Chapter 25: Waiting for Fate to Arrive
Chen Changsheng had no idea what she was thinking at that moment, nor did he know that her emotions had undergone such a drastic change in such a short span of time. He took the Flowing Fire Pill from the jade box, brought it directly to her lips, and then quickly, even somewhat roughly, shoved it in. Xu Yourong’s lips parted slightly, about to say something to express her gratitude and… her moved feelings, but before any words could come out, the pill blocked them back.
“You can’t drink water for half an hour before or after, or it will reduce the fire nature of the pill.” Chen Changsheng looked at her, whose face was a bit red from being choked, and said seriously, though a sense of unease stirred within him.
That Flowing Fire Pill was very large. Xu Yourong couldn’t speak at all and spent a long time swallowing it, struggling greatly, then started coughing. After a moment, when she felt a bit better, she looked at him and said angrily, “Even if I can’t drink water, you could have said so beforehand. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to cough?”
Though she spoke angrily, her voice carried a faint, plaintive tone—a mix of complaint and something like coaxing.
Chen Changsheng didn’t pick up on it. Slightly embarrassed, he said, “Sorry, I was in a hurry. But don’t worry about the coughing; it’s not from choking. It should be a normal sign of detoxification.”
Xu Yourong herself hadn’t noticed the girlish demeanor she had shown a moment ago, but for some reason, she felt a bit shy. She said softly, “I don’t know if it’s the medicine taking effect, but I’m feeling sleepy.”
It wasn’t a normal sign of detoxification; he was just making conversation. The medicine couldn’t possibly take effect that quickly; she was just at a loss for how to respond. In the end, it was just as Tang Thirty-Six had said back at the Plum Garden Inn in the capital: the two of them were truly a pair that left others speechless.
Whether it was the medicine taking effect or something else, Xu Yourong really did feel sleepy.
He helped her to the corridor outside the stone chamber, sheltered from the wind, and took some cloth from the seventh stone chamber to cover her. The most precious silks and satins in the mausoleum, including the incredibly rare Snow Silkworm quilts, had all crumbled into dust over time. Interestingly, the cheapest hemp fabrics remained intact. The curtain he covered her with was made of such hemp.
Watching the sleeping girl, he silently prayed that the Flowing Fire Pill still retained enough potency. Then he walked back into the stone chamber, opened the jade box again, and sniffed it carefully. The unease in his heart didn’t fade; instead, it grew stronger.
After gathering a few medicinal herbs whose potency hadn’t fully dissipated, he finally had time to examine the spoils from the earlier stone chambers. Sweeping his spiritual sense over them, he first looked at the secret manuals and cultivation techniques.
He had read through the Daoist canon since childhood, and after arriving in the capital, he had thoroughly studied the tens of thousands of books in the National Academy’s library. Now, as he glanced at these manuals and techniques, just seeing their names allowed him to identify the corresponding sects, schools, and academies.
Contrary to what the world might imagine, these manuals and techniques were not rare, nor could they grant him instant mastery of divine arts overnight. After all, the experts who had once been worthy opponents of Zhou Dufu had all come from famous sects and schools. They had fallen under Zhou Dufu’s blade, but the legacies of their sects had not been severed.
Just as the Lishan Sword Sect’s sword manual had been taken by the White Emperor’s clan, yet Lishan remained powerful. Still… just like that sword manual, these manuals and techniques were naturally extremely valuable—at least to those sects and schools, because these were the originals.
Next, he began inspecting the magical artifacts. Due to the passage of time, most of the artifacts in the stone chambers had lost their power. Following Xu Yourong’s guidance, he had collected a few that still retained some residual power, but they were far from their former glory and couldn’t compare to the divine weapons on the current Artifact Ranking. The only exception was that black Soul Pivot.
Time, indeed, was the most powerful artifact in the world.
Chen Changsheng suddenly had some thoughts. Zhou Dufu was a true legend of this continent, a unique existence. The Zhou Garden was his world, and this was his mausoleum. Logically, the items chosen to accompany him in death should have included something better. Had all those things been taken away?
The floor of the long corridor before the nine stone chambers was covered in a thin layer of dust, marked with many messy footprints. But those footprints were all his own. The artifacts, treasures, and manuals were still there, proving that no one had come here before.
Over the past few centuries, countless cultivators had sought Zhou Dufu’s mausoleum, hoping to gain his legacy and treasures. Those cultivators, whether brilliant or well-prepared, had at least reached the peak of the Penetrating Obscurity realm before daring to enter the mysterious Never-Setting Sun Grasslands. Yet they had died along the way, never reaching this place. He had managed to find his way out of the grasslands and into this mausoleum, not because he was more outstanding or powerful than those predecessors, but because he had an umbrella.
Thinking this, he looked again at the yellow paper umbrella in his hand.
Even after entering the mausoleum, he hadn’t put it away.
Without this yellow paper umbrella, following that ethereal sword intent to guide them, they would never have had any chance of reaching this place. More likely, they would have gotten lost in that treacherous grassland and become food for the beast hordes. But now, how would they leave? Would they still rely on this yellow paper umbrella? Or did they need to find that sword intent?
He felt that the yellow paper umbrella had brought him here as a call of fate.
Yes, he believed in fate.
This sounded absurd, because he had come from the old temple in Xining Town to the capital precisely to change his fate. But deep in his spiritual world, he truly believed in the existence of fate—perhaps even more than anyone else.
There had to be a mountain before you could climb over it.
There had to be a river with waves before you could cross it.
There had to be a goal before you could move toward it.
There had to be fate before he could change it.
Wang Zhice had written at the end of his notes: There is no fate.
Those four words could be called earth-shattering, but to Chen Changsheng, they opened a new horizon.
His view differed from Wang Zhice’s—it had to differ. He wanted to see his fate clearly and then change it.
If fate had brought him to meet so many people and experience so many events in the capital, ultimately leading him into the Zhou Garden, then what kind of fate awaited him here? The yellow paper umbrella had sensed that sword intent and led him here; there must be some deeper meaning hidden within. If he wanted to leave the Zhou Garden, did that mean he needed to find that sword intent?
Was that sword intent in the Sword Pool? And where was the Sword Pool? Walking through the long passageway and out of the mausoleum, he stood on the high platform, one hand resting on his lower back, the other holding the yellow paper umbrella, gazing at the grassland before him.
It was already dusk. The distant sun had settled into its nightly position—at the edge of the grassland, above the horizon. The endless grassland, bathed in warm red light, seemed to be burning. The hidden pools of water within it reflected the sky like countless tiny mirrors. Behind him stood Zhou Dufu’s mausoleum.
If a sentimental scholar had seen this scene, he might have felt a deeper sense of desolation, lamenting that nothing in the world could withstand time. But Chen Changsheng did not.
The setting sun still hung at the far edge of the grassland, but suddenly rain began to fall around the mausoleum.
He raised the yellow paper umbrella.
Pat, pat, pat, pat—raindrops struck the umbrella’s surface, turning into countless tiny splashes that danced and then fell.
He released his spiritual sense, sending it up through the umbrella handle to the canopy, where it leaped like those tiny splashes, dispersing outward into the grassland around the mausoleum.
He had thoroughly read the Daoist canon and was certain that the sword intent could not possess self-awareness. Since it had no self-awareness, it couldn’t actively change its state. Initially, he had sensed it by the cold pool because the sword intent had always been there, waiting to be discovered. Now, it shouldn’t—and couldn’t—actively disappear.
If something didn’t disappear on its own but couldn’t be found, then it must have been hidden by someone.
Standing in the rain, Chen Changsheng spread his spiritual sense across the grassland, searching for his target, while also beginning to sort through the changes that had occurred as they approached the mausoleum—the moment Xu Yourong had seen the mausoleum, that sword intent had vanished. At the time, he thought it had fulfilled its mission of guiding the yellow paper umbrella here and then disappeared. Now, after calming down and reaching the earlier conclusion, he was certain it wasn’t so. That sword intent must have been hidden by some “person.”
That “person” was likely the mausoleum itself.
He turned to look back at the mausoleum behind him.
Built from massive stone blocks, the mausoleum grew steeper as it rose, impossibly tall.
Standing at its center, the mausoleum seemed to pierce the clouds in the sky.
His gaze followed the mausoleum’s peak to the dark clouds above, where black mist churned, and faint flashes of lightning occasionally lit up the depths, making it appear especially terrifying. Even from thousands of feet away, he could clearly sense the overwhelming, world-destroying power within those clouds—the mausoleum was the core of the Zhou Garden, and this aura should be the embodiment of the Zhou Garden’s rules.
The rain grew heavier. The massive stones of the mausoleum were completely soaked, and countless thin waterfalls flowed between each tier. If someone had been watching from outside the mausoleum, they would have found the scene magnificent, with a breathtaking beauty. But standing inside it, Chen Changsheng could only feel the breathtaking terror, naturally unable to perceive any beauty.
“If I had time, I should leave the mausoleum’s oppressive range and see if that sword intent reappears,” he thought silently.
Then he vaguely heard someone calling him. Holding the yellow paper umbrella, he walked back into the mausoleum.
Xu Yourong had already woken up. Her face was still pale, but she seemed a bit better, having regained some energy.
He asked, “Were you calling me?”
The rain outside the mausoleum was too heavy. Even with the umbrella, he had gotten wet, looking somewhat disheveled.
Xu Yourong didn’t mock him. She shook her head and said softly, “You misheard.”
Chen Changsheng thought that he must have been so worried about her injury that he had actually experienced auditory hallucinations.
Xu Yourong watched him quietly, her hands under the hemp cloth tightening slightly.
When she had woken up earlier and found him not by her side, surrounded by darkness, she had felt a bit afraid—more accurately, a sense of panic.
Since her bloodline had awakened, she had never panicked before.
She knew this had nothing to do with dependence on him, nor with anything else.
It was a sign of weakening will. She was growing weaker and weaker, and even her luminous Dao heart was beginning to dim.
This was a sign of death.
Chen Changsheng crouched beside her, reached out to take her pulse, and after a long silence, smiled and said, “Well, the medicine is spreading. Even if the poison isn’t completely cleared, it shouldn’t be a big problem.”
Lies relied on nine parts truth and one part falsehood.
There wasn’t a single true word in what he said.
Xu Yourong looked into his eyes and said calmly, “Do you know your smile looks fake?”
Chen Changsheng’s body stiffened slightly. He chuckled and said, “How can a smile be fake?”
Xu Yourong smiled and said, “It’s not fake, it’s just foolish.”
Chen Changsheng pretended to be displeased and said, “I just don’t like that cold, proud tone of yours.”
“I’ll be careful… at least, in front of you,” Xu Yourong said something he hadn’t expected.
Chen Changsheng was stunned. Xu Yourong smiled and continued, “But the way you smiled just now was like crying—it really was foolish, and anyone could see it was fake.”
Chen Changsheng didn’t know what to say. He lowered his head, reached out, and pulled the edge of the hemp cloth down to cover her feet.
“That medicine didn’t work, did it?”
She looked into his eyes, her expression calm, as if she didn’t know that his answer would decide her fate.
(Next chapter still at 7:15 PM. Having a draft saved feels a bit unfamiliar and makes me want to show off a bit… Also, I’ve revised these chapters many times, so I dare to let everyone read them closely.)