Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Heavenly Court That Rules Over All Living Beings in the World

Some people enjoy using the many beautiful things in nature as metaphors for women, exhausting the words in their hearts, yet still unable to fully paint a woman as they wish. This is because a woman will never let you see her inner thoughts completely—that is where her true allure lies. So, when Nan Luo looked at this woman in purple, all he could sense was mystery, a trace of cunning, and innocence. At the very least, every word she spoke to Nan Luo seemed honest; what she could not speak, she simply declared unspeakable—never once did she deceive him.

Nan Luo vanished from the woman’s sight, but she remained seated where she was. Sunlight wrapped in the gentle breeze spilled across her black hair and the nape of her neck, her skin pale as frost and exquisitely delicate. From the side, her earlobe gleamed in the sunlight like white jade.

She tilted her head, her hair falling and swaying lightly in the wind, a faint fragrance lingering in the air. The subtle smile that had played on her lips suddenly faded. Her body twisted atop the rock beneath her, and without warning, her slender hand swept out.

In years past, Xuanming had struck a single, gentle palm to the chest of Xingtian, scattering even his world-shaking magical powers. If Nan Luo were here to see the woman’s strike, perhaps he would have compared the two. There was none of that overwhelming force—her movement was as light as a girl brushing away an irksome mosquito. Yet the space where her white hand passed seemed to shatter, inch by inch.

A tiny, shadowy black mosquito, its wings trembling furiously, appeared frozen in midair, like amber suspended in the void. Even the shock in its blood-red eyes was clear to see, yet it could not move an inch. Just as her slender hand was about to slap the black mosquito onto the white rock, the dark spike on its brow flickered with black light and, in a flash, it stabbed into the air and vanished just as her hand descended.

Her pale hand smacked the rock with a crisp, delicate sound. The woman in purple pursed her lips, drawing her hand to her mouth to blow on it, as if she had missed the mosquito and hurt her hand instead.

The cunning in her eyes only grew. At some point, a figure in black robes had appeared in the air—a figure who had nearly brought Nan Luo to ruin earlier. Cloaked in a haze of shadow, he kept a considerable distance from the woman in purple. Only a thin slit in his hood revealed eyes glowing faintly red, his face grave, clearly wary of her.

“You filthy little mosquito, how dare you try to ambush me? Beware, or I’ll slap you into this stone and bind your soul here for a million years,” the woman said, her voice cool, her tone sly.

The black-robed figure grew darker yet, and spoke with a strange, sinister smile: “At first I didn’t know your origins, but now I do. Heh heh…”

The woman’s face grew cold, but she did not ask how he knew. Instead she said, “What do you want? My vital blood?”

“Heh heh… All I want is for you to teach me the way of souls. That blood is nothing in comparison…” the black-robed man replied, a hint of triumph in his twisted smile.

A sudden chill flashed in the woman’s eyes. “And how am I to know you truly know my origins?”

“Heh heh… A thousand turns, no calamity in Mount Wuji; three lives revolving, the way of souls; one thoughtless, all dust is gone. This…” The black-robed figure broke off abruptly, body darting backward at great speed.

The woman’s purple robes fluttered, her hand pale as frost, and with a shake, a vague palm imprint appeared squarely on the black-robed man’s back, silent yet inexorable. His gaze unfocused instantly, as if his soul were about to drift away.

“You know too much, but you’ve overestimated yourself,” she said with a faint smile, drifting lightly toward him.

The figure’s eyes alternated between dazed and sharp, his expression twisted in terror. As she approached, a black, shining needle appeared in his hand; with a single stab into empty air, he vanished.

Her following palm struck only emptiness. “Hmph! Even if you flee to the ends of the earth, I’ll crush your soul and never let you find peace!” With a stamp of her foot, she gave chase in the direction he had disappeared.

By the time Nan Luo returned to the valley, dusk was falling. As he had expected, the valiant man he speculated was named Fuxi still remained.

Even from the air, Nan Luo saw him seated atop a mountain ridge at the edge of the valley. Fuxi sat cross-legged at the summit, a jade zither resting on his knees, and the clear notes of its strings flowed from his fingertips.

To Nan Luo’s ears, the music was as soft as silk brushing the soul, bringing an inexplicable calm, even a drowsy languor. Though he wanted to sleep, he did not succumb. Instead, he stood quietly behind the man, eyes closed, listening.

The moon rose silently, its pale glow casting a veil over the world. In the valley below, countless corpses lay heaped. The stench seemed sealed within the ravine, and the souls of the dead gazed silently up at the mountain. Nan Luo dared not use his spiritual sight to look upon their faces, yet still a wrenching sorrow gripped his heart.

The music drifted through the night, tinged with quiet grief, as if soothing and comforting the endless dead below.

When the song ended, the lingering notes were sorrowful and sweet.

“What is this melody?” Nan Luo asked.

“A requiem. A song to soothe their souls. May our people rest in peace,” Fuxi replied.

“Can you tell me why all of this has happened? Why must it be this way?”

“What reason is needed? Humanity is weak. Others treat us as food. What need is there for reason?”

“I’m from the eastern Yangping tribe. I always thought myself calm, but along my journey I’ve seen countless deaths, and I’ve killed countless monsters myself. Why, can you tell me?”

“Because you are human, just like them.”

“Is that so? I thought I was somehow different. I suppose I’m no immortal after all.”

“Immortal? Perhaps in a thousand years, there will be immortals among our people. But now, there are only demon gods.”

Nan Luo stood in silence, dazed, then finally said, “My name is Nan Luo. I once received great kindness from Prince Kong Xuan of the Undying Palace at Phoenix Mountain. I wonder how he fares now…”

“To my knowledge, he still lives.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

He smiled. “Of course. But everything begins with two names: Dijun and Taiyi. They were born with the world itself, wielders of divine power, yet always hidden from the world. When Phoenix fought the gods of heaven in ages past, many great powers remained in seclusion, among them those two…”

Though Nan Luo had wandered the world for many years, he knew little of the affairs of the great immortals—his own cultivation was too shallow, and more importantly, he had never met anyone who truly understood such matters. When he lived with Kong Xuan, he’d never thought to ask, and even Kong Xuan did not know all the secrets.

From the moment he heard the music in the air, Nan Luo knew this man was Fuxi. That profound compassion for humanity could not be faked. The music reminded Nan Luo of the chief priest’s gentle hand on his head in his childhood.

When he first heard the title “Lord of Humanity” among the Zhao Yan tribe, Nan Luo hadn’t thought much of it—he wondered what kind of person could be worthy of such a title. But after hearing so many stories of Fuxi, he realized that the praise of one person or respect from one tribe meant little. But when dozens, even hundreds of tribes, millions of people, acknowledged a single person, how could Nan Luo not be amazed?

Now, meeting this man in person, he felt only that this must be what the lord of humanity should be: a heart embracing the world, a compassion for his people, and the ability to see the fate of all under heaven.

Nan Luo knew he could never achieve such things himself. But what he could not do, others could—so he felt only respect for Fuxi.

The Undying Palace was destroyed. Phoenix Mountain had fallen—Fuxi had said as much. Nan Luo struggled not to believe it, but found he could not deny it.

The legend that Phoenix was reborn every hundred years was false, but in her cultivation, each level required a new nirvana. No one knew this, but Dijun discovered it.

Sensing the schemes against her, Phoenix suppressed her cultivation repeatedly, until she was forced into nirvana. She went to Mount Buzhou in secret, accompanied only by Kong Xuan.

When Phoenix entered her rebirth, the Dragon Palace came; the qilin of Qilin Cliff came as well.

All the great immortals of the world moved.

In the end, the Dragon Palace suffered grievous losses—even the Dragon King perished. The fate of Qilin Cliff was less known, but could be guessed.

All of this happened for one reason only: Dijun and Taiyi wished to do one thing.

They would build a celestial court, one that would rule over all life under heaven.

Nan Luo gazed from afar at Mount Buzhou. In three months, a celestial court would rise there, to rule over the world.

He could scarcely believe it, yet he had no choice but to believe.