"Those recorded in your histories are a tiny minority after all. You mortals understand next to nothing about divine power!" Nailuotian gave a low chuckle. "The power of divine descent can be controlled; it doesn't inevitably wreak catastrophic destruction. Moreover, different vessels possess different endurance. Do you think I carefully chose a vessel and had you raise him until eighteen just to wreck him in one use?"
"Chuan'er, he..."
"I possess other vessels that underwent divine descent. They are still alive and well to this day, and they are hardly mindless living corpses." Nailuotian asked him, "You spent over a decade on the frontier—you should know the history of Panlong City like the back of your hand?"
"Yes." That was a tragic, heroic past buried by yellow sands. He Chunhua did not agree with Zhong Shengguang's methods, yet he admired the man's character.
"Then you should know that General Red was the vessel of the God Mitian. Across those decades, as General Red campaigned far and wide, did she collapse?"
"Can Chuan'er... truly compare to General Red?"
"Even now, we have not fully unraveled General Red's secret. But He Lingchuan's natural aptitude can easily bear my divine descent." Nailuotian was already growing impatient. "I will place only a wisp of an avatar into him. It will do him little harm. Afterward, his mind will still be intact, and he'll still call you 'Father.' What are you afraid of?"
No matter what it said, He Chunhua would never believe it fully. Every reassurance from a god served a purpose; Nailuotian merely wanted his cooperation in holding the divine descent ritual. Yet knowing full well he shouldn't argue with a celestial god, he asked, "Could you finally tell me now why you specifically demanded Chuan'er's vessel?"
"Haven't I said it long ago? Mortal bodies are worthless rubbish; the moment we descend, they collapse!" Nailuotian sighed. "Only a rare few vessels can bear our power to a limited extent. He Lingchuan's body is one such vessel."
He Chunhua pressed relentlessly, "Why is Chuan'er so special? Would I not do?"
Growing up to sixteen, Chuan'er had always been a carefree, riotous troublemaker. He hadn't felt disappointed; on the contrary, he had believed a child's best years ought to be spent in sheer enjoyment.
Let him live happily, without a care in the world, until...
Alas, as a father, this was the only limited compensation he could offer.
Yet after Chuan'er returned from the Panlong Ruins, he seemed like an entirely different person.
Promising, yet unfamiliar.
What if—
What if the hope of bringing glory to their house truly lay upon his eldest son, rather than his second son?
"You?" Nailuotian burst into boisterous laughter. "You would sacrifice yourself for him? You would step in to offer yourself up instead? Hahahaha, utterly absurd!"
He Chunhua parted his lips, wanting to speak, but held back.
In that instant, countless thoughts surged through his mind, but in the end, he could not bring himself to utter the words "I would."
Only after laughing for a long time did Nailuotian say with contempt, "As expected, you are still the He Chunhua I know! The He Chunhua who would sacrifice his own flesh and blood—who would offer up his own eldest son!"
He Chunhua gritted his teeth in secret. "Why is Chuan'er special?"
Judging from Nailuotian's attitude, the special factor didn't stem from him as the father. "Could it be because of Chuan'er's birth mother?"
"That involves the mysteries of body and soul. A summer insect cannot comprehend ice—such profound truths would be lost on you even if I explained them," Nailuotian said. "When you begged me for aid, you happened to be near the Panlong Desert, and you happened to have a son who could serve as a perfect vessel. What is the human phrase for such 'happenstance'? Ah, serendipity. Otherwise, why would I have ever answered you?"
These humble mortals never understood that celestial gods couldn't be bothered with them at all.
Their daily prayers, their earnest supplications—the celestial gods never even heard them!
Seizing the moment, He Chunhua asked again, "You mentioned Chuan'er's fate had become obscure and uncertain. I had assumed that the God of Fate's command over destiny would be absolute."
"Mortals are the easiest to manipulate. Their lives circle endlessly around eating, sleeping, breeding, and dying of illness. When things go well, they forget themselves; when things go poorly, they blame heaven and curse others. Incapable of transcending their crudest desires, how different are they from a flock of sheep? Their actions differ very little; one doesn't even need to waste effort calculating to know their eventual end." Nailuotian chuckled. "Higher up, however, things are different. The stronger someone is, the more entanglements they have, and the more intersections they share with this world, making their fate all the more elusive. Take you, for example. For me to turn your luck around requires a hundred times more divine power than altering the destiny of an ordinary man."
Those skilled at reading others pay attention not only to what is said, but also to what is left unsaid.
One had to seek out the subtext.
He Chunhua caught Nailuotian's underlying meaning at once:
The deity actually considered He Lingchuan no longer an ordinary "mortal."
No longer the profligate young master firmly held in his father's palm.
Perhaps no longer even easily controlled by "fate."
That was terrifying.
A pawn actually wished to flip the board—and could actually do so?
"Then..." He Chunhua pondered for a moment. "Can you control your own fate?"
The God of Fate ruled over the destinies of mortals. But who ruled over the destiny of the God of Fate?
Nailuotian possessed boundless divine might, of course, yet He Chunhua had always sensed that it might not be entirely unfettered either.
After a brief pause, Nailuotian said, "That is not for you to ask."
He Chunhua knew he had overstepped and hastily changed the subject: "However, Chuan'er has returned as Mount Rong's special envoy, overseeing the release of the massive loans Mount Rong is lending the Yuan Kingdom. If something happens to him, those funds from Mount Rong..."
"That has nothing to do with me." Nailuotian cut him off, impatient. "You and your vengeance are utterly tedious. Prepare the ritual as soon as possible. Do not make me remind you a third time!"
With that, the face formed of smoke dispersed, and the seven incense sticks happened to burn out.
The smoke inside the room was choking, yet He Chunhua sat motionless.
The divine imprint mark upon his eldest son had been planted long ago. Over the past dozen-plus years, Nailuotian had never even brought it up, so why the sudden urgency now?
Was it afraid of losing Chuan'er as a vessel?
No, more than that. Any divine descent was by no means easy for a god themselves, requiring a colossal expenditure of divine power.
Divine power was exceedingly precious; what deity would dare squander it recklessly?
Therefore, there were bound to be further, more critical secrets that Nailuotian had kept from him. It had mentioned facing disruptions of its own, and that some unwelcome changes were taking place behind the veil of fate. Were those tied to Chuan'er? Or did they concern the divine realm?
As for the state of the divine realm and what had transpired there, mortals naturally knew nothing.
Just now, Nailuotian had also brought up the Panlong Desert. Though mentioned seemingly in passing, He Chunhua's intuition told him that the deity cared deeply about it.
What was inside the Panlong Desert?
The first thing that sprang to He Chunhua's mind was the ruins of the Panlong Ancient City. It was the absolute heart of the Panlong Desert, the source from which the wild sand season erupted each year.
Even Sun Fuping and his cohort had ventured into the Panlong Ruins in search of treasure to turn the tides of war.
Treasure hunting...
Could it be that one of Nailuotian's goals was also the Dafang Pot?
Chapter 781