ATEG Chapter 129

“Do you still remember your wish?” Li Quan asked. He seemed to have completely disregarded Hundun’s words, his attention focused solely on Xu Huan before him.

“My wish?” Xu Huan exhaled a cold breath. “Was that truly my wish?”

He thought of the corpse in that desolate village — they had all been puppets in another’s hands. Believing themselves to be walking their own path, yet every move had been pulled by someone else’s strings. Everything he had done, everything he had experienced, everything he had possessed — Liang Kingdom wrested free from chaos, the Xuanqing Sect that had served as his right arm, Li Quan who had been a rare kindred spirit, Aunt Tiao who had helped him with sincere heart, AH Ci… which of these had not been a falsity? Which of these had not been destroyed?

Were his thoughts and feelings truly his own? Was the path he had chosen truly his own?

Who had been guiding him? Who had been controlling him? Who had been treating him as a chess piece in the palm of their hand, orchestrating his illusory life?

“Has your path truly been destroyed?” Li Quan sighed softly.

“Since it was never my path to begin with, why should it not be destroyed?” Not a trace of expression showed on Xu Huan’s rigid, cold face.

He took a step forward. Behind him, the water well collapsed with a thunderous roar, burying the stone stele along with it. He no longer needed anything here to mourn — and it would spare this place from any further disturbance.

“There is one more thing,” Hundun’s voice murmured softly at Li Quan’s ear. “After you fell all those years ago, in order to preserve the Xuanqing Sect, Xuanniao bound his own soul to it.”

When Changyang had fallen in those early days, the Xuanqing Sect that venerated him had suffered a devastating blow and nearly been destroyed. Xuanniao, by virtue of the unique nature of his totem form, had bound himself to the Xuanqing Sect — and it was this that had preserved the Sect in its then-precarious state. Had he not done so, the Xuanqing Sect would not have endured until later, when Hundun destroyed it once more.

The reason Hundun had merely cast Xuanniao’s soul into the poison pool to be slowly worn away, rather than directly annihilating it, was also for the sake of the Xuanqing Sect — he still needed to preserve a portion of the original, true Xuanqing Sect, so that he might use it as a connection to seek out the underworld.

“If the Xuanqing Sect were to be destroyed, that remnant soul of his would be utterly annihilated.”

“You are right.” Li Quan sighed to Xu Huan. “The Xuanqing Sect… should have been destroyed long ago.”

He suddenly reached out a hand and pushed. An unparalleled force swept Xu Huan up and sent him away from this place. Hundun was struck with sudden alarm — a terrible premonition arose within him. Though he did not know what Changyang intended to do, he instinctively reached out to stop him. He was a step too slow and failed to intercept, but the direction of Xu Huan’s trajectory was disrupted by his power, and it was no longer clear where he would land.

Atop the distant peak of Daqing Mountain, a brush materialized at Changyang’s fingertip. Its shaft was white as bone; its bristles appeared dipped in thick ink.

He seemed not to have heard Hundun’s words at all. He seemed utterly unconcerned with the Xuanqing Sect he had built with his own hands, utterly unconcerned with the last remnant soul of Xuanniao.

The brush fell. Heaven and earth rang out with a clear, resonant tone — like a string snapping, a qin shattering.

In that instant, all karmic threads in the world connected to the Xuanqing Sect dissolved entirely.

Every living being in the world with ties to the Xuanqing Sect — whether or not they had participated in it, whether or not they had come into contact with its secrets — felt something stir within them in that moment. The karmic bonds between all living beings and the Xuanqing Sect ripened in an instant: some died sudden and inexplicable deaths, some had their illnesses abruptly cured… all manner of strange phenomena manifested. Regardless of whether the time had come, every living being who had ever planted the karmic seeds of the Xuanqing Sect now received their corresponding fruits. This was the work of Changyang’s great divine power — the will of the god who had founded the Xuanqing Sect with his own hands.

When the brush stroke was complete, all karma was fulfilled. The Xuanqing ceased to exist.

In the midst of his shock and fury, Hundun found himself momentarily unable to react. The karmic threads between him and the Xuanqing Sect were not fulfilled — all karma directed at Hundun vanished into a churning mass of chaotic power, forever unable to bear fruit, and would instead act like a black hole, drawing in and tangling ever more karmic threads. Changyang’s brush had forcibly severed the karmic line between him and the Xuanqing Sect.

He could not understand it. How could Changyang — who had spent countless incalculable years building the Underworld, who had entangled himself in karma for the sake of all living beings — destroy the Xuanqing Sect with his own hands? Had he truly ceased to care about the Xuanqing Sect? Did he truly not care about Xuanniao?

But Changyang’s brush had already fallen. In this world, the Xuanqing Sect no longer existed.

This was not merely the disappearance of the Xuanqing Sect as a name. This was a complete and utter end on the level of karma. Those who had still existed within the Xuanqing Sect could no longer communicate in its name and by its methods; they could no longer be connected to one another through the Xuanqing Sect; they were utterly scattered. For everything connected to the Xuanqing Sect had come to a complete and final end.

****

On the Poison Mountain of Lu Kingdom, Mutou sat quietly deep within the mountain’s belly. He had long since grown accustomed to the cold silence of this place. Ever since a great rain several months ago had dissolved the bitter malevolent qi from the earth, the mortals who had come seeking him for the Soul-Breath Vine’s sap rarely came anymore. They would only visit the foot of the mountain on the occasional passing, and he could not blame them — their lives were already hard enough, and every scrap of free time had to be spent on mere survival.

Mutou understood them, and so he no longer waited at the foot of the mountain. Those who had gone out of their way to visit the foot of Poison Mountain simply to see him, upon discovering that the ugly immortal had left, would have no need to come again.

Mutou returned to the mountain’s belly, leaning against the Soul-Breath Vine that had coiled itself into a great tree, watching the beautiful poison fireflies dance. He had once grown accustomed to the cold silence of this place, but he had since tasted the flavor of warmth and company. He remembered the people who had come to find him; remembered the small child who had stroked the flowers blooming in the palm of his hand; remembered that one night beneath the full moon, stepping out of the poison cave and into the courtyard of Li Manor…

Mutou cradled a wine gourd, gave it a gentle shake, and listened to the sound of liquid inside. He carefully worked the stopper out a little, pressed his nose to the gap and inhaled, then sealed it again, and set it carefully back into a hollow at the base of the Soul-Breath Vine.

Upon the broad, thick roots of the Soul-Breath Vine, there were many hollows woven from tendrils. These hollows now held many things: a kite, a spinning lantern, several picture books, several clay figurines… Some had been brought by Ding Qin, others had been entrusted to Ding Qin by Jin Yan and Wen Qianzi to bring on their behalf. The environment here at Poison Mountain was peculiar; Ding Qin had not yet been able to open a large enough passage, and could only send small things across from afar.

He had once grown accustomed to cold silence, but now he had something to look forward to.

Mutou sat at the roots of the Soul-Breath Vine, tilting his head back to watch the fireflies drifting in quiet dance among the luminous white tendrils above.

When he was willing to wait, even the time spent trapped in this deathly poison cave became meaningful.

But then he suddenly felt a wave of immense unease. He felt something vitally important within him beginning to disappear — a feeling of emptiness and cold desolation more profound than being trapped in the poison pool for tens of millions of years. What was that… what was that?

He felt as though he himself were disappearing too, and he could not help but feel afraid, desperately wanting to grasp hold of something. He reached out instinctively; his fingertips touched the wine gourd on the Soul-Breath Vine — and the wine gourd suddenly burst apart, the wine inside igniting entirely into flame. Only then did Mutou realize that his own body had caught fire.

Not only him — the tough, dense Soul-Breath Vine was burning too. Bright flames engulfed the entire vine, illuminating the dim cave with such brilliance that it was like the day a god had descended.

The leaves and branches of the Soul-Breath Vine shattered beneath the flames into sparks of fire, vivid crimson colors dancing in the rushing heat. The sight was so beautiful, yet the tenacious vine let out a moan as though it could no longer bear the weight.

Its severed branches could no longer support its heavy body. It was only a vine, after all — even if it had piled itself up to the height of a great tree, it fell faster than a tree ever would.

Mutou’s treasures were shaken loose by the vine’s convulsions and slid into the water, dissolving the instant they touched the poison liquid in the pool.

Mutou leapt in panic into the poison pool and desperately splashed the pool water onto the Soul-Breath Vine — but the water could not extinguish the flames on the vine, nor the flames on his own body.

He could only watch helplessly. Watch as the ancient vine, which had spent tens of millions of years piling itself up to the cave’s ceiling to touch the sunlight, collapsed in flames.

He saw the base of the ancient vine. He saw the Soul-Breath Vine coffin at its roots. He saw the remains within the coffin.

So it was he who was to perish. Mutou came to a dazed understanding. He had inherited the last remnant soul of those remains — and so when that final remnant soul of the remains’ owner was extinguished, he too would be extinguished.

He looked at the flames burning on his body — burning on his gnarled, ugly wooden knots, burning on the surface of the pool water — and the clear, terrifying poison liquid was rapidly drying up beneath the flames.

He would disappear soon, just like this pool water. Mutou gazed at the mountain cave, illuminated so brilliantly by the flames.

In the end, there had only ever been himself here alone.

****

At the foot of Poison Mountain.

The people here would never see the ugly immortal again. Beside the ugly immortal’s thatched hut, they erected a crude stone statue in his honor. The people said that the disaster had ended and the ugly immortal had returned to the mountain to cultivate — he had only descended the mountain to save people, after all; now that the disaster was over, the immortal would naturally have to return. And so they erected a statue here for the immortal, so that they might continue to remember him and give thanks, just as if the immortal were still there.

Meng Er walked toward the foot of Poison Mountain with a load of firewood on his back. It was a few extra steps out of his way, but a small detour was no great trouble — why not come pay his respects to the ugly immortal while he was at it?

The winter road was slippery, and Meng Er kept his head down to watch his footing, when he suddenly had a feeling and looked up. His mouth fell open in horror.

Poison Mountain… was on fire?!

Meng Er threw down his load of firewood and his instinct was to run — but just as he was about to, he noticed something wrong. It was winter, and the mountains had gone bare; the gaunt branches of the leafless trees looked grayish-brown from a distance. Yet within this mountain fire that seemed to have set the whole mountain ablaze, why was the mountain growing greener, little by little?

Buds burst from the branches, and quickly unfurled into shoots; before long, flowers broke into bloom. Tender green sprouts pushed up from the earth, shooting up like children leaping for joy. Amid the raging crimson flames covering the entire mountain, they grew with vibrant life — as though those were not flames at all, but a sweet and gentle rain.

In the midst of this miracle, a profound wave of wonder rose within Meng Er. He stood rooted to the spot in awe, when suddenly a clear and resounding cry rang out in his ears.

He saw, rising from within those flames, a great and beautiful bird taking flight.

Heaven’s destined Xuanniao — a phoenix reborn in fire.