Chapter 206: Storming the Divine Path
Faint lights could be seen in the distance from the Mausoleum of Books, and the sound of a waterfall was also audible. However, around the Divine Path south of the mausoleum, it was very quiet, with no lights at all. Only starlight illuminated the cliffs and straight path, the shallow channels and stone flats. Yet that starlight could not completely dispel the darkness of night; the clear water in the channels was as black as ink.
Xun Mei withdrew his gaze from the top of the mausoleum and looked toward the Divine Path, then gradually lowered it to the pavilion, and finally, it came to rest on the armor of the person beneath the pavilion.
After a moment, he walked toward the pavilion, stepping through the clear water in the channel as if stirring ink, but the splashes that rose were silver.
What was he going to do? Was he actually going to storm the Divine Path? Chen Changsheng, Tang Thirty-Six, and Zhe Xiu watched this scene, their hearts growing tense.
"Senior," Chen Changsheng called out to Xun Mei.
Earlier, in the garden outside the thatched hut, by the light of the stars, he had seen that Xun Mei’s temples had gained many more white hairs. Along with sympathy, he now felt much more concern.
Xun Mei stopped walking, turned around, and looked at the three youths standing outside the stone flat. Contrary to what Chen Changsheng and the others had imagined, Xun Mei’s expression was very calm, with no trace of bewilderment, nor did he resemble a pitiful, disheartened person. He smiled and asked, "Young ones, is something the matter?"
Chen Changsheng glanced at the pavilion. The legendary divine general still seemed to be asleep. After a brief hesitation, he asked, "What are you going to do?"
"I’m going to ascend the mausoleum," Xun Mei said, pointing to the Mausoleum of Books in the darkness behind him.
He didn’t turn his head, but the direction his finger pointed was perfectly accurate. His tone was ordinary, as if he were saying he was going home, giving the impression that he had walked this Divine Path a thousand times before.
Was it "ascend the mausoleum" or "make an ascent"? Chen Changsheng hadn’t heard clearly, but either way, the meaning was the same. This made him, Tang Thirty-Six, and Zhe Xiu even more tense.
Whether it was an illusion or not, Chen Changsheng felt that after Xun Mei said those words, the sea of stars in the night sky seemed to brighten for an instant. The starlight falling on the shallow channels of the southern stone flat of the Mausoleum of Books grew denser by a fraction, and the dusty, worn-out armor beneath the pavilion also lit up. What made his heart pound even more was that the mausoleum guardian beneath the pavilion had always kept his head lowered, the shadow of his helmet hiding his face. But at that moment when the starlight brightened, a gentle breeze stirred from beneath the helmet, carrying out some dust.
Chen Changsheng dared not look in that direction again, not even with a sidelong glance. He looked at Xun Mei and asked, "Why?"
If Xun Mei could defeat the mausoleum guardian beneath the pavilion and ascend directly to the top of the Mausoleum of Books via the Divine Path, then how could he have endured a full thirty-seven years of bitter struggle inside the mausoleum? He would have come to storm the Divine Path long ago. Since he never did, it meant he himself knew he had no chance of winning.
Yes, no matter how profound Xun Mei’s cultivation realm was, how could he get past that guardian in the pavilion? If that person could be easily defeated, how would centuries of dust have accumulated on his armor? Even though Xun Mei was once as famous as Wang Po and Xiao Zhang, and had spent thirty-seven years observing the steles in the Mausoleum of Books, making his realm even more unfathomable, it was still extremely difficult for him to defeat the person beneath that pavilion.
Among the thirty-eight divine generals of the continent, Han Qing ranked first. This powerful figure, who had sat beneath the pavilion for centuries, was second only to the Five Saints and the Eight Winds and Rains. Those on the Carefree List might have profound and unpredictable realms, but neither Wang Po of the Cool Breeze nor Xiao Zhang of the Painted Armor would dare claim they were qualified to challenge him.
Hearing Chen Changsheng’s words, Xun Mei was silent for a moment. Instead of directly answering the question, he said seriously, "Thank you."
As he gave his thanks, his gaze swept across the faces of the three youths.
Zhe Xiu had had problems with his meridians and sea of consciousness since birth, enduring the pain of sudden surges of emotion at all times. If he were an ordinary person, he would have lost the will to live long ago. But he hadn’t. This kind of youthful courage was truly rare. Chen Changsheng stir-fried greens, cooked rice, and steamed salted fish—this calm state of mind Xun Mei admired. Tang Thirty-Six shouted and yelled in a sacred place like the Mausoleum of Books, showing him the long-missed passion of youth.
Xun Mei didn’t say anything, but this was the answer to why he was going to ascend the mausoleum.
The three youths he met tonight—with their courage, resolve, and youth—had awakened him.
The thirty-seven years of observing steles in the Mausoleum of Books had been a dream. After waking from the dream, one always had to do something.
"You made me wake up. I want to see the truth, so I’m going to ascend the mausoleum."
Xun Mei pointed again to the Mausoleum of Books in the night behind him, calm and resolute.
"If you’ve truly woken up… shouldn’t you leave the Mausoleum of Books and go find Wang Po to settle the score?" Tang Thirty-Six asked, puzzled.
Hearing this, Xun Mei burst into laughter. The laughter echoed across the stone flat, making the ink-black water in the channels tremble slightly.
The laughter gradually subsided. He looked at the three youths and said calmly, "Is my enemy really Wang Po?"
Chen Changsheng and Zhe Xiu seemed to grasp something, and Tang Thirty-Six’s brow gradually furrowed.
"No. After thirty-seven years, the shadow over my path of cultivation is no longer him. It’s this."
Xun Mei continued pointing at the Mausoleum of Books in the night behind him, smiling.
Chen Changsheng and the others were momentarily stunned, then fell silent. Countless years ago, the Heavenly Book turned into falling fire and landed on this continent, enlightening the people and teaching humans cultivation. Without a doubt, this Mausoleum of Books held an irreplaceable role and status for humanity. But for countless cultivators, this mausoleum was, in a sense, their greatest enemy.
Those incomprehensible words or images on the steles were the mountains they had to climb, the opponents they had to defeat. Yet the Mausoleum of Books, though it didn’t look particularly high or perilous, actually reached the heavens. It was extremely difficult for human strength alone to scale it, and it had even crushed the courage and spirit of countless cultivators.
Xun Mei had woken up, seen the truth, and finally understood who his opponent was.
So he didn’t choose to leave the Mausoleum of Books to find Wang Po. Instead, he chose to storm the Divine Path.
In the forest outside the Mausoleum of Books, it was very quiet, with no sound at all. The conversation before the southern Divine Path, in theory, couldn’t have reached here. But the two people in the forest understood Xun Mei’s intent. Mao Qiuyu’s sleeves trembled slightly, deeply moved. The man under the locust tree raised his eyebrows, forming an inverted "eight" shape, his eyes incredibly bright, as if they could seize one’s soul.
South of the Mausoleum of Books, the three youths also understood Xun Mei’s intent, but they still found it hard to accept for the moment. Having just woken from a dream that lasted thirty-seven years, returning to the real world, knowing who your opponent was, and then challenging them—this was certainly a courageous act. But if he failed, he would enter an even longer dark dream. That would be too tragic.
Chen Changsheng had only met Xun Mei today and had barely spoken a few words with him. Logically, there shouldn’t be any emotional connection. But for some reason, he felt a closeness to this man. He sympathized with him deeply and wanted to do something for him, unwilling for him to die just as he had woken up. He said, "Please be careful."
Xun Mei smiled, said no more, turned around, and walked toward the pavilion, stepping through the water all the way. Water splashed everywhere, and his old clothes gradually became wet.
When he reached about a hundred zhang in front of the pavilion, he stopped.
The southern stone flat of the Mausoleum of Books was black, but a large area in front of the pavilion was white, the same color as the Divine Path, blending seamlessly together.
The black stone flat and the white Divine Path—this was the dividing line. Or perhaps, the line between life and death.
The face of the person beneath the pavilion was shrouded in the shadow of his helmet, impossible to see clearly.
Suddenly, dust flew out from the shadow of the helmet. Under the starlight, it looked like tiny fireflies.
A voice also came out from beneath the shadow of the helmet.
That voice was very deep, very resonant. The water in the shallow channels leaped restlessly, as if both joyful and fearful. The cliffs south of the Mausoleum of Books echoed everywhere with the sound.
It was as if the person had slept for centuries and only now awakened.
And so, the Mausoleum of Books also awakened.
The faint lights visible to the north of the Mausoleum of Books swayed slightly with this voice that echoed through the cliffs. Then, sharp sounds of cutting through the air arose—hissing, hissing, hissing.
A night breeze stirred, and robes rustled. Gou Hanshi was the first to arrive at the edge of the stone flat, followed quickly by Liang Banhu, Guan Feibai, and Qi Jian.
"What’s going on?" Guan Feibai stepped forward, looking at the scene with slight surprise.
Tang Thirty-Six said with a hint of sarcasm, "Can’t you see? Someone is going to storm the Divine Path."
"Someone dares to storm the Divine Path? Who is it?"
Gou Hanshi guessed that the person beneath the pavilion was the legendary mausoleum guardian, Han Qing, the number one divine general of the continent. So who was this disheveled middle-aged man confronting him?
"Xun Mei," Chen Changsheng said.
"Xun Mei of the Trampled Snow?" Gou Hanshi raised an eyebrow slightly, looking somewhat surprised.
Qi Jian said in astonishment, "Xun Mei is still alive? Could the rumors be true—that he’s been hiding in the Mausoleum of Books all this time observing the steles?"
Zhe Xiu said expressionlessly from the side, "We’ve already said the same thing."
Only then did Qi Jian notice him. A look of hatred immediately appeared on his small face, and he gripped his sword hilt.
Zhe Xiu didn’t even glance at him, just stared at the area before the Divine Path.
"How come only the four of you from the Mount Li Sword Sect are here? With such a big commotion, didn’t those other guys hear it?" Tang Thirty-Six asked, puzzled.
Gou Hanshi said, "They’re observing the steles and can’t bear to leave."
Observing those stone tablets so late at night—Chen Changsheng found it hard to understand. Could the temptation of the Heavenly Book really be that great? Then, thinking about how someone as talented as Xun Mei had been trapped by those steles for thirty-seven years, he looked at the Mausoleum of Books in the night and suddenly found it somewhat eerie.
"Cross the line, and you die." A voice came from the pavilion.
This voice originated from the shadow of that worn-out armor, very flat, yet carrying a sense of ancient vicissitude. It was like an old city wall—on the surface, covered with moss, mottled, even beginning to crumble and peel—but in truth, still incredibly solid. No matter how powerful the attack, it couldn’t damage it in the slightest.
Xun Mei stood before that invisible line, looking at the pavilion, and said, "I don’t want to retreat. I can’t just stand here forever. So I have to try and see if I can cross this line."
"Decades ago, Wang Po said the same thing. But in the end, he stood here for an entire night and didn’t take a single step forward."
The worn-out armor covered the entire body of the legendary divine general beneath the pavilion. His voice had to pass through the armor to come out, sounding somewhat low, with a strange quality—like a sharp blade, or more like licking that blade with a tongue, where the faint sweetness of iron and the taste of blood mingled together.
(Next chapter to be updated before ten o’clock. Also, I’d like to inform everyone of something. .cm is the official website for the Zetianji PC game. Go take a look, see what you think, and be sure to ignore the photo in the upper right corner of the webpage. The real person really doesn’t look like that.)