Chapter Sixty-Three: The Death of a Realm

What had once resembled a tranquil paradise began to visibly wither as the last of its people departed. First, the towering altar faded, then the murmuring stream, the lush grasses, and even the ever-burning flame—each succumbed to decay. The houses on either side, the stars above, all grew old and worn. Somewhere, at some indeterminate moment, a wind arose.

“Are you alright?” Wu Yue asked Li Suizhu, still worried. The fissure between his brows had vanished, replaced by a slender blue thread.

Li Suizhu gave no answer, as if paralyzed by some unseen force. Anxious, Wu Yue turned to Zhou Qilin, who had just opened his mouth to speak.

Heaven and earth seemed to freeze. Collapsed houses hung motionless in the air, the spray of a drying river was caught mid-leap, and even withered grasses bent in stillness, as if all had become a painted landscape. Only Wu Yue remained animate.

Footsteps sounded, heavy and rhythmic, echoing like leather shoes striking marble.

Wu Yue saw a man and at once understood. Da Lie approached, but this time not in his familiar cowboy attire; instead, he wore a formal suit, a jarring contrast to the surroundings.

“Have you met me before? If you have, I won’t waste words,” Da Lie announced in his usual brash manner.

Wu Yue nodded.

“Good. My name is Da Lie, also called the Great One. Whether it was a fragment or an avatar you encountered before, it doesn’t matter,” he said dismissively. “Our mission—simply put—is much like that of heroes, except we must save the entire universe. To put it more complexly, we’re fighting for dominion over this universe. Of course, you’re still too weak for such knowledge to be of much use.”

“Train well. Our Earthly lineage is famed for its small numbers and high quality.” Here Da Lie paused, his tone growing somber. “How is he?”

“You don’t know?”

“I can only descend for a short while now. The Lord God’s domain isn’t as mighty as you imagine—nothing more than a refuge.”

“He erased his own sentience.”

“That’s not so bad. Better than death,” Da Lie replied, feigning indifference. But was he truly indifferent? If so, why had he come at all?

“If you have any questions, ask quickly. It’s not every day you get to meet me,” Da Lie urged.

Wu Yue shook his head. “I have no questions.”

Da Lie’s breath caught. An odd smile crossed his lips. “Good lad. I’ve seen many Lords of Lishan, and while your cultivation can’t compare, in terms of unpredictability you’re easily in the top three.” As he spoke, something about his own words felt oddly familiar, as if he’d said them before.

“A cultivator without curiosity is truly unworthy. Only through questions can one seek the ultimate truths of heaven and earth.”

Wu Yue pursed his lips but had no rebuttal.

“In cultivation, there’s little I can help you with now. Just persevere. But if you ever face great trouble, seek out Wu Daofa, the Lord of the Immortal Spirit Realm. He owes our Lishan lineage a favor.”

Wu Yue accepted gladly; after all, it was always good to have a powerful ally.

“How do I find him?” Wu Yue asked. He’d been in the Immortal Spirit Realm for years, yet had never even heard of a realm lord, hence his question.

“Er—” Da Lie was taken aback, then quickly composed himself. “Heh, if fate decrees it, you’ll meet.”

Wu Yue was stunned. Was this benefactor so unreliable?

Da Lie grew solemn, his voice grave: “The path of cultivation is a struggle for heaven’s fortune. Never rely on luck.” He coughed. The words were true enough, but coming from Da Lie, Wu Yue couldn’t help but feel they smacked of self-righteousness and moralizing.

“Enough. I must go. Take a good look at this magnificent vista—how many times in life can one witness such scenes? Oh, one last thing—his name is Chang’an.”

Chang’an, ever seeking peace. Without waiting for Wu Yue to reply, Da Lie vanished. The Great One does not blame you, truly. Perhaps Da Lie was murmuring to himself even now.

A gust of wind swept through. The houses continued to collapse, the grasses bowed and withered, the river dried up. Li Suizhu shook her head, signaling Wu Yue not to worry, and said, “It’s nothing.”

Zhou Qilin opened his mouth. “Brother Wu, what should we do now?” As if everything continued as normal, as though time had never paused. Perhaps Wu Yue had only dreamed, conjured an illusion. Perhaps Da Lie had never come at all.

Countless ages flashed by in an instant. All living beings perished; the land turned to desert, winds swept up the sand, and the sky grew yellow and dim.

Is this what it’s like outside now? Wu Yue understood. Li Suizhu understood as well. Only Zhou Qilin looked on in shock.

The Hall of Mount Tai transformed into a totem upon his arm. The shadowy soul hidden within—Chang’an, perhaps—remained unmoved, while a hundred thousand lingering souls drifted like smoke in his belly.

Wu Yue, Li Suizhu, and Zhou Qilin now stood in the midst of the cosmos, their bodies glowing faintly. In the distance, they could see other such lights.

Below them sprawled a vast land—this was a dead realm, a primordial wilderness teeming with ancient beasts roaring at the sky.

A tribe appeared: feeble bipeds gathered together for survival.

Cities rose, with towering black walls. Humanity flourished.

Prosperity followed: crowds jostled in the streets. Though weak, they overcame immense trials. Wisdom shone bright.

Cultivators emerged—heroes capable of felling the great beasts by their own strength. All cheered their coming.

Then, decline: cultivators grew ever more numerous, until only they remained in the sky. Civil war erupted, and all wasted heaven’s gifts in greed. Spiritual energy thinned, cultivators dwindled, and common folk grew ever scarcer.

Desolation: the ground turned to sand, the wind rose. No people remained above, nor spiritual energy below. Those who endured grew fewer by the day.

This world narrated its life’s span in a rush—a realm, too, has a destiny, and now, it was dead.

Only awe could describe their hearts. To think how mighty must have been Da Lie and the others who first forged this realm! And yet, this was not a true world, but merely the thirty-fifth space.

Suddenly, a blinding light—then darkness, then shattering. The world broke into countless fragments and dust, vanishing utterly without a trace.

Such is the rise and fall, the life and death of a world. Such is fate and transformation. And what is fate, if not transformation?

The galaxies tremble; even a lifetime is but that of an ant.