Chapter 137: Stars Hang Over the Broad Plain
When the entire world believed Chen Changsheng’s fate was exceptionally fortunate, only he knew his time was short.
When the entire world—and even he himself—thought he was doomed to die, he survived.
He did not die.
He lay in the rainwater atop the Mausoleum of Books, his face pale, utterly weak, but he did not die.
The whole world fell silent, deathly still.
When the storm raged in the night, and lightning terrifyingly illuminated the Mausoleum of Books, the Heavenly Sea Holy Maiden struck Chen Changsheng’s crown with her palm—not to kill him, but to save him.
Now, the rain had become exceedingly fine, moistening all things without a sound.
The people of the capital still slept, not yet awake.
The Counting Daoist stood on the rain-soaked street, gazing toward the Mausoleum of Books, wondering who among them was truly awake.
He had not anticipated that this matter would take such a turn.
From six hundred years ago, from two hundred years ago, from twenty years ago, he had prepared for this night, been vigilant for this night, and schemed for this night.
He had laid countless contingencies for this night, made the most perfect preparations. Whether the Heavenly Sea Holy Maiden killed Chen Changsheng or devoured him, it was all within his plan.
The true killing stroke of his scheme was still hidden in the rain forest of the Mausoleum of Books, undiscovered by anyone.
The Heavenly Sea Holy Maiden was the current master of the Great Zhou Dynasty. She claimed the Mausoleum of Books as her domain, and that was beyond dispute.
But he was the orthodox heir of the state religion, and the Mausoleum of Books was equally his domain.
He had prepared himself: once she killed Chen Changsheng, he would reveal the truth of the entire affair, shake her spirit and will, then use the infinite holy light released at Chen Changsheng’s death to trigger the resonance of the Heavenly Dao, sacrifice the starry sky, invoke divine punishment, and slay her on the spot.
But… the Heavenly Sea did not kill Chen Changsheng, nor did she devour him.
So even if he revealed the truth now, he could not crack her Dao heart.
Chen Changsheng was still alive, so naturally, he could not use the holy light within him to invoke divine punishment.
There were many things the Counting Daoist could not understand. For instance, why did she save Chen Changsheng?
In the end, was it that even a venomous tiger would not eat its own cub? No one believed the Heavenly Sea Holy Maiden cared about such things—at least, he did not.
Could it be that you truly do not fear the backlash of the Heavenly Dao?
He gazed into the distance in calm silence, understanding something—the choice had been made, and the consequences were only beginning to show.
…
…
Chen Changsheng understood his own body’s changes best and knew exactly what had happened.
At that moment, the violent wind and rain lashed his body, lightning like serpents of light illuminated the pitch-black world. The Heavenly Sea Holy Maiden did not turn around. Her right hand, carrying countless wind and rain and the force of mountains, struck directly onto his crown. That immense power of heaven and earth and that ancient, weathered aura poured into his body.
In an instant—truly just an instant, too brief for even a thought—everything inside him shattered. Whether it was his internal organs, already riddled with countless cracks, or his meridians, already full of holes and broken like cliffs, or his energy apertures, they all directly disintegrated, merging into his bones and blood.
Everything happened in an extremely short time, but to Chen Changsheng, it felt as long as a century. In that fragment of time too brief for thought, he endured immense pain—pain in countless forms, with countless flavors, all mixed together into countless tiny knives, cutting into the deepest recesses of his soul from every angle and technique.
This was not the end, but the beginning.
In an instant—truly just an instant, too brief for even despair—everything inside him began to reform. Whether it was his internal organs, split like flower petals, or his meridians, broken like sand, or his energy apertures, mangled beyond shape, under the combined effect of that majestic power and ancient aura, they began to coalesce and take form.
In that moment between the two instants, his exterior remained intact, but inside, it had become a sea of blood.
From the blood sea, white lotuses gradually emerged—those were bones. Then corals grew—those were flesh. Then vines sprouted—those were meridians. Then leaves appeared—those were energy apertures.
The crushed organs, meridians, and energy apertures slowly reassembled and returned to his body.
If anyone could have seen these scenes, they would have been struck speechless by the wonder.
For Chen Changsheng, who endured all this, it was a process of excruciating pain.
To describe extreme pain, one often says it penetrates to the marrow, but his marrow had shattered and then reformed into streams.
Another phrase is "pain that pierces the heart," but his heart had also shattered, gradually resurfacing in the blood sea.
This was destruction, and also rebirth—or rather, new birth. It was a transformation of heaven and earth, a change of sun and moon, all within a single person’s body.
Not even Zhe Xiu could have endured such pain.
In the wind and rain of the capital, his agonized cries echoed—that was his way of resisting the pain.
At that time, his mind had long gone numb from pain, on the verge of dissipating. If that had happened, even if he woke, he would have become an idiot.
A more likely outcome was that his sea of consciousness would shatter directly, and he would die silently in the process.
Clearly, the Heavenly Sea Holy Maiden did not care whether he could endure it. She was only doing what she wanted.
With an indifferent expression, she gazed coldly into the rainy night, her right hand gently stroking his crown, continuing to bestow the most merciful grace and the most cruel torment.
Fortunately—perhaps due to the tempering of the ocean of sword intent, perhaps because of Zhe Xiu’s example, perhaps because of that night many days ago in the autumn forest of the Hundred Herbs Garden, when the Heavenly Sea Holy Maiden had touched a drop of clear tea on his brow, or perhaps because deep in Chen Changsheng’s soul there was always a trace of unwillingness—he held on.
After what felt like countless nights, he regained consciousness.
That majestic power and ancient aura still lingered in his body, moving back and forth. The process was over, but the pain continued. Countless icy, real little knives traveled indifferently through his body, scraping at his bones and flesh, his spirit and will.
He was in such extreme pain that it became a kind of sourness.
He felt that from his hair to his toes, every part of his body was being greedily gnawed by countless ants.
He had no strength at all, couldn’t even open his eyes, and could only observe himself through inner contemplation.
His divine sense stirred slightly, and he began to examine the changes in his body.
It was a scene both familiar and greatly altered.
That lake suspended in the sky remained clear, the Spirit Mountain stood silently beside it, the gate to the Netherworld Mansion was wide open, and a few yellow leaves lay on the stone steps before it, as if no one had come for a long time.
A thin layer of snow covered the wasteland, loose and light, as if a single gust of wind could carry it all away—it must have been starlight that had just fallen moments ago.
At the far end of the snowy plain, melting snow water was slowly flowing across the wilderness. Those fine streams of snow water converged into rivulets, then into rivers, continuing onward.
Ahead… there were no broken cliffs, no dry riverbeds, no bottomless abysses—just… a vast, flat plain!
(There will be another chapter tonight.)