished. Without the nourishment of the soul, the will I left gradually aged until it finally faded away. I thought it meaningless, but now you have appeared, Pingchuan.”

Chu Yunge’s voice carried a hint of emotion.

“So you also perished seeking the path of origin. In another space of the repository, an elder sharing a root with our founder also fell upon that path. The founder found the origin path, but whether he survived, I do not know. Senior, can you tell me why the origin path is the road to ascend to heaven? Must one reach the heavenly realm to find the origin?”

Jiang Pingchuan’s tone grew wistful. Since childhood, he’d heard that though the road to heaven was hard to find, it held irresistible allure. He once dreamed of finding that road and taking his beloved Xiaohua to admire the moon and pluck the stars. Now, he vaguely sensed he might fall upon this origin path as well.

“There are many paths to origin, but for a thousand years, the only one known to mortals is the road to heaven. You have no choice—you must walk it,” Chu Yunge’s voice paused, as if he again looked up at his own road to heaven.

“For now, I don’t wish to seek that road. Too many matters, too busy—I have no time for it. Senior, did you leave your will just to see who the third enlightened one would be?”

Jiang Pingchuan believed life should not be wasted. One should seize joy and leave no regrets—that was his origin. He still had things to do and felt he had no time for the origin path or the road to heaven.

“Pingchuan, when I achieved enlightenment, the will of the first enlightened one, Ling Yunxiao, appeared in my mind. He asked me to find someone. I searched long, only to discover that person was also whom I sought, but neither of us found her. Would you help us search for her?”

Chu Yunge asked with a chuckle.

Jiang Pingchuan pondered for a moment and nodded. After leaving here, he would accompany his brother to search for their parents; helping Chu Yunge and Ling Yunxiao find someone would be a simple matter, hardly troublesome. Thus, he agreed.

“Thank you, Pingchuan. Here is her portrait.”

Chu Yunge’s excited laughter echoed in the hall. Jiang Pingchuan felt a woman’s image appear in his mind: she wore a pale pink gauze dress, her slender, fair hands cradling a vibrant green bird.

Her lips curved in a charming smile, her arched brows radiated gentle grace, and her clear eyes brimmed with longing. Jiang Pingchuan pondered the woman in his mind—she was truly extraordinary, nothing like Xiaohua, unmatched in every way.

“Pingchuan, time is up. I must depart. Draw out a strand of divine thought and leave your will here; you’ll naturally enter the space to receive the next inheritance. Take care, young friend, farewell.”

This time, Chu Yunge’s voice did not linger in the hall. Jiang Pingchuan knew Chu Yunge was gone. Standing where he was, he extracted a strand of his essence and left his will.

“Studying scripture and seeking Dao, cultivating body and heart. To see a mountain as a mountain, water as water. To see a mountain not as a mountain, water not as water. To see a mountain again as a mountain, water again as water.”

He inscribed his insight in his essence with a gentle smile, fading from sight. At the moment he vanished, the wall that once bore eight characters displayed the words he left in his breath.