ATEG Chapter 80.1

The full moon moved silently across the sky, gradually rising from the treetops to the zenith.

Its reflection in the water was splashed into a handful of bright droplets by the frolicking. Jin Yan was already drunk, leaning crookedly against Hou Li and babbling nonsense, annoying Hou Li so much that he kept stuffing pastries into his mouth one after another. The little demons were tumbling about in disarray. Bai Hong and Jin Liushan huddled together chatting idly, while Wen Qianzi, after drinking a full cup of wine, was dizzy and clinging to Jin Liushan’s head, refusing to come down.

Li Chi sat alone on a stone chair, wine cup in one hand, head tilted back gazing at the moon.

Whether mortal beings were joyful or sorrowful, awake or dreaming, the Taiyin Star followed the same course.

(TL: 太阴星 literally means “Great Yin Star” or “Moon Star.”)

Li Chi tilted his head back and drank the wine in his cup, then sent out a portion of his divine consciousness to probe into the Dream-Eating Tapir’s dreamscape.

……

A thin crescent moon hung in the sky, like a small, narrow tear in the pitch-black canopy of heaven.

This was not the sky of reality, but the Dream-Eating Tapir’s dreamscape.

This was a dream realm where black seeped into red, like fresh blood flowing from a scorched and cracked body. In the first layer of the dreamscape, there was nothing.

Pure, absolute darkness, without any scenery, without any objects. Even perception was blurred. There was only a voice, intermittently expounding, like a communication spell about to break.

“They are capturing us… they want to artificially create a deity of dreams, they want to find a certain place, they cannot find it, so they want to artificially create such a place in the dreamscape, they…”

The Dream-Eating Tapir’s voice echoed in the darkness. Li Chi listened quietly. These fragmented pieces of information soon began to repeat, the content becoming increasingly broken, until finally only a single sentence remained, endlessly repeating.

“…They are capturing us… they are capturing us… they are capturing us…”

The constantly repeating voice formed a strange and eerie rhythm, continuously assaulting the listener’s divine consciousness, like a heart in the process of shattering, each beat filled with noise. If one could not withstand this assault, they could only withdraw from the dreamscape, unable to perceive the entrance to the second layer.

This was a filter. Shuoyue had realized this, which was why she had not continued into the second layer of the dreamscape. The Dream-Eating Tapir had set up a filter in the first layer because the content of the second layer required the one entering to possess divine consciousness strong enough to resist such an assault. And at that time, she could not reveal any weakness.

“They are capturing us, they are capturing us, they are capturing us, they…”

The Dream-Eating Tapir’s voices layered together, gradually forming a cacophony of white noise. When all the sounds merged into one, a faint shattering sound suddenly rang out.

Ice rivers cracking, bones breaking—after that single sound, all the voices disappeared. In that pitch-black dreamscape, a crack appeared, curved and narrow, like a sharp wound.

It was a crescent moon.

Li Chi pointed with his finger, and the darkness shattered abruptly.

Like ink dissolving in water, the silent dreamscape suddenly bloomed into a clamor.

This was the second layer of the dreamscape.

The crescent moon hung high, stars scattered in disarray. The lights of the human world gradually dimmed from prosperity, and the power of dreams rose throughout the world.

A spicy taste, tinged with a hint of salty fragrance and numbing sensation, spread through his mouth and divine consciousness… This strange, thick flavor was almost like drinking a mouthful of heavily spiced, oil-laden hot pot broth.

“…Too spicy, too spicy! I don’t like the taste of fear!” The Dream-Eating Tapir was complaining, and the one entering the dream also felt that thick taste and emotion.

The context naturally surfaced in his divine consciousness—the Dream-Eating Tapir had just swallowed a nightmare, a practice piece by the Dream-Weaving Spider.

Li Chi observed this dreamscape. From the Dream-Eating Tapir’s perspective, this was not just a dreamscape woven by the Dream-Eating Tapir—this was a complete segment of memory he had extracted, containing all of the Dream-Eating Tapir’s experiences, emotional fluctuations, and thoughts during this period of his life… The Dream-Eating Tapir had not tried to hide anything. He no longer cared. If someone could excavate something from this memory that he himself had not discovered, that would be all the better.

It was precisely because of this that entering the second layer of the dreamscape required a filter.

This memory was so profound, its intricacy almost equivalent to another life. Thus, when this overly rich dreamscape descended, any cultivator whose divine consciousness was not solid enough might become lost within it.

When a person’s every thought and feeling became identical to the Dream-Eating Tapir’s, were they themselves, or were they the Dream-Eating Tapir?

Li Chi silently observed this dreamscape.

He heard the Dream-Weaving Spider’s voice. “I can’t keep weaving dreams according to your taste forever! I’m sick of weaving sweet dreams!”

He also felt the Dream-Eating Tapir’s emotions: noisy, slightly dissatisfied, but more accustomed and delighted by these peaceful days.

Divine consciousness was like water. These emotions, these thoughts… and all the surrounding scenes from the Dream-Eating Tapir’s memory were like thick dye dropped into water. Clear, transparent water was most easily colored, but for Li Chi, this memory was merely like a drop of water falling on a deep pool. The ripples only stirred the surface, dispersing without a trace, while the depths of the pool remained forever calm and still.

This was his divine consciousness. Even though he had lost all his memories before awakening in Li Manor, starting from complete blankness, it was still sufficient to dissolve the memory assault of the Dream-Eating Tapir.

He felt the Dream-Eating Tapir suddenly lose consciousness while quarreling with the Dream-Weaving Spider. He felt their fear and unease when they woke again to find themselves within a gu array. He felt the brutality of slaughter and devouring within the gu array, the trembling and despair of the Dream-Weaving Spider before death, and the words she said to the Dream-Eating Tapir…

“Eat me, you must escape…”

The Dream-Eating Tapir was trembling.

Li Chi sighed, and the dreamscape abruptly stopped.

Xuanqing Sect, Xuanqing Sect.

He set down his wine cup, half-closed his eyes, and his divine consciousness entered the dream.

Another dreamscape was touched—the memory of a deity from one hundred and twenty thousand years ago, that was—the true Xuanqing Sect.

……

The worshippers came like a tide, bowing three times before stopping. The leader prayed for the deity’s presence.

This was the scene of the Xuanqing Sect’s founding.

Li Chi had seen this dreamscape before, but this time, he noticed a person—the prayer leader standing at the very front.

Robes of deep crimson, like burning flames, karmic threads covering their body, almost all severed.

That was… the Xuanniao.

……

“The Heaven-Mandated Xuanniao descended and gave birth to Tang, who dwelt in the vast land of Yin.”

Before the age when spirit gods were born from accumulated prayers and faith in this world, there existed another similar yet different type of being, called totems. Spirit gods were born from the gathering of thoughts and had no complete soul, but totems were different—they were complete and independent living beings. Each totem was special, a unique existence in the world, that uniqueness granted to them by the clan that worshipped them.

But they were not alone, for the clan that worshipped them also shared the closest blood relation with them. The clan created the totem, and the totem protected the clan.

Xuanniao was the totem of Tang.

In ancient times, various clans stood together. There were those who grew feathers from their shoulder blades, who controlled fire and loved the sun—their name was Tang. When Xuanniao descended upon the land of Yin, the Tang people established their nation upon that land.

In the center of the Yin land stood a massive volcano. To other races, volcanoes were dangerous and explosive, but to Tang, the volcano was the rich soil that nourished them.

The soil that erupted from the volcano fell upon the earth, making the land rich and warm, producing grain with full ears and growing tall, sturdy trees.

They never had to worry about the volcano destroying their homes, never had to fear ash shrouding the sky, for Xuanniao dwelt within the volcano.

Xuanniao often emerged from the volcano, soaring over the land of Yin. Among the Tang people were those skilled at flight, who spread their wings and transformed into birds, flying with Xuanniao beneath the blazing sun.

The Tang people loved Xuanniao, and so they built tall towers. Whenever Xuanniao emerged, they would sing and dance atop the high platforms.

“The Heaven-Mandated Xuanniao descended and gave birth to Tang, who dwelt in the vast land of Yin.”

The Tang people were skilled at brewing fine wine, which they offered to Xuanniao as tribute. Their wine was so rich and strong it could fuel flames.

Xuanniao loved liveliness most of all.

However, one year, Xuanniao did not appear.

Then the second year, the third year, the fourth year… Xuanniao never appeared.

……

“The day I emerged, the great sun descended, the evening glow was like fire, just like now…” Xuanniao leaned against the altar of Xuanqing Sect, murmuring.

The sun set, the moon rose, the stars shifted—countless years had passed since that day. This was just after the final ceremony of Xuanqing Sect had concluded.

The sun had not yet completely set. The western sky was bright with crimson clouds, while the eastern horizon showed the pale white shadow of the moon.

Xuanniao leaned against the altar, filling a cup of wine upon it.

“Partake of this offering.”

The deity raised its eyes, looking at the wrinkle-robed Xuanniao. “I do not need wine.”

“High God.” Xuanniao adjusted his posture, sitting cross-legged outside the altar, cradling a freshly opened jar of wine, his sleeve ends stained with some damp earth. “This is the last jar of wine from the Tang people.”

“There is no one left who can drink with me.” He lifted the wine jar and took a large gulp, then suddenly laughed, his eyes hazy as if drunk. “The Underworld will soon be established, karma will be balanced, and Xuanqing Sect will no longer have any reason to continue existing. High God once promised me that afterward, you would send me back into the cycle of reincarnation.”

“This is true.” The deity raised a hand and picked up the wine cup. “You may also… change your mind at any time.”

“That would be too long.” Xuanniao said. He took another gulp of wine. “That would be too long…”

His lifespan still had a very, very long time remaining.

“Xuanqing Sect, Xuanqing Sect… Since you established Xuanqing Sect, I have been managing it on your behalf. I watched it grow from nothing to what it is now, watched as more and more followers united in their desire to establish the Underworld. But the livelier it becomes here, the harder it is for me to endure…”

The deity said nothing. Upon Xuanniao’s body were large swaths of severed karmic threads. Each one was connected to Xuanniao’s bloodline, yet now they drifted in the void, without home or belonging.

Long, long ago, when there was no Xuanqing Sect in the world yet, when the Tang people’s figures still flew beneath the sunlight, Xuanniao, as in every ceremony before, perched upon the stone pillar the Tang people had built for him, watching them sing and dance, watching them offer fine wine.

They would ignite flames atop each jar of wine. Different wine fragrances rose intensely with the flames, and Xuanniao would swallow the fine wine with the fiercest flames and richest aroma, along with the flames themselves.

The Tang person who offered the wine would laugh joyfully. They would leap from the high platform, spreading wings from their shoulder blades, flying like birds.

Only when the sun was about to set would they return beside the high platform, burying selected fine wines beneath it, waiting for Xuanniao’s next appearance to dig them up and offer them.

After the ceremony that day, Xuanniao entered the volcano as usual, and then, year after year, never appeared.

……

“…If only I had discovered it sooner…” Xuanniao leaned against the altar, murmuring while cradling the wine jar.

……