Chapter 197: Utterly Disinterested
After an unknown amount of time, Chen Changsheng awoke, feeling refreshed and clear-headed. Examining his inner self, he realized that all the injuries sustained during the Grand Examination had completely healed. Yet, as he gazed at the black stone in his palm, he remained silent for a long time, his spirits not particularly high.
He vaguely understood that this black stone was what he had been searching for. The Daoist priest had sent him to the Lingyan Pavilion, and beyond Wang Zhice's notes, the black stone was the key. According to Wang Zhice's account, this black stone might have been given to him by the founding emperor on his deathbed, possibly holding a great secret related to defying fate and changing destiny.
The black stone was important, but he still only thought about Wang Zhice's notes.
After that spring thunderclap, countless storms had stirred within his sea of consciousness. He had seen countless images, which, when cross-referenced with Wang Zhice's records, allowed him to understand many things, though he still couldn't reach a conclusion.
Defying fate and changing destiny meant altering the position or brightness of one's fate star in the night sky, thereby changing one's position and role in the world. And... position was relative.
If you couldn't change your own position or brightness, then altering the positions and brightness of the stars around you in the night sky could achieve the same effect. By the same logic, if you wanted to change your own destiny, you should first change the destinies of those in your life. The closer your relationship with those people, the more their changed destinies could influence your own.
For example, father and son.
For example, brothers.
For example, ruler and subject.
This truth was cold.
Chen Changsheng couldn't be sure whether the images he saw were real history or imagination. Throughout the entire night, his body was soaked with sweat, then dried, and when he woke, he felt very cold.
If those bloody and chilling images were the truth of history, could it be that both generations of the Zhou dynasty's mighty rulers were such cold-blooded people? Was it worth paying such a heavy price and doing such terrible things to defy fate and change destiny? Then he thought further: if the Holy Maiden Empress was the third person to successfully defy fate and change destiny, what heavy price had she paid?
Were those long-circulated bloody and cruel rumors among the people true? Was her first son really poisoned by the former empress, or, as the rumors said, was he smothered by the Holy Maiden Empress's own hands? Most of the children she gave birth to didn't live past the age of six—was it because the environment in the palace was too treacherous, or could it be some kind of sacrifice? A sacrifice to the starry sky?
Chen Changsheng's body grew colder and colder. He didn't want to think about it anymore, because he didn't dare to. Facing the shadow of death, he could remain calm, but when it came to the truth of the world hidden behind the sunlight, at fifteen years old, he still didn't dare get too close. He wanted to leave this place.
The Lingyan Pavilion was still pitch black. No trace of daylight could be seen through the doors or windows, making it impossible to determine the time. But he knew it was already the fifth hour, the time he usually woke up.
He got up and repaired the blue stone wall. The Lingyan Pavilion was a forbidden area deep within the palace, opened only two or three times a year at most. He figured the gap cut by the short sword in the blue stone wall wouldn't be discovered anytime soon. Besides, at this moment, he had no energy to deal with this matter at all.
The Lingyan Pavilion was supposed to completely block out light, and even more so, all sound. Yet, just like the night before, a clear, distant bell sound came from the ground, as if a messenger had hurried from afar, trying to awaken the meditating person inside the pavilion.
A gentle breeze accompanied the bell sound, and the doors of the Lingyan Pavilion slowly opened. Pale morning light spilled onto the blue stone slabs and onto the dozens of portraits on the walls. The people in those portraits had made countless contributions to the Great Zhou, yet now they only saw the sun a few times a year.
Chen Changsheng walked out of the Lingyan Pavilion into the morning light and wind, stepping into the bell sound, but his heart couldn't calm down. The breeze entering his bosom didn't sober him up; instead, it added to his chill.
Standing on the high platform in front of the Lingyan Pavilion, he glanced at the sun just peeking over the horizon in the distance, then looked toward the capital gradually awakening in the morning light. Countless streets and alleys were like lines on a chessboard. The Luo River and countless canals were like threads scattered across the board. Countless markets and squares, countless grids, countless civilian homes and mansions were trapped in those grids, and countless people lived within them.
Changing one's own destiny by changing the destinies of others—could such a thing really be done? Even if those streets and alleys were all reduced to ruins? Even if those civilian homes were all turned to rubble? Even if tens of millions of people were displaced? Even if war raged and floods surged? Would one still do it?
He again recalled Wang Zhice's last words in his notes: "There is no destiny, only choices."
Yes, the strong in this world were divided into two types: one type perfected their own destiny by changing the destinies of others, and the other type completely ignored destiny, firmly believing they could control everything related to themselves. Even if destiny ultimately proved its power, they would still hold their heads high.
The founding emperor and Emperor Taizong, father and son, were the former; Wang Zhice was the latter. And what about him? He was still weak now, but if one day he grew strong enough to face this multiple-choice question, what decision would he make?
Looking at the capital's streets, alleys, and countless residences under the morning light, Chen Changsheng asked himself: "What kind of person should I be? Which is more important: a complete life or a complete life?"
The two "complete" and two "life" in this sentence had entirely different meanings.
Thinking about this question, he left the Lingyan Pavilion and walked down the extremely long stone steps until he reached the palace grounds, still without finding an answer.
Most people in the capital were still asleep, but most in the palace had already woken up. Some examinees looked weary, with dark circles under their eyes, clearly not having slept well. Some were so nervous they hadn't slept at all, but most had rested well.
For these young examinees from various academies and sects, the most important goal of participating in the Grand Examination was to enter the top three and gain the qualification to visit the Mausoleum of Books to observe the steles. Naturally, they had to prepare well, ensuring that nothing—like lack of energy—would affect their later enlightenment at the Mausoleum of Books.
A convoy of dozens of carriages waited outside the palace gates. The spirited horses impatiently pawed the ground. The examinees stood by the carriages, waiting to depart. As they watched Chen Changsheng slowly walking out of the palace, some felt impatient, like the few young scholars from Huaiyuan Academy.
The examinees noticed that Chen Changsheng's hair was a bit messy, his expression tired, his eyes dull, even looking somewhat haggard. They knew he must not have rested well in the Lingyan Pavilion last night, perhaps not even slept at all. They found it puzzling, thinking that even if he had sat in meditation all night, it shouldn't have worn him out so much.
Tang Thirty-Six saw more and grew worried, asking in a low voice, "What happened?"
"Nothing," Chen Changsheng said, shaking his head.
He wouldn't tell anyone about what had happened last night—not even Tang Thirty-Six or Luoluo. He had stepped into a brutal historical truth. Though he was still far from discovering that secret, he had already seen the door, and might even have obtained the key.
Whether examinees or officials, everyone's attention was on Chen Changsheng.
The news about the discovery of the Zhou Garden had been officially announced, or more accurately, announced within the upper echelons of the court and among the academies and sects. At last night's Grand Examination celebration banquet, Lady Moyu, on behalf of the Holy Maiden Empress, officially declared that the Zhou Garden would open in one month.
Who didn't want to enter the Zhou Garden? Who didn't want to see if they could access the legacy of the continent's strongest cultivator? But only cultivators at the Penetrating Illumination realm could enter the Zhou Garden.
Enlightenment at the Mausoleum of Books was already the most important thing for cultivation, and now it had become the examinees' last chance to enter the Zhou Garden. They had to break through and reach Penetrating Illumination within this month.
Under this double pressure, the examinees were naturally tense, knowing they had to work very hard, even push themselves to the limit at the Mausoleum of Books. Thinking of this, their gazes at Chen Changsheng were naturally complicated.
Chen Changsheng was only fifteen this year. Apart from a few like Qi Jian and Ye Xiaolian, he was younger than most of the top three in the Grand Examination. But now, like Gou Hanshi and Tianhai Shengxue, he had already reached Penetrating Illumination. In other words, even if he made no further progress at the Mausoleum of Books, he could easily enter the Zhou Garden in a month.
Reaching Penetrating Illumination at such a young age, even skipping the Azure Cloud List entirely—thinking about it carefully, he had even surpassed Xu Yourong to some extent. How could people not envy him? If not for Qiushan Jun's dazzling performance regarding the Zhou Garden, people might have found his performance even more shocking.
Now, Chen Changsheng was undoubtedly the focus of the entire capital. But he wasn't aware of this. Sitting by the carriage window, looking at the streets and alleys under the morning light, he was silent, seemingly lost in thought.
Tang Thirty-Six, seeing his absent-minded look, raised an eyebrow and said, "I don't know what you've encountered. Yes, you don't need any further fortune at the Mausoleum of Books to enter the Zhou Garden directly. But you need to understand one thing: for us cultivators, the Mausoleum of Books itself is the most important thing—more important than the Grand Examination, more important than the Zhou Garden, more important than anything."
Chen Changsheng didn't speak, still looking out the window.
Tang Thirty-Six continued, "What you gain at the Mausoleum of Books might not be immediately visible, but in the end, how far we can go, what level we can reach, still depends on how much we comprehend there. Countless people over countless years have already proven this, without exception."
Chen Changsheng understood what Tang Thirty-Six meant. Of course, he knew the importance of the Mausoleum of Books to cultivators. The problem was that his current mental state was severely compromised.
Cultivation was certainly very important. If he could reach the Divine Concealment realm, he could reconnect his meridians and no longer worry about the shadow of death. If he could reach the Great Freedom realm, he could pluck stars with a hand, control his own destiny, and perhaps even achieve immortality, needing to worry about nothing.
The problem was that the legendary realm of Divine Concealment—even the tyrant Zhou of old might not have touched it, let alone him. Now that he had secured first place in the Grand Examination and begun to touch the secrets of defying fate and changing destiny, since he couldn't reach the Divine Concealment realm, what meaning did cultivation hold for him? The usually self-disciplined and diligent Chen Changsheng inexplicably grew slack, even feeling that life itself had lost its meaning.
As the morning light grew stronger, fifteen-year-old Chen Changsheng suddenly lost all interest in cultivation. Just then, he arrived at the only sacred place in the hearts of cultivators: the Mausoleum of Books.