Every Day, Humanity's Worldview is Rewritten [Awakening of Spiritual Energy]

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Chapter 36: Title

Ye Linlang delivered the mysterious encounter within Neh’s dream and waited calmly by his side. It was noon, and Neh’s dream had reached its final stages. She pondered why India, once surpassing Zhongxia in highway development decades ago, had now become synonymous with poverty, disorder, filth, domestic violence, son preference, and other negative perceptions.

Undoubtedly, the caste system bore much responsibility. After those who dared to resist were purged, the remaining populace grew timid. Coupled with their religious teachings urging endurance of suffering in this life to reincarnate into the higher caste, widespread illiteracy, and oppression by the dominant Aryans, their lack of rebellion seemed inevitable.

Perhaps expecting India to escape its current state and catch up with the world was unrealistic. If the nation could merely reform its social structure, it would already grant the lower class a new dawn.

In the dream, Neh trudged forward on his path of change—a path that would have killed anyone not chosen by fate. The trials he faced here mirrored those awaiting him in reality, yet outside the dream, he wasn’t the sole "chosen one."

"Among so many candidates, you alone show both ambition and grasp of strategic planning. You’ll do," Ye Linlang murmured with a sigh. She had another continent to visit and couldn’t linger.

Approaching Neh, she pressed a fingertip to his brow, first erasing lingering traces of the dream, then imprinting the destined encounter upon him. The delivery was done, though she wondered if her chosen catalyst could fulfill her vision for India. If not, she’d simply mold a replacement later.

"Excel and earn rewards; falter and face demotion," she quipped, arching an eyebrow as she marked Neh’s profile with a "Class B" rating on her spectral screen. He remained India’s sole qualifier for this rank—proof of her cautious optimism.

She vanished from Neh’s chamber.

While noon scorched India, dawn’s golden fingers barely grazed Egypt. Ye Linlang blinked away residual sunlight from the eastern hemisphere, grateful her duties rarely required crossing time zones.

In Egypt’s capital, she observed customs starkly different from India’s. Here, the dream-sifting method wouldn’t suffice. A Zhongxia proverb echoed in her mind: *When visiting, skip the pyramids? Improper.*

She reviewed her plans. The timing aligned perfectly—why make a second trip when today’s visit could accelerate everything?

Of Egypt’s three ancient pyramids, the Great Pyramid of Giza stood foremost, its stones whispering across four millennia. Pharaohs had proclaimed themselves sons of Ra, the sun god, their tombs designed as ascension portals. Myths told of deities like Horus walking among mortals as rulers before merging with Ra himself.

Reviving such gods held no appeal—too cumbersome. Modern genetics proved true Ancient Egyptians had vanished, their bloodline diluted by conquerors. Even local faith in old myths had crumbled under foreign invasions.

Before the Awakening of Spiritual Energy, Ye Linlang had designed separate afterlife realms: the Eastern underworld and Western hell. But conflicting mythologies bred chaos—different cultures bickered over terms like *underworld* and *realm of the dead*. She finally consolidated all non-Eastern afterlives into a single domain managed by newborn deities, while preserving Zhongxia’s distinct system featuring the Empress, Yama, and judges.

Drawing from the Ten Kings of Hell framework, she appointed regional administrators to govern souls by nationality. Unlike the East’s structured hierarchy with the Empress supreme, these stewards operated independently, convening only when necessary—all directly created by Ye Linlang, bound to remain unless summoned by the realm’s supreme deity.

She materialized in this hybrid afterlife. The landscape rippled with paradoxical harmony—Greek ferrymen poling past Norse frost giants, Babylonian ziggurats casting shadows over Celtic dolmens. Any mythologist would weep to see these colliding traditions woven into seamless coexistence.

Mythology seems distant from humanity, and what Ye Linlang termed the "Ancient Mythical Era" remains an untouchable truth far beyond mortal grasp.

In her conception, there has only ever been one realm of the dead. The authenticity of humanity’s mythological legends remains unverified—until the day this vast hell manifests before their eyes, shattering their imagined myths.

This pattern echoes across civilizations: from Eastern realms like Zhongxia and Fusang to India in the South, and through the myriad Western countries.

The underworld, known variously as the Spirit Kingdom or the Land of Departed Souls, stretches beneath a sky of profound blue so dark it borders on black. Dominating this celestial expanse floats the temple of the dead, sacred seat of the supreme deity—the God of Death. Eight lesser palaces orbit this central sanctum like stellar attendants, each housing a Lord of the Dead.

Presently, this realm acknowledges only one supreme deity. Beneath divine authority serve four Lords of the Dead, governing departed souls from India, Egypt, Western nations, Africa, and all regions except certain Eastern territories.

Beneath the celestial complex lies the mortal plane of spirits, where ancient cities mirror the eight celestial palaces above, nestled beside the winding rivers of the underworld. These dark waterways form every soul’s mandatory passage.

Within each city’s judgment hall—staffed by deities born in this era and forged by the God of Death—countless spirits undergo evaluation. The central expanse between these eight cities blooms with impossible life: pure white lilies flourish despite the deathly environment, their petals framed by faint golden halos as if gilded by divine care.

These blossoms become the underworld’s sole chromatic relief against eternal twilight. This sacred grove remains forbidden even to deities—Lords of the Dead merely gaze upon the flowers from city ramparts, never daring approach.

The God of Death’s wrath proves legendary. Tales tell of rebellious souls slipping past guards to touch the luminous flowers, only to disintegrate in cleansing infernos. Whispers persist that any spirit touching these divine blossoms without perishing could regain mortal life—though none have succeeded.

With daily deaths numbering tens of thousands, the Lords’ duties prove relentless. Yet they labor tirelessly, craving their creator’s approval. By divine tradition, created beings honor their maker as Father or Mother God—though the four Lords carefully conceal this filial address.

(The memory still burns: their newborn cries of "Father God" met with searing flames, leaving them writhing in humiliated agony. Shared suffering bred silent camaraderie—none mocked another’s disgrace.)

As Ye Linlang materialized in the underworld, four quills simultaneously froze above parchment. Through their immortal bond, the Lords sensed—could it be?—their creator’s awakening.

The eldest Lord, face carved from obsidian composure, summoned a shadow-feathered raven from his sleeve. His message vanished into darkness, borne toward his brethren.

Ye Linlang’s eye twitched. Those mental echoes of "Father God" resurrected memories of four squalling infants—her initial panic response had been… fiery. How different from Eastern decorum!

Though Yama and Hell’s Judges revered her as Empress, their respect carried dignified restraint. These Western "sons" remained incorrigible—their first bellowed "Father God" had startled her into roasting them with underworld fire for two full minutes.

Closing her eyes, Ye Linlang perceived her "children" exchanging frantic messages. Here in her small world, no system assistance was needed—as creator goddess, mere thought revealed all.

Her gaze lifted toward the celestial temple of the dead—her underworld residence. Modern netherworld bureaucrats toiled harder than earthly counterparts. Those ornate palaces stood largely unused while her "children" labored through endless overtime, recent decorations gathering dust in silent halls.

The God of Death reaped souls without cease, while spectral ferries traversed the river of the dead from dawn till dusk.

Ye Linlang stood upon the shadowed shore, her gaze sweeping across the eternal waterway with effortless dominion. Remembering her purpose, she withdrew from the banks.

Her manifestation upon the Divine Throne of the dead temple resonated through hollow halls as she addressed the emptiness in a voice like frozen midnight: "Hades. Bring them before me."

The lingering cadence betrayed both the irritation of interrupted slumber and the languid grace of primordial power.

At this summons, Hades – who’d been covertly exchanging messages with his brethren – allowed genuine delight to crack his impassive façade. The Father God’s call elevated his spirit, rendering even the dreariest soul-judgments momentarily bearable.

"Minos," he commanded without preamble, "attend to this." The memory of his creation-day audience burned brighter than any current duty.

As Hades departed, a rare sigh escaped him. Why did the Father God cloister Himself in endless repose? Could Osiris’ jest hold truth – that the underworld’s bleak aesthetics deterred divine strolls among His creations?

"By your will, Lord Hades." The three esteemed judges of the dead bowed deeply, exchanging curious glances as their work-obsessed liege abandoned post with uncharacteristic haste.

This scene mirrored itself across four judgment halls, revealing an unintended consequence of Ye Linlang’s craftsmanship. Her progeny shared not only a workaholic nature, but an overriding devotion that eclipsed duty itself – perhaps a disproportionate measure of filial piety kneaded into their divine clay.

Yet her concerns proved needless. Their reverence stemmed not merely from her Death God mantle, but the subtle gravity of her creator goddess essence. All beings, from low-tier spirits to celestial arbiters, bore instinctive devotion to the world’s architect.

Had she revealed her full creator aspect, every entity would prostrate themselves, embracing divine chastisement as privilege. Presently, the gods’ paternal address sufficed – a truth Ye Linlang accepted with secret relief. Her carefully maintained disguise spared her the embarrassment of ubiquitous "Father" invocations. (Not that "Mother" proved preferable – such titles ill-suited her carefully curated image of eternal maidenhood.)

Upon her obsidian throne sat the deity: black robes shimmering with divine lilies wrought in golden thread, midnight cloak cascading over a gilded belt. Jet locks framed the jade-pale chin below her golden half-mask – an alabaster death-mask contrasting sharply with the living goddess beneath.

Ye Linlang’s eyes narrowed behind her visor. Her "children" mirrored her aesthetic with unsettling precision – a quartet of gothic mirror images.

"Father-Death!" blurted the youngest-appearing figure. Satan’s boyish grin belied his ancient cunning. Though all four siblings shared simultaneous creation, they’d established hierarchy through what Ye Linlang suspected were blackmail-worthy contests. (Satan’s claimed "youth" likely resulted from lost wrestling matches.)

The goddess suppressed a twitch. Europe’s dread sovereign should maintain more decorum – what if his reapers witnessed this?

Hades, firstborn by dubious merit, stepped forward with long-suffering dignity. (Divine emotionlessness proved myth; this family brimmed with temperament.) "Death receives Hades’ homage."

"Osiris attends."

"Blackman greets."

Their chorus echoed through the chamber, four dark sovereigns united in devotion to their veiled creator – Death’s masquerade perpetuated through careful theatrics and a goddess’ determination to avoid parental epithets.

"Satan greets Death." Satan bowed with perfect form, determined not to be outdone by his brothers.

The God of Death required no other appellation – She was the embodiment of death itself.

"I summoned you for a purpose," Ye Linlang propped her chin on one hand, observing her four seemingly dutiful subordinates below. Though their very names could freeze mortal blood, this obedience existed solely in her presence. She suppressed an inward sigh.

"During my slumber, I sensed the Abyss stirring. After millennia beneath the seals, even that ancient darkness perceives the surging magic currents, hungering to breach our world."

The four Lords of the Dead shifted uneasily. Though unborn during the primordial catastrophe, their inherited memories from perished deities showed fragmented visions – blurred recollections of an era when nine in ten gods perished, their own existences springing from that divine devastation.

"Blackman."

"Yes!" The reply came with eager anticipation.

"Heighten vigilance in your domain." Ye Linlang fought the uncharitable thought that her subordinates resembled simple-minded heirs to some great estate. "All of you – examine every soul for Abyssal taint."

Hades and his brethren responded with fervent obedience, thrilled by their Father God’s new directive.

Ye Linlang: "……"

Their transparent mental chatter made her crave solitude.

The prolonged silence stretched taut. Why did Father God hesitate? Did the Abyss truly warrant such concern?

When she finally spoke, her voice carried through the vaulted chamber: "The Abyss holds no terror. Few deities remain, yes – but each surpasses mortal comprehension. Even I pale before their might."

She recognized the necessity to curb their wild speculations – even stoic Hades radiated turbulent thoughts.

"You are death incarnate! The supreme sovereign of our realm!" Osiris protested, his tone bordering on defiance.

"You’ve known only underworld governance since creation," she countered. "The East harbors a deity my equal in power." Her androgynous voice, slightly husky, echoed strangely in the stone vastness.

"Our realm exists tethered yet separate from the source world. Its fragility bars divine presence – even Death must constrain her power to walk among mortals." Her gaze swept across them. "Ancient ones awaken – deities second only to the creator goddess stir, though they linger unseen."

"Then what troubles you, Death?" Hades’ question cut through the silence. The source world’s mysteries mattered less than their lord’s disquiet.

"…Not all divinities perished."

Her words fell like tombstones. "During the twilight of the deities – before I assumed Death’s mantle – I joined the siege against the fallen ones."

"Fallen?" Satan leaned forward. The title resonated uncomfortably with his own nature.

"Aye." Her nod held the weight of epochs. "The Abyss’ corruption spread like plague during those sealed eons. Gods both combatant and neutral succumbed, their divine authority… severed."

"Many?" Hades’ brow furrowed.

The shadows seemed to deepen as fragmented memories stirred – visions of once-glorious beings warped beyond recognition, their divine sparks guttering in the endless night.

“Many, accounting for over thirty percent of the deities at that time. With such overwhelming numbers of fallen gods, the supreme deity had to intervene to strip them of their authorities, finally sealing them in the world’s reverse side.”

“Soon after, several powerful deities from East and West collectively decided to sever the source world’s connection to external realms and cut off the source power.”

“You fear these deities might resurface?”

“Indeed.”

“The supreme deity declared long ago – those born of the source world should perish within it. That’s why only seals were applied without further intervention.”

Hades and his companions found no contradiction here. Their inherited memories confirmed the creator goddess hadn’t appeared since the world’s formation.

“We’ll exercise utmost caution.”

“There’s… something I’m hesitant to mention.” Satan blurted out, seizing the moment before discussions concluded.

“Speak freely.”

Ye Linlang didn’t mind addressing more concerns. These fledgling deities navigated chaotic times, and uncertainty became their constant companion.

Other council members glared daggers at their impulsive brother – how dare he burden Father God with trivialities!

“My Gods of Death report humans perceiving them, attempting communication to access the realm of the dead.”

This phenomenon occurred across multiple domains, though most considered it beneath divine attention. Satan’s audacity in mentioning it first made Hades resolve silently to dunk this impertinent sibling in the river of the dead post-council.

“Additionally, we’ve detected a six-century-old specter.”

Satan’s porcelain features framed by raven curls gave him an aristocratic air as he inquired, “How should we handle such ancient spirits?”

“Have you all encountered similar cases?” Ye Linlang surveyed the group, though ignoring three towering deities proved impossible.

“Human interference with death’s duties has been noted.” Hades stepped forward as others nodded, delivering his summation with statesmanlike gravity.

“Six hundred years…”

Recognition flickered through Ye Linlang – this must be the wraith she’d stationed by the witch. Before she could muse further, Satan’s eager gaze demanded response.

“Your proposed solution?”

The young deity faltered, having sought conversation rather than contemplating actual policy. “Perhaps… recruit her? Hell lacks cupbearers. Or force reincarnation.”

“Proceed discreetly.”

Ye Linlang knew discretion eluded Satan’s nature – precisely why she permitted it. If Eastern afterlife justice inspired fear, Western realms needed equivalent dread.

“Father God…” Satan knelt, fingers brushing her hem with saccharine reverence. “Might I visit the mortal plane?”

Silence lingered. Among these deities, only the boyish Satan dared such informality. His youthful appearance – contrasting others’ mature forms – indeed suited such petitions, though Ye Linlang rebuked herself for the thought. Twenty-five! Hardly matronly!

Her knuckle rapped his forehead sharply, leaving crimson bloom on pale skin.

“Address me properly.”

Satan remained oblivious that his audacious act had provoked the ire of his elder brothers behind him. Now it wasn’t merely Hades who wished to drown him in the river of the dead – the others shared this sentiment.

This impudent brat actually dared to act coquettishly before Father God? Unthinkable! How had they not conceived such a stratagem? The sheer indignity of Father God actually stroking the wretch’s head was enough to make any deity’s blood boil.

"Stroking…?" Ye Linlang found herself baffled by the divine thought processes, momentarily pitying the troublemaker at her side.

Little scamp, your brothers are practically bursting with fraternal affection to share.

"I want to go."

"Please?" Satan’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.

"Will there be complications?" Ye Linlang glanced down at the youth leaning against her knee, remarking lightly, "Your temperament remains rash."

"I’ll control my temper completely! Please say yes?" The pleading tone intensified.

Without Father God’s consent, Satan couldn’t venture forth. His self-imposed seals held limited duration – true freedom required divine approval.

As a self-professed aesthete, Ye Linlang found her creations’ charms difficult to resist, particularly when said creation gazed up with such earnest eyes. Considering Satan’s mission regarding Waylin in the mortal realm, she deemed temporary indulgence permissible.

Her fingers brushed Satan’s left earlobe, conjuring a black jade earring shaped like an ouroboros – the serpent eternally devouring its tail.

"Don’t linger overlong."

"My eternal gratitude! I’ll bring back the finest gifts!" Satan’s mind raced with plans to harvest mortal flowers he’d seen Father God admire.

The gift-giving ignited covert jealousy. Behind Blackman’s stoic façade, girlish envy bubbled like pink champagne. Osiris maintained his spring-breeze smile while plotting to liberate the earring from his detested sibling.

Hades? Hades maintained glacial composure. At least superficially.

"Attend your duties in the realm of the dead."

"By your will, Death’s Sovereign."

When the retinue departed, Ye Linlang removed her golden gemstone mask. Her striking features softened the obsidian haze swirling in her pupils.

Twirling the mask contemplatively, she lingered in pensive stillness.

"System. Status of the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons?"

【Commencing in 03:00.】

"Excellent. Preparations await."

The mask reseated itself as she vanished, reappearing instantaneously in Ghostly Mountain’s obsidian throne room – the Underworld Empress enthroned amidst towering pillars carved with damned souls.

Fusang

As night claimed the sky:

"My eyes are bleeding from twelve hours of ceremonial tedium," Yang Xingyu groaned across Hu Mei’s bedspread. "And I didn’t even get to interrogate foreign extraordinary individuals!"

"Daoist Priest Li hasn’t uttered a single complaint," Hu Mei chuckled, adjusting her hairpin.

"He’s practically a meditation statue! My spine’s fossilized from that insufferable posture." The young man suddenly sprang upright. "Wait – the night fireworks festival! There’ll be performances, yes?"

"Shall we investigate?"

"Not tired anymore?" Hu Mei tilted her head.

"Going out to have fun never makes me tired."

"Wait here while I fetch Daoist Priest Li."

"Hold on! I haven’t started my live stream yet!" Hu Mei protested as Yang Xingyu darted out, his daily tasks forgotten in his eagerness.

"Relax! We’ll stream on the go – perfect for showing viewers Fusang’s fireworks festival!" Yang Xingyu called over his shoulder, slipping into shoes before rushing to the neighboring room.

Hu Mei pondered briefly before murmuring, "…That actually makes sense. We’ll broadcast during the trip then."

Li Canghai opened his door to find Yang Xingyu grinning brightly.

"Join us, Daoist! Staying in’s dreary."

"Where to?" The priest asked without refusal. His cultivation required no specific location.

"The streets – tonight’s festivities should be spectacular."

"Very well. I’ll bring my sword."

"Great! We’ll wait downstairs." Yang Xingyu waved, unsurprised by the weapon mention. Daoist Priest Li never traveled unarmed – rumors claimed he even slept with that long sword.

The streets pulsed with divine festival energy, daytime bustle transformed into nocturnal revelry by lantern glow and food aromas. Crowds swirled like earthly smoke against the night.

"Maybe bringing the Daoist wasn’t wise," Yang Xingyu muttered through a mouthful of jumbo oden, eyeing Li Canghai’s detached figure hovering beyond the throng.

"You think?" Hu Mei chirped between live stream comments, nibbling stolen skewers.

"Total chaos tonight! Shame about the moon though."

Yang Xingyu glanced upward as inky clouds swallowed the silver orb.

"Seasonal norm. Might rain later." He shrugged.

Li Canghai stood motionless, plain scabbard pressed to chest, stormy gaze locked on the shrouded sky. His perpetually active spiritual eyes revealed nothing, yet primal instinct screamed warnings.

"Ever heard Fusang’s Night Parade of a Hundred Demons legend?" Yang Xingyu swallowed oden, launching into web-sourced lore.

【Actual jealousy! Yang’s always near my goddess!】

【Goddess? Mei’s my queen! (Might pack more than you though)】

【Vibing as Yang’s skewer rn~~~】

【Heian period stuff right?】

【Googling…】

"During Fusang’s Heian period," Yang Xingyu dramatized, "humans and demons shared Kyoto – daylight for mortals, darkness for yōkai. At nightfall, their realms merged!"

He leaned into the camera, knowing post-Awakening audiences craved supernatural tales. "Powerful demons led hordes through darkened streets – the ‘Hundred’ being symbolic. Actual numbers? Way higher."

【Could be true?】

【Saw 30+ demons listed yesterday!】

【After Li’s captures, Fusang’s halfway to real Night Parade!】

【Our homeland’s blessed compared to Fusang’s chaos.】

【Freedom’s price? Try American gunfire…】

【Rich stay safe, poor stay in?】

"Stay on topic!" Yang Xingyu mock-scolded grinning viewers.

【Show us real demons!】

【Night march* idiot】

【Hear some demons crossdress… ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)】

【Mei’s outfit > any demon!】

【Daoist Li stream when???】