Chapter 642: Stars Hang Over the Broad Plain
The entire world believed Chen Changsheng was blessed by fortune, but only he knew his days were numbered.
When the entire world, including himself, believed he was doomed to die, he survived.
He did not die.
He lay in the rainwater atop the Mausoleum of Books, pale and utterly weak, but he did not die.
The world fell silent, a dead stillness.
When the tempest raged in the night and lightning terrifically illuminated the Mausoleum of Books, the Heavenly Sea Holy Empress’s palm striking Chen Changsheng’s crown was not meant to kill him, but to save him.
Now, the rain had become exceedingly fine, moistening all things without sound.
The commoners of the capital still slept, not yet awake.
Standing on the rain-soaked street, the Daoist Calculator gazed 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, schemed for this night.
He had laid countless contingencies for this night, made the most perfect preparations. Whether the Heavenly Sea Holy Empress killed Chen Changsheng or devoured him, both were within his scheme.
The true killing stroke of his scheme still lay hidden in the rain forest of the Mausoleum of Books, unnoticed by anyone.
The Heavenly Sea Holy Empress was the current master of the Great Zhou Dynasty. She claimed the Mausoleum of Books as her home ground—no issue there.
But he was the orthodox heir of the state religion, and the Mausoleum of Books was also his home ground.
He had been ready: once she killed Chen Changsheng, he would unveil the truth of this entire affair, shake her soul and will, then use the infinite holy light released at Chen Changsheng’s death to provoke the resonance of the Heavenly Dao, sacrifice the starry sky, and bring down divine punishment, slaying her on the spot.
But… Tianhai did not kill Chen Changsheng, nor did she devour him.
So even if he now revealed the truth of the matter, he could not crack open a rift in her Dao heart.
Chen Changsheng was still alive, so naturally, he could not use the holy light stored within him to invoke divine punishment.
There were many things the Daoist Calculator could not understand. For instance, why did she save Chen Changsheng?
Was it that even a venomous tiger would not eat its own cub? No one believed the Heavenly Sea Holy Empress 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 stood in silence, gazing into the distance, and understood something—the choice had been made, and its effects were only beginning to show.
…
…
Chen Changsheng understood his body’s changes best and knew exactly what had happened.
At that moment, the violent wind and rain scoured his body, lightning like serpents of light illuminated the pitch-black world. The Heavenly Sea Holy Empress did not turn around. Her right hand, carrying countless winds and rains with the force of mountains, landed directly on his crown. That immense power of heaven and earth, along with that profoundly ancient 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 broken and jagged like cliffs, or his energy apertures—all of it shattered directly, melting into his bones and flesh.
Everything happened in an extremely short span, but to Chen Changsheng, it felt as long as a century. In that fragment of time too brief for thought, he endured too much pain. That pain had countless forms and countless flavors, all mixed together, turning into countless tiny knives that sliced into the deepest recesses of his soul from countless angles and with countless techniques.
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 reassemble. Whether his internal organs, split like flower petals, or his meridians, broken like grains of 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 the instant between those two moments, his entire being appeared intact on the outside, but inside, it had become an ocean of blood.
From that ocean of blood, white lotuses gradually emerged—those were bones. Then coral grew—that was flesh. Then vines sprouted—those were meridians. Then leaves appeared—those were energy apertures.
The crushed organs, meridians, and energy apertures slowly reassembled, returning to their places within his body.
If anyone could have seen these images, they would have been struck dumb with 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 re-formed into tiny streams.
There was also a phrase: pain that pierces the heart. But his heart had shattered too, then gradually resurfaced from the ocean of blood.
This was destruction, and also rebirth—or rather, new birth. It was a transformation of heaven and earth, a renewal of sun and moon, all within a single person’s body.
Not to mention him—even Zhezhe could never have endured such pain.
In the wind and rain of the capital, his agonized cries echoed—that was his struggle against the pain.
At that time, his mind had long gone numb from agony, 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 that process.
Clearly, the Heavenly Sea Holy Empress did not care whether he could endure it. She was merely doing what she wanted to do.
Her expression indifferent, she gazed coldly at 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 Zhezhe’s example, perhaps because on that night many days ago, in the autumn grove of the Hundred Herbs Garden, the Heavenly Sea Holy Empress had touched a drop of clear tea to 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 had some remnants moving back and forth within his body. The process was over, but the pain continued. Countless icy, real little knives silently traversed his body, continuing to scrape his bones, flesh, spirit, and will.
He was in agony beyond measure—so much so 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. He could not even open his eyes, 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 transformed.
That lake suspended in the sky remained clear, the spirit mountain standing solitary and silent within it. The gate to the Netherworld Palace was wide open, with a few yellow leaves fallen on the stone steps before it, as if no one had visited for a long time.
The wilderness was covered with a thin layer of snow, very loose, 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 edge of the snowy plain, melting snow water was slowly flowing across the fields. Those thin streams of meltwater converged into rivulets, then into rivers, continuing onward.
Ahead… there were no broken cliffs, no dry riverbeds, no bottomless abysses—only… a vast, flat plain!
(There will be another chapter tonight.)