Chapter 135: The Decision of the Shangqing Great Dao Sovereign

The Dragon King of the Jing River, executed…

Qi Wuhuo suddenly recalled that arrogant water deity in white robes. He remembered the argument between him and the fortune-teller, remembered the fortune-teller’s judgment and cold sneer—he now understood. That youthful-looking water god in white was likely none other than the Dragon King of the Jing River, recorded in the document that had arrived together with the Five Thunders Judge’s Seal. Jing, as in the saying [Clear distinction between Jing and Wei], and in this Central Province, he was already considered a great water god. [TL_Note: Figurative meaning: Things are clearly distinguished; black and white; good and evil; clarity between right and wrong.]

Such a water god commanded countless aquatic beings under his banner and held dominion over a river that stretched nearly a thousand li in length.

The lands and mountains on either side were all subject to his influence.

And along the tributaries that extended from the Jing River, no fewer than twenty-five water palaces had been established.

A water god of this magnitude, within the bounds of his domain, held an authority and might not inferior to that of the Human Emperor. He could summon wind and rain, ride the clouds and drive the mists—every living creature along the river’s basin was under his sway. Yet even such an august and mighty deity could be executed for dereliction of duty by summoning rain without proper cause.

It could be foreseen that, because of this, all other heavenly, earthly, and water officials would grow even more cautious, abiding strictly by their assigned duties and no longer daring to act recklessly.

The Dao of the Human Emperor lacks constraint. It lacks a force capable of directly threatening the Human Emperor.

Just as the Northern Pole Exorcism Court exists to inspect the gods and ghosts of the Three Realms—

So too should the Human Emperor be subject to such restraints.

Should he neglect his duty and bring about great calamity—

Should he, in pursuit of his own desires, plunge the common folk into misery and suffering—

Then his fate should be stripped from him, and he should be executed.

Only thus would the Human Emperor act with diligence.

But then, what power could exist to place limits on the Dao of the Human Emperor?

The young Daoist pondered for a long while. He picked up his brush, and on a blank sheet of paper, slowly wrote a single, large character:

[People(民)].

To become an Emperor, one must possess great power, great supernatural might, and profound divine abilities. Since such a one is forged from the power of all living beings, then naturally, he ought to bear commensurate responsibility.

Yet Qi Wuhuo recalled once again the words spoken by the old village chief.

That elder believed that the current emperor was a sage, someone truly worthy of the title “Human Emperor.”

But what if, someday, another were to shroud the world in delusion, just as the present Human Emperor does?

Therefore, there must exist an institution like the Northern Pole Exorcism Court.

A force absolute in its dominance and ruthless in its execution.

The young Daoist pondered for a long time but still could not think of a power capable of fulfilling that role.

The Northern Pole Exorcism Court—though it is the place of heaviest slaughter in the Three Realms—is also the final safeguard of order. The youth recalled all that he had seen and sensed just now. He lowered his voice slightly and murmured: “Every movement—though steeped in killing intent and carnage—is at the same time the most life-protecting, the most upright and majestic act.”

“Between one single thought…”

Qi Wuhuo closed his eyes for a long while, placing his right hand atop his sword casket, drawing upon his Innate Qi.

Amidst a deep and resonant sword hum—

That Kill the Thief Sword flew forth of its own accord and landed in his palm. This very sword had once been drawn forth by the lingering obsession and unwillingness of that late captain. Qi Wuhuo had used the Supreme Scarlet Spirit Script to refine it, and later, following the method of condensing the Human Emperor’s destiny, he gathered a strand of crimson fate and coalesced it into the blade. Then, with a single horizontal slash, he had cut across the pillar of the Crown Prince’s fate using the fortune-teller’s technique of fate-slaying.

However, since he had not witnessed it in person, Qi Wuhuo could not know how effective it had truly been.

But to sever fate is to face backlash, and much of the sword’s intent had since scattered.

Now, without Qi Wuhuo’s primordial spirit to hold it in check, the crimson strand of fate he had once gathered also dissipated. Yet at this moment, the young Daoist held the sword in his right hand, while the fingers of his left hand formed a sword-seal and gently brushed along the blade. The sword’s hum was no longer wild and ferocious as before—it had become calm and composed, faintly showing signs of transformation.

And from within his robe sleeves, the scroll titled [Further Response from the Great Dao Sovereign to the Little Dao Sovereign Wuhuo] slowly floated into the air.

Then, the scroll slowly unfurled in the void.

The longsword’s humming suddenly surged, its cry growing sharp and spirited.

Qi Wuhuo’s gaze swept over the words, perceiving the divine resonance hidden within them. All the thoughts and insights that had been momentarily stilled earlier now resurfaced one after another. Without hesitation, he began to attempt condensation once more.

On the blade, that crimson current of fate once again began to flow.

Only this time, Qi Wuhuo was no longer trying to bind it with his primordial spirit as before. Instead, he sought to achieve, with but a single thought, a fate that would endure.

But as soon as his primordial spirit ceased its guidance, the crimson stream of fate again dispersed.

The young Daoist closed his eyes. “As expected, it failed.”

“To know is easy, to act is hard.”

“No matter. I shall try again.”

His voice was calm and gentle, and once more he held the sword and attempted the process anew.

And once more, it unraveled.

The little peacock beside him had begun to grow drowsy. Still in the delicate, newborn stage, its bursts of energy came and went quickly.

When spirited, it was full of liveliness, hopping about with boundless vigor.

But before long, weariness would return.

Typically, it needed two full hours of rest for merely a quarter-hour of play.

At first, it had found amusement in watching the young Daoist wielding his sword and gathering qi. But as the repeated attempts dragged on, it began to feel bored.

So, on its own, it slid down along the youth’s sleeve—

Then slowly crawled into the inner hidden pocket of his robe.

Tucking itself in.

It folded both its wings with great care, nestling neatly into place and allowing the hidden pocket to gently cover it.

Then it gave a yawn, smacked its beak a couple of times, and curled up inside to fall into a deep sleep.

The young Daoist smiled helplessly. He could only untie the outer layer of his robe, loose and flowing, lest it get in the way during the gathering of qi or while swinging his sword, and inadvertently harm the little peacock.

Wearing only the inner garments of his Daoist robe, he continued to cultivate, sword in hand.

Again and again, he tried to deconstruct the Human Emperor’s qi mechanism, seeking to fuse together the [Human Emperor’s Fate] and the [Sword Path’s Killing Method] into one.

Repeated attempts, repeated failures—in the end, success still remained elusive. Even when he barely managed to condense it, it was the same as before: a manifestation purely formed by his own primordial spirit. Once the primordial spirit departed, it could no longer endure. Its refinement was so lacking that a single swing would cause it to dissipate.

How could such a thing possibly face an enemy?

Yet Qi Wuhuo did not feel disheartened. He continued to reflect, to contemplate, refining his qi intent and practicing his sword movements.

With each repetition, the qi emanating from the sword grew just a little more refined.

But the long-awaited moment of true transformation still eluded him.

Several hours passed, and the young Daoist was already exhausted. As he lifted his gaze, he saw the great sun on the horizon beginning to shine with radiant brilliance, piercing through the layers of black clouds. He paused slightly, as if struck by a sudden insight, then lowered his gaze and muttered to himself:

“With a single thought, one can protect; with a single thought, one can kill. I was too fixated earlier, thinking this was a method to condense fate through the human path. But using a method rooted in the human path to sever the imperial aura of the human path—wasn’t that akin to using one’s own spear to strike at their shield?”

“Isn’t that like saying the dark clouds rule the sky, and the great sun can only appear when the clouds permit it? That otherwise, it would forever be obscured?”

“Qi Fate is like the great sun—yet who said it is the Human Emperor who controls it?”

“The Human Emperor is but a thief, borrowing the radiance of the great sun to bolster his own majesty.”

“Such thoughts, from the very beginning, were shackled by the rules of the imperial aura of the human path.”

“A prison of the mind.”

The young Daoist sighed softly, then suddenly murmured aloud:

“The monarch is as the great sun?”

“That’s wrong! If the monarch were the great sun, then the day of its setting must one day come!”

“It should be thus—”

“The people are weighty; the monarch, light.”

“I understand now…”

The young Daoist lifted his sword, and the blade let out a resounding cry.

With just that one motion, a faint red radiance began to shimmer along the edge of the sword.

This time, however, the sword did not ring out with the same fierce cry as it had back when he was at the Mingzhen Dao Alliance.

It was quiet. Yet within that silence was a weight that words could not describe.

The young Daoist let out a breath of relief. A faint smile surfaced on his face. As he raised the sword, he saw that upon this wide-bladed weapon, once wielded by generals of war, there now flowed a faint yet pure crimson hue. It was like the flickering of fire, and also like the hue of blood. The two characters, Kill the Thief, which had been inscribed in Cloud Seal script, were now shrouded in this crimson qi fortune.

Rather than call it a spirit weapon wielded by a Daoist cultivator to slay demons,

It would be more apt to say it had become a vessel of Human Dao Fate.

Yet this vessel of fate was not one meant to stabilize fortune, but one forged to sever it.

The young Daoist gently brushed a hand over the characters Kill the Thief, and spoke in a calm, low voice: “It is done…”

Though he was composed, he was still young at heart. He could not help but tighten his grip on the sword with some force.

This sword must now be drawn. This sword must now slay the thief.

The sword itself seemed joyful as well, as though it now held a trace of spirit. It let out a faint, deep hum in response, echoing back to him. This gave Qi Wuhuo the sense that at last, a step had been taken—something had finally borne fruit. He relaxed within, and in that instant, the exhaustion that had long built up surged forth all at once, making him feel as if he could lay down and fall asleep immediately.

Just then, he suddenly heard a voice—someone laughing heartily:

“After exhausting a full day and night, you grasp but a single thread, like a blind man groping an elephant. You see not the full form, and yet laugh in delight, declaring you have attained the Dao.”

“Such arrogance from a mere little Daoist—how laughable!”

“Huh?!”

The young Daoist was momentarily stunned. A faint flush crept up his face, as if caught in embarrassment.

Then, almost instinctively, he began to search for the source of the voice.

He called out: “Which fellow Daoist speaks?”

His gaze finally landed upon the scroll titled [Further Response from the Great Dao Sovereign to the Little Dao Sovereign Wuhuo].

He froze slightly. He saw that even without being stirred by his innate Primordial Qi, the scroll still floated naturally in the air.

The characters upon the page shimmered with flowing radiance. At this moment, the scripture pavilion was sealed off, with no others present. Only the morning light pierced through the forest’s thin mist and streamed in through the cracks of the window.

Just as Qi Wuhuo had witnessed before—these characters still carried the intense imprint of that Daoist’s will. Beneath the morning light, they seemed to be shrouded in a faint mist.

Countless characters gathered with the weight of intent.

It was as though a black-robed Daoist stepped forth from the sea of clouds and heavenly light, his bearing calm and unrestrained, with a carefree elegance.

He walked through the mist and descended into the mortal realm.

Half real, half illusory; half false, half true.

Qi Wuhuo watched as the divine charm contained in countless characters coalesced, transforming into that Daoist. The figure wore a slight, unreadable smile and replied:

“Seek no more. Recite no more.”

“I have corresponded with you twice, and both times you addressed me as Daoist friend, calling me senior. And yet now that I stand before you, do you not recognize me?”

The Daoist’s smile lingered, neither distant nor close. He swept his horsetail whisk, his bearing ethereal and graceful, possessed of an indescribable refinement. He spoke lightly:

“I am the one known as the Great Dao Sovereign.”

Within the Shangqing Library Pavilion.

Second floor.

“Disciple greets Martial Uncle.”

“Master is in secluded cultivation and instructed this disciple to inquire: several days have passed—has the list for the combat trial five hundred years hence been selected?”

A man clad in a battle robe offered a respectful cupped-fist salute. The handsome Daoist before him, however, could no longer bear the face of Yuqing at this moment. He appeared as his true self—yet though he was present here, he merely reclined lazily upon a cloud couch, propping up his head with one hand, eyes shut as if deep in slumber, giving no reply.

The man asked in confusion:

“Martial Uncle? Martial Uncle?”

“Could it be… he has fallen asleep?”