Chapter 1

Long, long ago, there were many unknown lands, and in those unknown lands, there were many unknown people.

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As the sun set, a fiery orb hung over the distant wasteland, its red light spreading like a massive flame, slowly and steadily expanding. The moss that had just sprouted from the melting snow on the plain looked like burn scars scattered everywhere. The surroundings were quiet, with only the occasional eagle's cry and the sound of yellow goats leaping in the distance.

On the vast plain, three people appeared, gathering under a small tree, which was rare in the wasteland. They did not greet each other but lowered their heads in unison, as if there were something interesting under the tree worth serious study and contemplation.

Two ant colonies were fighting over the light brown roots exposed in the cold soil. Perhaps because it was difficult to find another perfect home like the roots in this wasteland, the battle was particularly intense. After a short while, thousands of ant corpses remained, which should have been a bloody and brutal scene, but in reality, it was just a small black patch.

The weather was still cold, but the three people under the tree were not wearing much, seemingly unafraid of the cold. They watched intently, and after a long time, one of them whispered, "In the secular world, the ant kingdom, what is the great way?"

The speaker was a young man with a youthful face and a slender build, still a teenager. He wore a light, collarless moon-white shirt and carried a thin, unsheathed wooden sword on his back. His black hair was neatly tied into a bun, with a wooden fork horizontally piercing through it—this fork seemed ready to fall at any moment, yet it was as immovable as a green pine on a mountain.

"When I was lecturing on the scriptures, I saw countless flying ants rise in the light."

The one who said this was a young monk, wearing a tattered wooden cotton robe. His newly grown hair was sharp and black, just like the firm and resolute demeanor he exuded in his face and words.

"Flying ants will eventually fall; they can never touch the sky."

"If you always hold this thought, you will never understand what the heart of the way is."

The young monk slightly closed his eyes and looked down at the ants scattering their limbs, saying, "I heard that your temple's abbot recently took in a young boy named Chen. You should understand that places like the Zhi Shou Temple will never have only one genius."

The young man with the wooden sword raised an eyebrow in a mocking response, "I've never understood why someone like you, who can't be free, has the right to represent the Hanging Temple."

The young monk did not respond to his provocation but looked down at the anxious ants and said, "Ants can fly and fall, but they are better at climbing and laying the foundation for their companions. They are not afraid of sacrifice. If enough ants pile up, they can definitely form a mound that touches the sky."

A sharp eagle's cry echoed through the twilight, sounding panicked and fearful, perhaps afraid of the three strange people under the tree, or perhaps afraid of the non-existent giant ant mound reaching the sky, or something else.

"I am very afraid."

The young man with the wooden sword suddenly spoke, his thin shoulders pulling inward.

The young monk nodded in agreement, though his expression remained calm and resolute.

The third young man, who was muscular and wore what looked like animal skins, had legs as hard as stone and rough skin under which powerful muscles could be clearly seen. He had been silent all along, but the goosebumps on his skin betrayed his true feelings.

The three young men under the tree came from the three most mysterious places in the world, sent by their masters to travel the world, shining like three stars across the human realm. But today, even they felt an overwhelming fear when they came to this wasteland.

Eagles are not afraid of ants; to them, ants are just black dots. Ants are not afraid of eagles because they do not even qualify as food for eagles. In their world, there are no such powerful creatures as eagles, which they cannot see or touch.

However, over thousands of years, there have always been a few unique ants that, for some mysterious reason, decided to look up at the blue sky for a moment, and then their world changed.

Because they saw, they feared.

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The three young men under the tree looked up and saw a shallow ditch dozens of meters away. The ditch was not deep, and inside it was nothing but black, standing out clearly on the mottled wasteland.

This ditch had appeared two hours ago, suddenly extending to the horizon, as if carved by an invisible giant with an axe or drawn by a divine craftsman. What kind of power could create such a scene?

The young man with the wooden sword stared at the black line and said, "I always thought the Immovable King was just a legend."

"According to legend, the King of the Underworld has seventy thousand children. Perhaps this one just occasionally wandered into the human world."

"I don't believe it," the young man with the wooden sword said expressionlessly. "It's just a legend. Legends also say that a sage appears every thousand years, but in the past few thousand years, who has truly seen a sage?"

"If you really don't believe it, why don't you dare to cross that black line?"

No one dared to step over the black line, the shallow ditch, even the proud and powerful ones.

The young man with the wooden sword looked up at the horizon and asked, "If that child really exists, then... where is he?"

By now, most of the sun had sunk below the horizon, and night was spreading from all directions. The temperature on the wasteland dropped sharply, and a chilling atmosphere began to envelop the entire world.

"Night falls, everywhere, where can you find him?"

The young man in animal skins broke his silence. His voice was deep and rough, unlike his age, resonating like a river flowing or a rusty sword rubbing against hard stone.

After saying this, he left.

The way the young man in animal skins left was unique—his two hard, muscular legs suddenly burst into flames, turning red, and the wind made the pebbles on the ground roll. It seemed as if an invisible force grabbed his neck and lifted him, and his body leaped into the air, then fell and bounced again, like a stone bouncing irregularly into the distance, appearing clumsy yet extremely fast.

"He is only known to be surnamed Tang, but we don't know his full name."

The young man with the wooden sword said thoughtfully, "If we had met at a different time and place, only one of us would have survived. If his disciple is this strong, I wonder how strong his master is... I heard his master has been practicing the Twenty-Three-Year Cicada for years. I wonder if he will have a heavy shell on his back after breaking through."

Silence surrounded him, and no one responded. He turned back, puzzled.

He saw the young monk with his eyes tightly closed, his eyelids trembling, as if deep in thought about a troubling problem. In fact, since the young man in animal skins mentioned the night, the young monk had been in this strange state.

Feeling the gaze, the young monk slowly opened his eyes, smiled, and the original firmness and calmness in his smile had turned into a mysterious compassion. His lips were bloodied, his tongue chewed to pieces.

The young man with the wooden sword frowned.

The young monk slowly took off the prayer beads from his wrist, solemnly hung them around his neck, and then walked away. His steps were heavy and steady, seemingly slow, but in an instant, his figure had blurred and was about to disappear in the distance.

Under the tree, there was no one else. All the emotions on the young man with the wooden sword's face faded, leaving only absolute calm, or perhaps absolute indifference. He looked at the shadow in the northern dust, which was jumping and falling like a stone, and said, "Evil demon."

He looked at the back of the young monk walking silently to the west and said, "Heretic."

"Insufficient to mention."

Evil demons and heretics are insufficient to mention. After saying this, the thin wooden sword on his back vibrated, emitting a buzzing sound, and with a hiss, it rose into the air, transforming into a stream of light, slicing the small tree on the wasteland into 53,333 pieces, turning both branches and trunk into powder, which scattered over the ants.

"A mute speaks, a pancake with some salt."

The young man sang as he walked east, the thin wooden sword floating silently a few meters behind him.

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In the first year of the Tianqi era of the Tang Dynasty, strange phenomena appeared on the wasteland, and representatives from various sects gathered there, unable to understand the truth.

Since that day, the Hanging Temple's disciple, Seven Thoughts, began practicing the silent Zen, no longer speaking. The demon sect's disciple surnamed Tang disappeared into the desert, and the Zhi Shou Temple's disciple, Ye Su, broke through the death barrier and traveled through various countries, each gaining something.

However, they did not know that on the other side of the black chasm they dared not cross, in a small pond near the capital, a scholar sat, wearing straw shoes and a tattered robe.

This scholar seemed completely unaffected by the powerful and severe presence the black chasm represented. In his left hand, he held a book, and in his right hand, a wooden ladle. When he was not reading, he would rest, and when he was thirsty, he would drink a ladle of water. He was covered in dust, but his face was calm and content.

It was not until the three left and the shallow black chasm on the wasteland was gradually filled with sand that the scholar stood up, dusted off his clothes, tied the wooden ladle to his waist, carefully hid the book in his robe, and took one last look at the direction of the capital before leaving.

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In the capital, Chang'an, there was a long alley. On the east side was the residence of the Tongyi Doctor, and on the west side was the residence of the Xuanwei General. Although they were not the most powerful, they had significant authority, and the alley was usually quiet. Today, however, it was no longer peaceful.

The Tongyi Doctor's residence had good news, with midwives busy coming and going. However, from the master to the maids, everyone's joy seemed mixed with other emotions, and no one dared to laugh out loud. The maids carrying water basins hurried past the corners, occasionally hearing sounds from outside the wall, and their faces showed fear.

The Xuanwei General, Lin Guangyuan, known for his bravery, was accused of colluding with the enemy due to offending the empire's most valiant general, Xiahou. After months of interrogation by the prince, a verdict was finally reached.

The verdict was clear, and the punishment was simple: the entire family was to be executed.

The door of the Tongyi Doctor's residence was tightly closed, and the steward nervously watched the equally closed door of the general's residence, hearing the occasional sound of heavy objects cutting into flesh and the rolling of melons, his body trembling uncontrollably.

The two families had lived on the same alley for many years, and the steward was familiar with everyone from the general's household. Hearing those terrifying sounds, he imagined countless sharp knives slicing through the necks of familiar people, seeing familiar faces rolling on the stone slabs, then colliding with the door, gradually stacking and compressing into a small mountain...

Blood flowed from under the general's door, black and sticky, like glutinous rice paste mixed with cinnabar, with some purple sweet potato-like muscle fibers. The pale-faced steward stared at it, unable to control his emotions, and began to vomit uncontrollably.

Suddenly, the sound of urgent hooves and shouts came from outside the door, and the door was pounded. It seemed that someone from the general's household had escaped, and a prince's guard on horseback shouted, "Not one can be spared!"

On a wall in the garden of the Tongyi Doctor's residence, there were several scratch marks and bloodstains.

"Master, listen to me, you can't go out. Let Xiao Chu go, let him go..."

In a nearby shed, a blood-covered steward from the general's household looked at two boys, about four or five years old, his lips trembling, his voice hoarse, his face full of wrinkles and black mud, his eyes filled with despair and struggle, tears streaming down his cheeks.

The imperial guards who broke into the Tongyi Doctor's residence did not take long to find the shed. Seeing the two dead bodies, one old and one young, they reported with lingering fear, "Not one is missing, they are all dead."

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The phrase "worldly high people" can be simply interpreted as high people generally being outside the world, and those outside the world are likely to be high people. This seemingly redundant statement actually hides some truth. What they fear is beyond the reach of ordinary people, and what they rejoice in is beyond the understanding of ordinary people.

Thus, the secular world does not know what happens outside it, and the people outside the world do not care about the life and death, joy and sorrow of the secular world, nor do they care about the butcher's scale being short, the drunkard's cellar being gnawed by rats, the death of a Xuanwei General, or the birth of a daughter to a civil official.

The joys and sorrows of the two worlds never intersect.

If they could intersect, they would be sages.

Outside the capital, Chang'an, there was a high mountain, half of which was hidden in the clouds. On the western cliff of the mountain, a figure was slowly ascending. This man had a tall and imposing figure, wearing a black overcoat over his single-layered clothes, carrying a food box in his hand.

He reached a cave, sat down, opened the food box, took out chopsticks, picked up a piece of ginger, and chewed it carefully, then ate two pieces of lamb, sighing in satisfaction.

As the sun set, the capital, Chang'an, was gradually enveloped in darkness, with dark clouds drifting in from the distance.

The tall man looked at a certain place in the capital and said, "I seem to see the you of those days."

Then he looked up at the sky, holding his chopsticks and pointing at it, saying, "As for you, what's the use of flying so high?"

Clearly, these two sentences were directed at two different people. After a brief silence, the tall man picked up the rice wine and drank it in one gulp, holding the empty bowl and looking around, saying, "The wind rises, the rain falls, the night approaches."

As he said "the wind rises," a wind came from the mountain, making his clothes flutter, the old trees sway, and the rocks fall. When he said "the rain falls," the dark clouds over the capital suddenly darkened, and countless raindrops formed a column, pouring down from the last twilight. When he finished speaking, the night had taken over half the sky, as dark as the pupil of the King of the Underworld.

The tall man put down the wine bowl heavily, annoyed, and muttered, "Damn, it's so dark."

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