The Golden Lotus Blooms

A roar—the golden light blazed and surged toward Xiao Chen, attacking him. The Buddha's form planted a golden lotus! The tiny golden Buddha had been planting that lotus through endless ages, and only now, with the golden light of the outer world extinguished, did it truly begin to grow.

Xiao Chen sensed a powerful aura slowly flow out from the withered Buddha body. In that moment, the shrunken, dying form seemed to gain life; he was gradually reviving. Or rather, it was the golden lotus growing, awakening. The Buddha's body planted a golden lotus—a profound and far-reaching transformation.

Xiao Chen slowly withdrew from the Buddha's body, his primordial spirit returning to his own form. The Five Emperor Tower hung above his head, shrouded in chaotic mist.

The Buddha's own transformation should not be interfered with by external forces. Xiao Chen watched as the lost soul of the Buddha gradually disappeared into the vast sea. He did not pursue further. He believed that one day, when the Buddha's spirit awoke and returned, earth-shattering changes would surely follow.

Xiao Chen visited one last place in the World of Immortality—a divine island suspended in the heavens. But now, all was silent here: divine grasses withered, sacred trees decayed. A scene of utter desolation.

This was Chiyou's dwelling. Long ago, Xiao Chen had come here. He saw several skeletons—divine slaves formed from the refined blood essence Chiyou had taken from several young experts, now long dead. Chiyou had once said that if those young experts ever faced a deadly calamity, they could be reborn from this blood essence. But clearly, that could not happen now. Jin Sanyi and the others had vanished long ago and never reappeared. Chiyou himself was now missing, and the blood essence here had dried up. Those young experts could not be reborn because of this.

Then Xiao Chen left the World of Immortality and entered the Curse Realm, the Qi Realm, and the Soul Realm in turn. Finally, he entered the Burial Valley of the Soul Realm.

Several powerful ancestral god weapons were no longer there. Xiao Chen probed the spiritual imprints of the other divine weapons and finally learned what had happened. The Brass Eight Trigram had long since broken its iron chains and regained its freedom, but it did not enjoy its liberty for long—it was reclaimed by the newly emerged Fuxi. As for the weapon forged from the ancestral god corpse mud of a previous era, it too was no longer in the Burial Valley; Nuwa had taken it away.

Suiren had also appeared several thousand years ago, wielding half a broken blade. He had merged with the Ink Qilin within the valley to forge a perfect Qilin blade. Long ago, Xiao Chen had brought half a broken black blade from Dragon Island—the remaining half of the Qilin blade. Unexpectedly, it had later flown toward Youchao's Celestial Palace and disappeared. That was originally Youchao's divine weapon, but Youchao had fallen long ago. Youchao and Suiren were close friends; now that Suiren was reborn, it was not surprising that he could find the half blade among the ruins of Youchao's legacy. All the ancestral god weapons in the Burial Valley had been retrieved; they would begin new transformations to prepare for an even more brutal war.

All of this foretold that a heaven-shaking, earth-shattering battle was yet to come.

Finally, Xiao Chen left the four worlds and entered the Nine Provinces. Thousands of years had passed in a flash. Now the technological civilization of the Nine Provinces had reached a remarkably glorious stage, even posing a certain threat to divine-demon civilization. But no corresponding divine-demon civilization had appeared on the lands of the Nine Provinces; after the ancient war, only a handful of cultivators had survived.

Xiao Chen walked to the banks of the Yellow River. The Seven Demon Diagrams had long since vanished, but Ancestral Dragon Village had not reappeared. The Primordial Ancient Village of old seemed to have disappeared forever. Now, towering buildings lined the banks, skyscrapers stood in close array, and the fragrance of flowers and grass was gone. The Ancestral Dragon Village, once a paradise, had vanished into the river of time.

Heavy snow fell, blanketing the earth in white. Xiao Chen stood atop a skyscraper, gazing into the distance. At this moment, his heart churned with emotion. His homeland lay before him, but everything had changed beyond recognition.

Finally, he sighed. Walking along the Yellow River, he left the Nine Provinces, trudging through the heavy snow, leaving a blur of footprints as he headed west. He did not fly; he walked with his own feet, measuring this land as he recalled countless past events.

Several days later, Xiao Chen arrived in the West. In an unremarkable little town, he saw a familiar bar. It was the same place—he had seen it thirty thousand years ago. Back then, he and Sha Polang had passed through this small town on their way west and stopped at this very bar. Soon after, they witnessed Lan Nuo's ascension to the Half-Ancestor realm.

It was still this place. Though the world had entered an age of technological civilization, this area retained its original appearance. Whether it was a preserved tourist attraction or something else, Xiao Chen did not know.

He entered the bar and looked up to see a stooped, aged figure. His mind jolted—he recognized a familiar face. It was Kailuo. The once-great genius illusionist spiritist, who had opposed Xiao Chen on Dragon Island before their grudges faded like passing wind, had chosen to stay in the West and live an ordinary life.

After thirty thousand years, they met again. They looked at each other without words. Kailuo's clouded old eyes suddenly glistened with excitement. He had survived, living in solitude for thirty thousand years. All that had passed seemed like an illusion. Everyone else was dead; no one from his era remained in this world. It was like a nightmare that clung to his mind, refusing to fade. Today, by fortune, he could see a familiar face. It stirred waves of emotion in his nearly numb heart.

Neither of them spoke. They sat quietly by the fire, each taking a cup of strong spirits and slowly drinking it down.

For Xiao Chen, the Kailuo before him could offer no real help. To see him now was merely a reminder—just as the appearance of Third Princess Yin Ying's corpse had been, a sign that the past was smoke and clouds, and all things had passed away.

"Are you leaving the Nine Provinces for good?" Kailuo asked after a long silence.

"I am. But I will return one day," Xiao Chen replied.

And so Xiao Chen departed, walking through the snow. He crossed the Western lands, then traversed the Nine Provinces and the overseas territories. By the time winter had ended and spring had come, he had walked the length and breadth of the land.

"The spring breeze blows, cherry blossoms fall. We count the falling petals beneath the trees—they seem like the years that have passed away."

When he heard these words on a certain island, Xiao Chen found them amusing. But when he saw that they came from two thirteen- or fourteen-year-old brats, he stopped speaking. Such callow youths pretending to be worldly—it left him speechless for several seconds. What was an ancient relic of tens of thousands of years supposed to make of this?

Suddenly, Xiao Chen froze. Beneath the cherry tree, a small white-shelled turtle was sneaking past, clearly trying to escape. The two young brats immediately stepped forward, blocking its way with their feet.

A small white-shelled turtle? Xiao Chen felt a flicker of familiarity. He looked more closely and was astonished to realize—this was the same white-shelled turtle from ages ago, the one they had called Dragon King. After thirty thousand years, a dragon king of that era should have grown to at least the Ancestral God level. Why was he sneaking about and getting stopped by two little children?

His curiosity stirred, Xiao Chen walked forward and unceremoniously raised his hand to knock the two boys on their heads, intending to give them a couple of painful raps. But instead of his hand landing on them, he received two solid blows himself. Thump! Thump! Two firm knocks, his fingers connecting with their foreheads—but the red marks appeared on his own brow, not theirs.

And then the little white-shelled turtle rolled overseveral times in exaggerated fashion, clutching its belly and rolling on the ground, stifling laughter. Its sly, cheeky demeanor was unmistakable.

At this, Xiao Chen was certain: this was without a doubt the same slippery white-shelled turtle from before. He just did not know who these two youngsters were.

"Young brats, don't you recognize me…" Before Xiao Chen could finish his guess, the two boys turned the accusation back on him, calling him a young brat.

"Who are you…"

With a flash of light, both of them transformed into different forms. One became an ancient turtle, tottering and decrepit. The other became an old man with a long, narrow face and a goatee, brimming with energy. It was the old stone turtle—and Shi Zhongdi!

"It's you two…" Xiao Chen was taken aback. "You two…"

"We are, naturally, the same person," they said in unison.

For a moment, Xiao Chen was stunned. It seemed incredible, but after thinking it over, he felt it made sense. Their personalities were far too similar. And then he thought of another being—the old skull. That old skull had once said that his true body had fallen, and he had split off a wisp or two of divine thought, and Xiao Chen should have encountered them before.

"Yes, you've guessed correctly. That skull was also us…" The two old rascals grinned slyly at the same time. It was no wonder they had been so enigmatic in the past. Before encountering the old skull, the old stone turtle still vaguely remembered some things of the past. As for Shi Zhongdi, he had only remembered his name, not the myriad events of former ages.

"I want the Eighth Heavenly Stele!" Xiao Chen suddenly became agitated, facing the old stone turtle like this.