As this cool, refreshing light flowed downward, the dust-veiled Shengyang Mansion lit up once more. The obscure thoughts of the Great Void vanished without a trace, like snow meeting blazing light; the sea waters rippled anew, and the lotus bloomed again.
Li Ximing felt a cool, tranquil sensation circulate through the Shengyang Mansion, as though he had drunk melted snow. The haze in his heart vanished completely.
*The talisman seed dispelled this obscurity!*
Joy surged within his heart. His spiritual sense reached beyond the Shengyang Mansion to peer into the boundless gloom, empty of all things, while brilliant celestial light shone below. A cool breath settled beneath his tongue, sweet fluid welling in his throat; the trial of obscurity had passed.
At this moment, his spiritual sense had already detached from his body alongside the Shengyang Mansion. The so-called "mouth" was in truth the Shengyang Mansion itself; because spiritual sense had no physical form of its own, it borrowed his innate senses instead, making it feel like a mouth.
And that cool sensation held in his mouth was none other than the divine ability within the Shengyang Mansion. Seeing the talisman seed display its might and propel him in one breath to the final pass, Li Ximing let his joy subside. Not daring to be careless, he kept his mouth clamped tightly shut.
*Infinite illusions still await!*
Then, out of nothingness, things began to take shape before his eyes. Banners fluttered, and through the darkness stepped an array of gold. Amidst the clamor of neighing steeds and earth-shaking shouts, an entire army materialized.
Every man in the host was clad in golden armor, each with distinct features, brandishing halberds and spears as vivid as life. At their head rode a figure in a phoenix-winged helm, face hidden behind a mask. Astride a towering warhorse, reins in hand, he came treading on empty air, leveling a golden spear straight at Li Ximing's throat.
"Hah!"
Instantly, the golden-armored warriors crowded in, unsheathing swords and drawing bows, pinning him down on every side with their weapons. Li Ximing glanced down; his hands were empty, his clothes plain, and he possessed nothing more than a mortal body.
"Who are you?!"
The scenery in the distance grew increasingly distinct—he had somehow arrived within a mountain valley. Pressing the spear against his throat, the general barked:
"Why are you here?!"
Li Ximing knew the divine ability was in his mouth and refused to speak. The general grew both suspicious and enraged. On either side, the personal guards began their interrogation in unison, a thousand voices booming like thunder.
How could such a petty display intimidate Li Ximing? He uttered not a word. Infuriated, the general wheeled his mount around and rode off, dispersing like the wind along with all his guards.
No sooner had Li Ximing relaxed his brow than a black-striped tiger leapt out from nowhere, sinking its fangs into his calf. With a clean, crisp crunch, its teeth hooked into flesh, ripping out white bone and sinew as blood splattered everywhere.
Wracked with agony, Li Ximing waved his hands to drive it away, but a serpent with a purple head darted out behind him. Its pupils were pale yellow, its scales slick and slippery; in one bite, it tore open his chest and slithered off with a mouthful of flesh.
He reached to cover the wound, only to touch bare ribs. A viper with a flat, triangular head sprang up, burrowing straight into his belly and dragging out a steaming string of intestines, scattering them across the ground.
Venomous vermin and ferocious beasts sprang from every corner, fighting viciously over his body. In the haze of pain, Li Ximing kept his mouth shut, gradually forgetting where he was, knowing only that the divine ability rested in his mouth and he must never part his lips.
Soon, the beasts dispersed. Heavy rain poured down amid flashes of lightning and rolls of thunder. The general returned at the head of his men, bringing forth a massive bronze cauldron, burned glowing red and boiling with scalding oil.
He demanded:
"Who are you?"
Li Ximing still refused to answer. Then, a group of people was dragged forward from the distance. At their head was an old man with hoary white hair, showing every sign of advanced age—none other than his grandfather, Li Xuanxuan.
The armored soldiers on both sides took out heavy wooden planks, black and dripping with blood, and struck the old man fifty blows. They questioned Li Ximing again, and seeing no response, each drew a blood-stained rasp and began filing away the old man's fingers.
The old man's wails shook the heavens, yet Li Ximing still kept his mouth shut. Once all five fingers were filed away, the general hoisted the old man over the cauldron of oil and said coldly:
"Speak your name, and he shall be spared."
The old man's blood dripped into the cauldron, sending up boiling splashes of scalding oil. In a hoarse voice, he pleaded. Li Ximing did not answer; he shut his eyes, refusing to watch. The general had no choice but to let go and instruct his attendants:
"This sorcerer's spell is nearly complete. He must not be left alive."
Armored soldiers stepped forward from both sides. One thrust a spear squarely into his chest, making the dull thud of cold steel piercing flesh. Another swung a blade; a chill ran across his neck, kaleidoscopic bursts of light exploded before his eyes, and Li Ximing nearly opened his mouth.
After drifting in a daze for a while, a patch of gloom appeared before him. Heavy iron chains hung on either side, looping past his elbows and neck to bind around his waist and abdomen, weighing him down so heavily he could not lift his head. Two chilling gazes fell upon his face.
Two figures stood to his left and right. One held an official warrant inscribed with tiny characters like swarming ants, among which titles like "Ghost Emissary of the Nine Netherworlds" and "Tenth-Generation Benevolent King" were faintly legible. Since Li Ximing did not speak, neither did the two soul-reapers question him; they simply escorted him all the way to the Netherworld.
Li Ximing beheld a collapsed city wall and iron tablets scattered everywhere. Two little imps were using slender ladles to pour molten bronze, scalding hot and glowing red. Without a word of explanation, they hurled him in, shoved him into the molten bronze with their ladles, and skillfully scooped up the liquid metal to drench him.
The molten bronze pierced his chest and rotted his belly, scalding him so severely he nearly lost consciousness. Had this been a mortal body of flesh and blood, instinctual agony would have long made him cry out uncontrollably; fortunately, this was a body of spiritual sense, which he could barely maintain under control.
After pouring a round, the imps fished him out, and one spoke:
"A ghost who endures torment so well is rare to see. I fear few ghosts remain in the mortal realm."
The other replied:
"Isn't that so? The Prefect is in seclusion, and no one has assumed the seats of the 'Upper Shaman' and 'Owl Sunflower' for a long time. When humans die, they simply die; what ghosts are there to speak of?"
The two flipped him over, subjecting him in turn to pestle mortars, pits of fire, cauldrons of boiling water, and forests of swords and knives. Halfway through, a soul-reaper led a white-haired old man past. One imp called out:
"Lord Emissary, which Fellow Daoist have you brought?"
The soul-reaper stood sideways beside the old man and answered:
"It is Fellow Daoist Chi Wei."
Li Ximing almost let out a sound. Looking up, he indeed saw an old man standing beside the soul-reaper, dressed in the robes of Qingchi, looking down at him from above.
The imp glanced at Li Ximing and chuckled:
"Do you have grievances? The Great King watches from the heavens above; he is the Tenth-Generation Benevolent King. Open your mouth, and this man will be cast down."
Li Ximing struggled briefly, then hung his head in silence, uttering not even a groan. His mind was muddled to the extreme. Gritting their teeth, the imps rasped him with blades with even greater cruelty. When he had suffered every torment, a voice from above commanded:
"This man is deceitful and insidious. Send him to Canghai to be reborn as a woman."
Dully, Li Ximing followed along to be reincarnated. Finally, light flashed before his eyes. By now, he could not even remember that a divine ability was held in his mouth; all that remained was the single thought that he must never open it.
He looked around. He had been born into a wealthy family, yet was afflicted with a hundred illnesses. She refused to open her mouth to eat or take medicine, yet miraculously her life was never in danger. But without medicine, the pain of those hundred ailments was relentless; biting her teeth without making a sound, she was treated by her family as a mute daughter, extraordinarily beautiful.
Seeing that she never ate, they had tried prying her mouth open early on, but her lips were pressed shut like cast iron, immovable no matter the force. Though she never ate, she grew bigger day by day, and her parents grew secretly fearful.
Lying sick in bed, unable to speak, yet exceptionally fair of face, visiting relatives who knew not the truth often teased her with words and groped her in secret. She grew up in this manner until age sixteen, suffering beyond measure.
Finally, a man surnamed Lu from the same township came to propose marriage, and the family hastily married her off. Fortunately, Scholar Lu loved her deeply. After several years of marital harmony, her health gradually improved, and she bore a son and a daughter. Yet no matter how Scholar Lu pleaded, she adamantly refused to speak.
One day, while she was weaving at home, Scholar Lu pushed the door open, his face flushed and reeking of alcohol. He lifted the baby boy from the couch, glared with cold eyes, and barked:
"You haven't eaten for three years—what kind of demon are you? This child wears human skin, but who knows if he is human?! The immortal master on the road told me that sharing a bed with me was all to devour my fortune of officialdom!"
Burly and towering, beside himself with fury, he seized the child by both feet and raised him above his head. Li Ximing could not snatch the child back in time. Scholar Lu roared:
"Speak!"
Seeing that she still would not open her mouth, Scholar Lu hurled the infant down with all his might. The boy struck the stone, shattering on impact, his brains bursting forth.
Li Ximing felt blood rush straight to his head. The cool sensation in his mouth roiled violently, and a faint sound escaped his throat as though he had been struck by lightning. After struggling for breath, he finally choked out:
"Pfft—"
His face flashed between pale and livid, and he ultimately spewed a mouthful of blood, spitting out half a tongue along with it. Mingled with the pool of blood on the ground, everything merged into a deep, dark red, flickering before his eyes.
He raised his head. The fury in Scholar Lu's eyes receded farther and farther away. Weightless, he floated upward, swiftly leaving those boundless illusions behind.
That cool breath surged straight into his mind. Everything before his eyes faded rapidly, resolving once more into infinite darkness. All his memories flooded back, and Li Ximing felt as light as nothingness.
The ice and snow in the Juque Court melted away at once, and fierce flames erupted, reverberating within the aperture. Li Ximing felt as though he were floating from boundless darkness toward infinite light; gardenia blossoms surged, camel bells chimed, and everything shone brightly before him.
*Rumble!*
He felt himself soar from where he stood, entering the realm where infinite truth resided. In the vast, vacant darkness, the stars in the heavens drifted close and far by turns, and countless figures seemed seated throughout the Great Void.
He flew all the way to the crest of the Great Void, which seemed veiled in clouds and mist, littered with countless wrecks. The spiritual energy grew increasingly tenuous, and the Great Void itself turned narrow and fractured, fading into grey. The sight made his eyes ache, and he plummeted headlong back down.
Below lay a boundless desert upon which a mountain pass stood erect. A majestic Heavenly Gate loomed, its corner towers distinctly bearing seventy-two ridges, its white threshold carved with intricate patterns, gleaming with dazzling light.
His consciousness plummeted right into it, sinking along with this Heavenly Gate into the deepest depths, finally tumbling out of the vast Great Void and back into his physical body in the mortal world.
Li Ximing snapped his eyes open.
Before him was a dim haze of darkness. Sparse vegetation swayed before his eyes, and cold water from melting snow dripped down with a soft patter.
Before him stood a golden table, the inky-black jade box atop it shattered to pieces by magic power, scattered across the ground. As for the jade bottle that held the Ziming Pill, it had long since flown to who knew which corner.
The mountain summit was a complete ruin, looking as though demon beasts had rampaged through hundreds of times. The jade pillars had collapsed, the tallest having crashed down right beside him. The inscription he had left behind was dim and lackluster, obscured by encroaching vines until it was hardly legible.
The array patterns on the ground for gathering spiritual energy were also in utter disarray. Bathed in brilliant light, the vegetation had grown rampantly, nearly covering the entire mountaintop. Small grains of golden sand lay scattered everywhere, and golden-white mist drifted back and forth.
It was the darkest hour of the night, when the moon shone bright and the stars were sparse. Pure white moonlight flowed, and the golden-white mist on the ground emitted a faint luminescence, holding a strange, singular beauty.
*Rustle...*
Li Ximing rose from the ground, withered leaves tumbling from his body with a rustle.
Heavenly light no longer shone within the young man's pupils, nor was there any radiant glow encircling his movements. His golden-white Daoist robe even appeared somewhat plain. He looked even younger than before, his skin noticeably fairer.
Li Ximing seemed little different from before, save for a white-gold dot at the center of his brows. This dot was neither painted nor tattooed; it shone resplendent as celestial light, illuminating all directions.
Li Ximing remained motionless for a long time. Halo after halo of multicolored light slowly expanded behind his head, and the golden-white splendor of the Mingyang divine ability emerged at his side, draping over him and rising skyward, more than nine feet tall.
At last, his lips parted, and he exhaled a breath of heavenly light.
Before this breath of heavenly light touched the ground, purple flames ignited out of thin air, weaving and soaring through midair like agile flood dragons. Outer purple and inner gold, the flames were intensely scorching. Around the dazzling firelight drifted golden powder of celestial light, sparkling brilliantly and scattering everywhere on the fiery draft.
The purple flames spread along the ground, igniting the entirety of Mount Wu in the span of a breath. As the purple flames diffused, gardenia trees sprang from the earth one after another, their wide canopies rising high. Snow-white gardenia blossoms drifted down amid the billowing flames, scattering a blanket of white across the ground.
Surging purple flames soared into the sky, outer purple and inner gold, illuminating the heavens ahead of time.
Meanwhile, radiant dawn was swiftly rising from the far distance. As purple fire blazed across the mountains, Li Ximing stood beneath a gardenia tree draped in the splendor of Mingyang, pure white petals swirling across the ground.
The first ray of morning light pierced the formation, falling into his pupils.
In the next instant, this ray of morning light was ensnared within his eyes. His gaze turned pale gold, brimming with shimmering light—the Dawen Golden Pupils of earlier days instantly attained the absolute pinnacle.
Under the firelight, these eyes slowly lifted, gazing toward the distant south. The clouds in the sky above dispersed, showering down brilliant white radiance.
"Day has broken."
...
Lake Wangyue.
A light snow had fallen over Lake Wangyue. The moonlight was pure and clear, mirrored on the cold lake surface; as the night wind swept past, waves rippled with shimmering light. Escapes of light shuttled back and forth across the sky, bestowing an air of immortal elegance.
It was the hour of the rat, and most of the lights around Lake Wangyue were extinguished. Yet the many cultivators patrolling and guarding the lake did not rest, coming and going, flitting across the water like ribbons of color.
Mount Qingdu was lush with vegetation. The talisman pavilion on the lateral peak, crafted from rosewood, was exquisite and archaic. An old man washed his inkstone before the pavilion, carried the talisman ink inside, laid out the talisman paper on the table, and paused with brush poised.
The old man had always led a busy life. Though the night was deep and the hour of the rat had arrived, he had not set down his brush, continuing to draw talismans stroke by stroke. Watching the cinnabar traces gradually emerge upon the yellow paper, he exhaled a breath, having finished yet another talisman.
Li Xuanxuan put it away, only to suddenly notice that the light before him was remarkably bright. He casually snuffed out several magic lamps, but suddenly realized something was amiss:
"Where did this light come from...?"
He raised his gaze to look out. A dozen or so cultivators were already standing scattered across the lake, some near, some far, all staring blankly toward the east. Clad in golden light, their shadows stretched long across the lake.
The old man shifted his gaze, finally beholding the golden dawn rising in splendor.
The brilliant golden light was reflected in his cloudy pupils. The talisman brush in his hand fell to the table with a clatter, rolling twice and staining the talisman paper with ink, ruining it in vain.
Yet Li Xuanxuan seemed entirely oblivious. Supporting himself against the windowsill with one hand, his aged face bathed in the golden morning light, tears welled in his eyes. He forced his eyes shut, his breath coming heavy and ragged.
On the twenty-second day of the eleventh month, at the hour of the rat, the moonlight retreated over Lake Wangyue, and the sky turned bright.
Chapter 685