Chapter 50

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Chapter 50: Title

"……"

Xi Ning’s face momentarily paled as his earlier thoughts about domestic tranquility were interrupted, yet he swiftly composed himself.

As Deputy Director of the Special Bureau, he’d witnessed countless anomalies and handled innumerable reports requiring his attention daily.

"Report the details."

"Understood."

Since the Awakening of Spiritual Energy, the Bureau had dispatched multiple scientific research teams to primitive jungles nationwide for sample collection, primarily studying Spiritual Energy’s effects on flora and fauna in these isolated regions.

While most jungles had been surveyed, Shennongjia remained incomplete – especially after reported spatial fluctuations and distortions in the area.

The phenomenon’s instability had hindered proper investigation, necessitating repeated deployments of personnel.

"Casualty count?"

"Fifteen missing."

"Search protocols initiated?"

"Search parties are active. Requesting authorization for rescue team deployment and potential recall of remaining scientific research team members."

"Maintain current positions until rescue team arrival for proper transition. Prioritize researcher safety above all – no additional incidents permitted."

"Confirmed."

The Special Bureau mobilized swiftly, activating pre-established contingency measures.

"Daoist Priest Li? We require your expertise regarding an emerging situation…"

By afternoon, equipped personnel boarded aircraft bound for Shennongjia’s remote coordinates, where aerial deployment remained the only viable access.

Li Canghai braced against the helicopter’s downdraft, his voice cutting through rotor noise as the aircraft stabilized: "Target zone confirmed?"

"Potential positional variance under five hundred meters."

A crew member handed him gear while others checked parachutes. "Locator device for tracking, supplemented with provisions."

The Daoist accepted the pack with a curt nod.

*

Moonlight bathed Shennongjia that night with unusual brilliance, the lunar disk hovering like a polished silver mirror.

"Such perfect roundness tonight."

"Natural on the fifteenth moon," Xu Li remarked, turning skewers over crackling coals.

The Ghost in Red sighed at the celestial sight unchanged through eight centuries, though mortal realms beneath had transformed beyond recognition.

A cool autumn breeze swept through the night, its chill insignificant to the gathered companions.

"Trouble brews in Shennongjia," Yang Xingyu murmured, basting chicken wings with uneasy strokes.

"Would’ve mobilized more than Daoist Li for true crisis," Qiao Feiyu countered, inspecting his blade’s edge.

Hu Mei froze mid-bite, chicken leg forgotten as she squinted skyward. "The moon… does it look distorted to you?"

"The moon? What’s so unusual about it? Hasn’t it always been like this?" Yang Xingyu tilted his head upward.

"Though tonight’s moon does appear unusually large and full."

Before the Awakening of Spiritual Energy, glimpsing celestial bodies in Capital City’s urban core required rare fortune. Now, every evening revealed crystalline stars and radiant moonlight.

"Wait – don’t you notice the moon’s hue shifting tonight?"

"It’s gradually intensifying toward golden," Hu Mei murmured absently, her gaze fixed on the lunar sphere while grappling with inexplicable emotions.

Ethereal strands cascaded from the heavens – not quite rain, but luminous essence flowing from the moon itself.

"What’s this?" Yang Xingyu stretched curious fingers toward the descending radiance, only to watch it elude his grasp.

"Why can’t I touch it?"

"Let me try," Hu Mei extended her palm. The moonbeams alighted upon her, dissolving into her being.

"Are you unharmed?"

"Perfectly fine. It’s… comforting," she replied, instinctively settling into lotus position for meditation – an impulse foreign to her restless nature that normally resisted two-hour cultivation sessions.

From the Eighth Floor observatory of the Special Bureau, Leng Xingwen observed through panoramic glass as lunar essence permeated creation while bypassing humankind.

"The imperial nectar… manifests at last."

This celestial phenomenon surpassed ancient records’ grandeur. Unlike historical accounts describing sixty-year cycles lasting mere moments, this cascade persisted through moonlit hours until dawn’s arrival.

By morning, the event dominated digital headlines alongside bizarre collateral occurrences:

Household pets and potted plants exhibited metamorphic changes after exposure. "Fatty," the Bureau-documented orange cat, demonstrated heightened cognition. Forests teemed with altered flora and fauna. Whether this proved fortunate remained debatable – as the phenomenon occurred during Zhongxia’s nighttime, no foreign parallels had surfaced.

"He’s slept through the night. Should we be concerned?" Yang Xingyu turned to Youyang.

"Physically, he’s sound," she reassured. "His system absorbed more imperial nectar than it could process, triggering protective dormancy." A knowing smile formed. "When consciousness returns, expect remarkable developments."

Leng Xingwen had anticipated the imperial nectar’s emergence after Xiao Tianji’s Weibo post, though not its immediacy. Ancient scrolls described this essence as Goddess Nuwa’s gift to spirit cultivators – a hexagenarian phenomenon awakening primal intelligence in flora and fauna, enabling spiritual ascension.

Humanity remained unaffected.

"The Dao already favors mortals excessively," Leng Xingwen mused. "Were they susceptible to imperial nectar, spirit cultivators would face extinction."

"Young Master Leng," Shi Fan pressed urgently, "Your archives mention the imperial nectar, but what of the Mountain and Sea Realm? Are there truly no clues?"

The team understood the nectar’s spirit cultivator connections through Leng Xingwen’s briefing, yet none anticipated such seismic repercussions. Zhongxia’s sprawling territories – 960,000 km² of landmass, 400,000 km² maritime claims, countless ecosystems – left officials apprehensive about last night’s transformative potential.

"The Mountain and Sea Realm…" Leng Xingwen sighed. "Forgive my ignorance, but I’ve no relevant knowledge." His gaze turned speculative. "Perhaps only the prescient Xiao Tianji comprehends its nature."

"Could you consult him? His Weibo post implies familiarity with the Realm, does it not?"

“I’ve considered that, but Xiao Tianji’s temperament… If he wished to speak of it, he wouldn’t weave riddles for us.” Leng Xingwen rapped his fan lightly, offering justification for Xiao Tianji.

“Delving into the secrets of heaven isn’t a matter to be shared lightly. ‘The secrets of heaven cannot be disclosed’ is no mere saying. For him to divulge even fragments of his divinations is perilous.”

“Do you imagine the name Xiao Tianji is inherited through generations? A single misstep in unraveling celestial mysteries could cost one’s life.”

Lin Jing, having listened quietly nearby, tapped the table to gather attention. “Then does the Mountain and Sea Realm share ties with the Classic of Mountains and Seas? Their names differ by but a single word.”

“That revelation lies in your hands. To affirm or deny might sway your judgment…” Leng Xingwen offered no concrete answer.

*

Yun Han had joined the scientific research team under his professor’s guidance, his role limited to logistical support rather than advanced study.

The depths of Shennongjia were inhospitable—swarming with serpents and vermin, their makeshift camp serving as the sole refuge.

On this ordinary-seeming day, laden with survival gear and provisions, he trailed Professor Wang deeper into the primordial woods.

Their mission: measuring spatial fluctuations and conducting tri-daily sample collections.

Shennongjia had undergone drastic transformation within a month. Since the Awakening of Spiritual Energy, vegetation sprawled unchecked while creatures grew unsettlingly large.

Having witnessed this metamorphosis firsthand, Yun Han understood collective anxieties—no one desired encounters with “aberrations” here.

Beasts warped beyond nature. Flora twisted into unrecognizable forms.

“Xiao Yun, prepare the instruments. We commence shortly.” The professor’s voice carried ahead. Their sampling rituals often spanned entire days.

“Understood.”

As Yun Han began unloading equipment, a mere blink’s duration altered reality.

Just moments ago, they’d been in the jungle—how had they suddenly ended up on a stony shore? Where vanished the professor? The research team? The guarding soldiers?

Clutching his half-lowered backpack, Yun Han scanned the alien surroundings. Barren stone stretched around him, a river chattering seven paces away, boundless plains swallowing the horizon.

The sun’s glare drilled into his skull, conjuring vertigo.

“Illusion?” Though devoted to academic pursuits, Yun Han knew of the world’s darker edges.

Fox-spun glamours. Mind-bending trickery.

A vicious pinch left his arm throbbing. Stones beneath his palms grated with unforgiving authenticity.

“Professor!” His shouts dissolved into emptiness.

Collapsing onto the rocks, he inventoried his backpack—one day’s rations, a compass meant for woodland navigation.

“No signal…” His wry chuckle echoed. Zhongxia’s omnipresent towers had granted full reception even in Shennongjia’s heart. Now, dead silence.

He recalled whispered theories—government suspicions of a spatial gateway here. Had he blundered into their sought-after threshold?

Plucking a stone, he hurled it at the river. The splash glittered with mocking finality. What passed for adventure in tales felt less poetic when isolation pressed close.

Yun Han narrowed his eyes, noticing movement on the water’s surface where he’d thrown the stone. Clutching his backpack, he edged forward for a better look.

After advancing two meters, he glimpsed something beneath the ripples.

A figure erupted from the depths, sending Yun Han tumbling backward in shock. His breath caught as he gaped at the half-emerged creature – a shimmering torso blending into scales where human legs should be.

"Holy hell—a mermaid?!"

Had he crossed dimensions instead of merely entering some strange pocket space? A water monster would’ve made more sense than this mythical being!

Adjusting his glasses, Yun Han studied the river’s occupant. The humanoid upper body flowed into an opalescent fish tail flanked by slender arms. Moonlit hair cascaded over shoulders dusted with pearlescent scales, pointed ears twitching as it tilted its head.

Beautiful, yes, though notably androgynous in form.

The creature released a warbling cry resembling an infant’s wail. Yun Han stayed rooted, realizing his stone must have disturbed its underwater dwelling. There was an unsettling familiarity about those angular features…

Curiosity apparently mutual, the mermaid drifted closer to shore. Yun Han scrambled back, putting five paces between them. Before he could breathe easier, the river exploded in a geyser of foam.

A nightmare hybrid surged forth – serpentine head snapping at empty air where the mermaid had been, six clawed limbs churning water, eyes bulging grotesquely beneath horselike ears.

"Behind you!"

The mermaid vanished beneath the surface, whether heeding his warning or not. The abomination fixed lamprey-like eyes on Yun Han before sinking back, constrained by some unseen aquatic boundary.

"That thing… it’s straight from the Classic of Mountains and Seas!"

Hands trembling, Yun Han pulled up the ancient bestiary on his phone. Since the Awakening of Spiritual Energy, these texts had become survival guides rather than myths. He’d memorized entries during his expedition in signal-dead Shennongjia.

"…creatures of Ruan lineage inhabit northern marshes: fish-bodied, serpent-headed, six-limbed. Their horse-eyed gaze wards off evil spirits…"

"…sea-dwelling lingyu bear human visages upon scaled forms, limbs like mortals, voices mimicking children’s cries…"

The screen blurred as panic rose. Were these primordial waters? Some pocket dimension from the Classic? Blue Star’s geography held no such places since the Awakening.

His throat tightened. Dozens had been with him during the research accident. Why had he alone been spat out here?

"Monsters in the river, gods know what prowls the woods." He pressed cold fingers to his eyelids. Survival training kicked in – assess, adapt. The old world’s logic died with the first spiritual surge.

Twilight painted the rocky shore in long shadows. Beyond lay a forest promising firewood and fresh dangers. Classic of Mountains and Seas listed tree-dwelling horrors, but hypothermia would kill faster than most creatures.

He gathered driftwood at the forest’s edge, movements efficient. The mermaid’s piercing eyes haunted him. That momentary connection before the attack…

A glint of red foliage snapped him from contemplation. Between twisted roots grew a plant straight from the Classic’s herbal compendium – vermillion leaves veined with gold, unmistakably…

He carefully gathered some plants and returned. Their fruits bore a striking resemblance to those mentioned in the Classic of Mountains and Seas that supposedly alleviated hunger. If these were the same, at least his food problem might be solved.

Yun Han found a silver lining in his predicament.

Perched on the rocky shore, he tracked the sun’s gradual westward drift across the sky when a crystalline avian cry pierced the air. Before he could locate the source, the glowing orb above morphed – wings unfurling, talons emerging – transforming into a feathered creature that soared into the distance.

The sun had become a bird… and flown away.

A primal chill gripped Yun Han as he scrambled to ignite his prearranged bonfire with trembling hands. Gnawing on flavorless ration bars under the starless sky, he clung to the fire’s dim glow like a lifeline.

…

While Yun Han adapted to this strange realm mirroring the Classic’s descriptions, his scattered expedition members faced grimmer fortunes elsewhere.

"Professor Zhang, where in heaven’s name are we?" A camouflage-clad soldier tightened bandages around his companion’s arm, their boots crunching near the mutilated remains of an avian behemoth. The handheld RPG’s smoking barrel told its own story.

Three soldiers formed a protective triangle around the scholar. Without their heavy artillery, they’d have been devoured by the sky-diving monstrosity now lying in gory ruin. Only direct brain destruction via rocket blast had stopped the creature.

"That spatial anomaly must have displaced us," Professor Zhang adjusted his cracked glasses. "This can’t be Blue Star anymore. Evolution doesn’t produce such specimens back home."

"…It matches the Gudiiao descriptions from the Classic." The soldier gestured at the twenty-meter wingspan frozen in death. "Even grounded, this thing could’ve slaughtered platoons."

Kneeling beside the carcass, the professor examined steel-hard quills impervious to bullet marks and scythe-like talons capable of crushing tanks. "Our location? Unknown. But Leng Xingwen’s theories about secret realms suddenly seem less absurd."

As dusk fell, the entire group witnessed the celestial spectacle – their sun folding into avian form before vanishing beyond the horizon.

*

Yun Han fought sleep’s lure through the endless night, river monsters’ imagined snarls keeping him vigilant. Dawn revealed a new avian sun rising eastward, the feathered orb tucking its limbs to resume its celestial post.

When bubbling waters disturbed the river’s surface, Yun Han’s hand flew to his knife – until recognizing the emerging mermaid. Her melodic trills meant nothing to him, but seemed more communicative than yesterday’s random chirps.

After multiple failed attempts, the aquatic creature vanished beneath the waves, resurfacing to hurl a thrashing fish that slapped against Yun Han’s chest with wet smacks.

"Was this necessary?" He peeled the flopping creature from his soaked shirt, fish tail imprinting red marks on his skin. The mermaid’s tilted head and bubbling laughter suggested this might be interspecies humor.

The mermaid pointed to her mouth.

“Is this for me to eat?” Yun Han looked down at the fish in his hand, which was nearly lifeless from dehydration. Though it resembled ordinary fish, he wondered if it was truly edible.

A mermaid offering him fish felt disturbingly symbolic – creatures of the sea preying on their own kind. Yet seeing the dying embers of his fire, he decided to take the chance.

*

“What cursed place is this?” Xiao Chen pressed against a boulder, her camouflage uniform blending with the stone. She kept perfectly still beneath the circling raptor whose shadow darkened the ground.

Dangers had haunted her since yesterday’s arrival, but this predator posed the gravest threat. The sheer size of the avian creature told her any confrontation would be fatal.

The earth suddenly trembled. With a thunderous flap of wings, the raptor abandoned its hunt and soared toward distant commotion.

“What now…” Her brows furrowed as a primordial roar shook the valley – a sound like rending mountains and snapping oaks.

Peering from her shelter, she froze.

A golden dragon coiled through storm-wracked skies, locked in mortal combat with an obsidian-feathered phoenix. Their entwined forms blotted out the sun, claws and flames tearing at the heavens.

She’d witnessed dragons before. The whole Zhongxia nation had watched in awe during the Awakening of Spiritual Energy, when leviathans danced among the clouds.

But this…this was different.

Three days she’d wandered this endless canyon, its labyrinthine walls mocking her progress. The battling titans above dwarfed even this massive gorge – the fleeing raptor now seemed insignificant as a sparrow.

An unnatural silence gripped the valley. No insect chirped, no creature stirred. Only the mournful wind whistling through stone accompanied the celestial battle’s soundtrack of thunder and shrieking feathers.

Her hand brushed the near-empty satchel. They’d packed light for Professor Chen’s Scientific Research expedition – rations for three days at most. Without water, death would come swifter than any beast.

*

Three days passed.

The eternal clash reached its crescendo beneath bruised skies. Through gaps in the rain clouds, glimpses of gleaming scales and smoldering plumage flickered like dying stars.

Though no scholar of myths, Xiao Chen recognized the phoenix’s silhouette – yet this creature’s darkness defied all tales of fiery rebirth.

When the storm finally broke, she caught silver threads of rain in her canteen, never taking eyes from the roiling heavens. The downpour tasted of ozone and ancient grudges.

A triumphant screech pierced the clouds. The golden dragon fell like a meteor, impact tremors reaching Xiao Chen’s shelter though it crashed leagues away.

…

“You lost.”

The black phoenix alighted gracefully, obsidian feathers repelling both rain and dirt. A disdainful shake sent water droplets fleeing her form.

“So I did.” The dragon’s once-majestic frame now spanned mere hundreds of feet, golden blood seeping into thirsty earth.

“Must you rush this madness?” The phoenix’s voice carried unexpected concern, belying their recent blood feud.

“How many eons must we wait?” The dragon lifted its scarred head, wounds glittering with liquid sunlight. “That fledgling world needs time to withstand our presence.”

"But this path you tread is fraught with peril."

"To abandon all your cultivation and journey to the source world as a mere soul… How many eons would it take to reclaim tier nine power?" Phoenix exhaled softly over the dragon’s wounds.

Golden blood ceased flowing as the injuries momentarily sealed.

Yet this respite proved fleeting – the coagulated blood fractured like autumn frost, fresh crimson soon weeping through.

"Cease your counsel," rumbled the golden dragon, his languid tone belying mortal wounds. "When my flame extinguishes, safeguard the Dragon Pearl."

"Return it when next we meet beneath twin suns."

"Your faith may be misplaced." Phoenix preened her iridescent plumes with meticulous care. "A reborn soul drinks from Lethe’s waters. No memory of pearls or promises shall remain."

"Ten thousand winters have tested our bond." The dragon shifted painfully, scales grinding like tectonic plates. "Your beak strikes with ancestral bitterness – does ancient rancor yet linger?"

"Were that true," she snapped, obsidian eyes flashing, "your essence would already scatter like star-dust."

"How long remains?"

"Three ke." The celestial beast coiled around the mountain’s crown, gazing upon eternal vistas. "Millennia have rendered even wonder mundane."

As the final grains fell through Time’s glass, golden radiance enveloped the leviathan’s departing soul, hurling it through dimensional rifts. Vital essence cascaded down sacred slopes, nourishing the Mountain and Sea Realm – inevitable requiem for all primal beings.

Cultivation dissipated like morning mists, spiritual energy evaporating as the vessel emptied. Phoenix watched impassively until celestial veils parted, then tenderly plucked the Reverse Scale from her companion’s jaw.

The Dragon Pearl materialized in argent brilliance, condensing mountains of flesh and rivers of ichor into crystalline perfection. Where a colossus once loomed, only jewel and guardian remained.

With shimmering transformation, Phoenix assumed human guise – raven tresses cascading over dark robes, sleeves swallowing starlight as she pocketed the relic.

"Fool."

Her whisper rode zephyrs to ancestral altars across the realm, stirring ancient demons from aeonic slumber with tidings of draconic demise.

*

"Still no trace?" Xi Ning’s voice crackled through the satellite phone.

"None." Li Canghai scanned mist-shrouded Shennongjia forests from his treetop vantage. "The spatial fluctuations show no anomalies."

"Perhaps the ancient practitioners…"

"Already consulted. They claim no secret realm mirrors these disappearances." The phone creaked under Xi Ning’s grip as he fought to steady himself. Panic served neither missing nor rescue team.

"An alternative approach," Li Canghai proposed, watching storm clouds coalesce. "Huixin."

"Huixin?"

"The seer who communed with deities. This transcends our understanding." The researcher adjusted his glasses, unease coiling in his gut like restless serpents. "There’s… something here. Something old."

Xi Ning pondered his words for a moment. Huixin had indeed witnessed the divine—Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara herself, the embodiment of boundless mercy in Zhongxia’s myths.

“Very well. I’ll take responsibility for this,” Xi Ning declared.

Zhongxia cradled two legendary rivers in its embrace: the Yangtze and the Yellow River. The latter, revered as the “Mother River,” birthed the dawn of ancient civilization along its fertile banks.

“Behold—the Hukou Waterfall of the Yellow River…”

A group of backpack-clad youths stood safely distant, awestruck by the river’s thunderous descent. The primal force of churning yellow waters held them spellbound.

“Could fish survive in these rapids?”

“They do,” answered a bespectacled young man.

“This journey’s lifted my spirits,” another sighed. “Like the river’s washed away my troubles.”

“There’s a myth about Hukou,” the group’s leader—a sharp-eyed woman—turned to her companions. “Shall I share it?”

“What legend?”

“Of carps leaping over the dragon gate.”

“The dragon gate? Here?”

“Long ago…”

Carps that vaulted the Yellow River’s dragon gate would ascend as celestial dragons. The Hukou’s three-tiered cascade, with its bone-shattering drops, became this mythical threshold. Fail, and the river’s wrath would dash hopeful fish against jagged stones, leaving only crimson smears on unyielding rock.

Though the tale spread through generations, true success remained rarer than phoenix feathers. The Yellow River’s churning silt veiled its secrets well, its opaque currents hiding mysteries beneath.

“Look there!” A sudden shout pierced the roar. Countless silvery forms breached the surface—a shimmering legion stretching beyond sight. “Since when does the Yellow River teem like this?”

“Back up!” Someone dragged their friends from the shore as the river transformed. Calm waters now seethed with unnatural fury, though no storm darkened the skies.

What began as scattered fish soon became an aquatic avalanche—scales glinting like liquid metal across the surging expanse.

“Did… did my story cause this?” The woman lowered her phone, recording forgotten. Mere coincidence, she told herself. Had to be.

Yet on the treacherous riverbank where others feared to tread, a lone figure stood unfazed. The Yellow River’s angry waves curled away from her casual attire as if repelled by invisible hands. None among the retreating crowd noticed this solitary observer.

“Coincidence, little storyteller?” Ye Linlang chuckled behind her sunglasses, catching the woman’s muttered words. The tinted lenses came off, revealing eyes that held eons of river secrets. Around them, the waters roared their ancient song.