Chapter 1

The world is relative.

The Middle Earth is separated from the Great Western Continent by the ocean, with the eastern terrain being higher, making the sky seem higher there. The mist rises from the sea and the land, continuously drifting towards that place, eventually converging and never dispersing.

This is the Cloud Tomb—the grave of all the clouds in the world.

Deep within the Cloud Tomb, there is a faint outline of a solitary peak, its summit piercing the void, leading to an unknown place.

According to legend, the world is composed of five continents, each with different landscapes. Only those powerful beings who have entered the sacred realm can see all the landscapes. For ordinary people, legends are just legends; they do not know where the other continents are, how to get there, or that the solitary peak in the Cloud Tomb is the passage to other continents.

Naturally, no one has ever seen the scenery above the clouds. Here, the calm cloud layers spread out like white silk in all directions, seemingly endless. Above the void, a mirror-like surface reveals an endless black abyss filled with countless stars.

Suddenly, two stars began to shine, growing brighter and brighter, as they approached the mirror at high speed. When the two stars reached the front of the mirror, it became clear that they were two sacred, white flames.

Cracks like a spider web appeared on the mirror separating the real world from the night sky, then instantly repaired.

The two sacred flames had already appeared on the real side of the mirror in a mysterious way, the thin air burning and continuously distorting and deforming—their eyes, not the divine fire.

The entire world was uneasy due to the massive arrival, light continuously refracting, a mountain-like shadow appearing on the cloud surface, space beginning to arch and deform, as if it might be squeezed apart.

A golden dragon appeared between the void and the cloud layer.

The distant red sun was completely obscured by its massive body, and the world above the cloud layer became dim. The surrounding temperature dropped sharply, frost began to form in the clouds, reflecting countless rays of light, turning into strange, shimmering crystal-like surfaces. The sky and earth changed color, this was the dignity of a top-tier being.

The golden dragon looked down at the world with a indifferent gaze.

It had seen the scenery above the clouds many times.

The golden dragon flew towards the solitary peak on the horizon. As it approached, its terrifying and massive body sank into the mist, disappearing. The mist was broken by the terrifying and massive body. The cliffs of the solitary peak were rugged and steep, with no plants, not even moss, silent and lifeless, like a tomb.

Flying deeper into the mist, after a long day and night, it was unclear how far it had flown, but it was still in the mist, encountering nothing. Only faintly could moss be seen on the cliffs, and the mist was much thicker than at the top, perhaps due to self-compression, forming many crystals, which were droplets, making the air humid.

The golden dragon had no interest in these changes and continued to fly downward.

Plants began to appear more frequently on the solitary peak, the mist became wetter, and droplets fell on the cliffs, gradually turning into countless streams of water. Countless streams trickled down the cliffs, merging into the mist.

The golden dragon looked at the countless streams on the solitary peak, its pupils becoming more solemn, the two sacred flames becoming even more profound—this was the grave of all clouds and the source of all water.

Countless streams fell from the solitary peak, but it only watched one.

The golden dragon followed the stream in the mist, silent, for countless days and nights, seemingly endless, but at a certain moment... the mist in front of it dissipated.

Before the mist was the ground.

The lower edge of the mist was smooth, perfectly following the undulations of the ground, maintaining a five-foot distance between the mist and the surface, just the height of a human, as if designed by a creator. The five-foot space between the ground and the mist led to a distant place, with faint light in the distance, but no sun visible. On the ground, there were countless streams.

The mist dissipated before the massive dragon's head, revealing the ground and the stream.

The stream water came from the dampness of the solitary peak, clear, calm, and cold. A wooden basin floated on the stream, containing several layers of hemp cloth, and inside the cloth was a baby—the baby's face was slightly blue, eyes closed, clearly just born.

The mist above the stream bloomed like flowers, forming countless petals, crowded, surging, breaking, and hissing. A golden dragon head, larger than a palace, slowly emerged from the mist, reaching the surface of the stream.

The five-foot distance between the stream and the mist was narrow for it—the golden dragon's body was hidden in the mist, and part of its head was also hidden, making it appear even more majestic, mysterious, and terrifying.

The golden dragon quietly looked at the stream.

The wooden basin still gently bobbed on the stream.

In the small basin, there was an abandoned, closed-eyed, blue-faced newborn.

...

...

The mist gradually dispersed, and everything returned to silence.

However, the silence was only temporary... deep in the mist, even near the solitary peak, almost at the same time, countless piercing, panicked howls and screams echoed!

In what was thought to be a silent, lifeless world, there were actually many birds and beasts. The mist was filled with the sound of flapping wings, the sound of unicorns crashing into ancient trees, and even a clear phoenix cry!

An invisible divine thread formed by a divine thought extended from the streamside to the horizon, the wet grass instantly becoming extremely dry, even the edges of the water plants in the stream curling up!

There was no emotion in the golden dragon's pupils, noble, indifferent, and ruling the world.

The world below the mist was in chaos, but it did not care, not even about the young phoenix. It only stared at the stream in front of it, at the wooden basin on the stream. Among the countless streams falling from the solitary peak, it only watched this one. After thirty thousand years, it had returned to this world, and it could not take its eyes off the baby in the basin.

A very thin light thread slowly descended, golden on the outside, sacred white inside, as if it could emit light on its own. The front end of the light thread was extremely thin, gradually thickening to the size of a child's arm, with a very smooth and perfect surface, especially the light shining from within, adding to its beauty.

The material of the light thread seemed heavy like gold and jade, but it was actually very light, swaying with the breeze on the stream, as if dancing, trying to touch the wooden basin, but retracting instantly.

That was the golden dragon's whisker.

At this moment, the divine fire in the golden dragon's pupils was no longer eternally stable, indifference replaced by contemplation, as if hesitating about something. The tips of the two whiskers, like gentle fingers, lightly touched the edge of the wooden basin on the stream, as if caressing, but not actually making contact.

The golden dragon had lived for an extremely long time, possessing unimaginable wisdom, but at this moment, the wooden basin seemed to be a puzzle it could not solve—its emotions became increasingly complex, with longing, caution, hesitation, and finally struggle. Perhaps unintentionally, perhaps intentionally, the wind above the stream changed slightly, and the whisker that was supposed to brush past the edge of the basin trembled, finally making its first true contact with the basin, even brushing past the baby's ear!

Such a slight touch caused an intense change—the two divine fires deep in the golden dragon's pupils burst into countless stars, revealing naked, cold, and greedy desires in that sea of stars!

That desire was praise, was moved.

It was praise for life, moved by life.

It was the most primitive longing of life.

The golden dragon looked at the wooden basin on the stream, opened its mouth, and a dragon breath like shattered jade poured out.

The baby in the basin still had its eyes closed, unaware of what would happen next.

The stream was covered by a shadow.

The dragon breath fell around the wooden basin.

In the next moment, the wooden basin and the baby inside would become the golden dragon's food.

Just then.

A hand landed on the edge of the wooden basin, pulling it to the streamside!

It was a hand full of scars, thin and small.

In the splashing water, the stream rippled, and the hand pulled the basin, running desperately to the streamside.

The owner of the hand was a three- or four-year-old young Taoist disciple.

This was a very strange young Taoist disciple.

He was blind in one eye, missing an ear, and it was clear from his limping that his leg was also injured. His empty sleeve indicated that he only had one hand.

No wonder he could only hide the basin behind him to draw his sword.

Looking at the massive dragon head on the stream, the young Taoist disciple's face was pale, his teeth chattering, not from the cold water, but from fear.

This was the first time he had seen a real dragon. He did not even know what a dragon was, but he was afraid. However, he did not run away; instead, he held a thin wooden sword, blocking the basin behind him.

The golden dragon looked at the young Taoist disciple with an indifferent expression, but only a super-strong being who had also entered the sacred realm could see the anger and cruelty in the depths of its eyes.

The young Taoist disciple shouted something, his face pale, extremely afraid, but he did not let go of the basin.

The golden dragon became angry, and its dragon breath enveloped both sides of the stream, death approaching.

The young Taoist disciple's wooden sword fell into the water, and he turned to hug the basin.

The scales of the golden dragon rubbed against the mist, causing countless heavenly fires to splash, and the stream began to burn.

At that moment, a middle-aged Taoist appeared on the streamside.

The middle-aged Taoist looked at the golden dragon on the stream, his expression calm.

The heavenly fires on the stream suddenly went out.

The golden dragon looked at the middle-aged Taoist and let out a dragon roar!

The dragon roar was extremely long, as if it would never stop, with complex syllables, sounding like the most complex music, or like the most terrifying hurricane, carrying unimaginable power!

The middle-aged Taoist looked at the golden dragon and said a single word.

It was a monosyllabic word, with a very strange and incomprehensible pronunciation, not like any human language, containing boundless information, ancient and profound!

The golden dragon understood, but it disagreed.

Thus, the mist on the stream began to surge violently.

Dragon breath spewed everywhere, turning the wet grass and trees on the streamside into a terrifying fire scene.

The young Taoist disciple, with his back to the stream, had no idea what was happening, his head lowered in fear, his eyes closed, but he held the basin tightly.

...

...

After an unknown amount of time, the streamside finally became quiet.

The young Taoist disciple mustered his courage, turned around, and saw that the stream was clear, and the fires on both sides had gone out, leaving only charred trees and cracked stones, telling the story of the previous terrifying battle.

A dragon roar echoed from deep in the mist, filled with pain, unwillingness, and regret, telling the world of the five continents that its hesitation had brought a deep and painful regret.

The young Taoist disciple was startled, holding the basin with one hand, limping out of the stream, and walking to the side of the middle-aged Taoist, timidly looking into the mist.

The middle-aged Taoist reached out to extinguish the flames on his shoulder.

The young Taoist disciple remembered something and, with difficulty, lifted the basin.

The middle-aged Taoist took the basin, gently picked up the baby inside, and his fingertips, through the hemp cloth, touched the baby's body. In the next moment, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Your fate... is really bad," he said, looking at the baby wrapped in the hemp cloth, with pity.

...

...

In the east of the Eastern Continent, there is a small town called Xining. Outside the town is a stream, and by the stream is a mountain, and in the mountain is a temple. The temple has no monks, only a middle-aged Taoist and two disciples practicing and seeking enlightenment.

The mountain is an unnamed green mountain, the temple is an abandoned Buddhist temple, the elder disciple is named Yu Ren, and the younger is named Chen Changsheng.

Xining Town is in the territory of the Zhou Kingdom. The Daoist religion has been the state religion of the Great Zhou Dynasty since eight hundred years ago, and during the current orthodox era, the state religion unifies the world, even more revered. In theory, the three of them should be living a life of luxury, but unfortunately, Xining Town is too remote, and the dilapidated temple is even more remote, with few people around, so they can only live a simple life.

Naturally, a Taoist must cultivate the Dao. There are countless cultivation methods in the world, but the Daoist methods taught by the middle-aged Taoist are completely different from those of other sects. They do not emphasize cultivation and enlightenment, do not care about the stars, and do not concern themselves with the refinement of the soul. They only have one word: "memorize."

Yu Ren began memorizing Daoist classics from a young age, and Chen Changsheng, as soon as he opened his eyes, was forced to stare at those yellowed old books. The first things he recognized were the Daoist classics in the room, and after learning to speak, he began to learn to read, and then to memorize the texts in the Daoist classics.

Reciting and practicing regularly until they could recite them fluently—this was the life of the two young Taoist disciples in the dilapidated temple.

In the morning, they were reciting, in the scorching sun, they were reciting, in the evening, they were reciting. In the spring, summer, autumn, and winter, they were reading and reciting the Daoist classics on the fields, by the stream, under the trees, and beside the plum blossoms, unaware of the passage of time.

The dilapidated temple had an entire room filled with Daoist classics, and when Yu Ren was seven, he once counted out of boredom, finding there were three thousand scrolls. The Great Dao had three thousand scrolls, each scroll containing hundreds or thousands of words, the shortest being the Divine Scripture with only three hundred and fourteen words, and the longest being the Longevity Scripture with over twenty thousand words. This was everything they had to memorize.

The two disciples recited continuously, only seeking to remember, not to understand. They knew that their master would never answer any questions about the Daoist classics, only saying, "Remember, and you will naturally understand."

For the playful children of the world, such a life was unimaginable, but fortunately, the green mountain was remote and rarely visited, allowing them to focus. The two young Taoist disciples, with their unique personalities, did not find it tedious, and thus continued day after day, year after year.

One day, the continuous sound of reading stopped. The two children sat on a rock, shoulder to shoulder, a book resting on their knees. They looked at the book, then at each other, their expressions somewhat dazed.

At this moment, they had reached the last scroll, but could not continue because they could not understand it. The characters in this Daoist classic were unfamiliar—more accurately, very strange. The radicals and strokes were recognizable, but when combined, they formed completely bizarre things. How to read them? What did they mean?

The two returned to the temple and found the middle-aged Taoist.

The middle-aged Taoist said, "The Great Dao has three thousand scrolls, and you are reading the last one. This scroll has one thousand six hundred and one characters, and it is said that it contains the ultimate meaning of the Dao. No one has ever fully understood it, let alone you."

Chen Changsheng asked, "Master, you don't understand either?"

The middle-aged Taoist shook his head. "No one dares to claim they truly understand, and neither can I."

The two disciples looked at each other, feeling a bit regretful. Although they were still children, having memorized the three thousand Daoist classics up to this point, they were only one scroll away from completing their task, and naturally, they were not happy. But they were not ordinary children; having grown up with the Daoist classics, their personalities were somewhat detached, and they prepared to leave.

At that moment, the middle-aged Taoist continued, "But I can read it."

From that day on, the middle-aged Taoist began to teach the reading of the last scroll, teaching the pronunciation of each character. The pronunciations were particularly strange, simple monosyllables requiring the use of a specific muscle in the throat and special requirements for the vocal cords. In short, they were not sounds that normal humans could produce.

Chen Changsheng did not understand at all, but obediently followed his master's pronunciation, mimicking it like a duckling. Yu Ren, however, occasionally remembered the word his master had spoken to the terrifying creature by the stream many years ago.

Yu Ren and Chen Changsheng spent a long time mastering the pronunciation of the one thousand six hundred and one characters, but still did not understand their meaning. Asking the middle-aged Taoist did not yield any answers. By then, they had spent a whole year on the last scroll, and they began to recite it again, just as they had before, until they could memorize it.

When they thought they had finally escaped the life of memorizing Daoist classics, the middle-aged Taoist required them to start reading it again. The children, reluctantly, had to repeat the process. Perhaps because of the repetition, this time they found the recitation much harder, even unbearable.

It was at this point that they began to wonder why their master wanted them to read these Daoist classics, why he did not teach them cultivation, when the Daoist classics clearly stated that Taoists should cultivate and seek immortality.

At that time, Yu Ren was ten years old, and Chen Changsheng was six and a half. It was also that autumn when a white crane broke through the clouds, bringing greetings from a distant old friend and a silk letter. The letter contained a birth chart and a marriage contract with a token—someone who had been saved by the middle-aged Taoist wanted to fulfill a promise made long ago.

The middle-aged Taoist smiled at the marriage contract but said nothing, then looked at his two disciples. Yu Ren waved his hand, pointing to his blind eye, and smiled, refusing. Chen Changsheng looked bewildered, not understanding what was happening, and took the marriage contract, thus acquiring a fiancée.

In the following years, the white crane would break through the clouds on every festival, bringing greetings from the noble in the capital and some interesting small gifts for Chen Changsheng.

As Chen Changsheng grew older, he began to understand what the marriage contract meant. At night, he would look at the marriage contract lying quietly in the drawer, feeling a mix of emotions. Thinking about his fiancée, who was said to be about his age, he felt a calm joy, some shyness, and more bewilderment.

The peaceful life of reading was interrupted when Chen Changsheng was ten years old. One night, after reciting the one thousand six hundred and one characters of the last scroll for the seventy-second time, he suddenly felt his consciousness drift out of his body, floating in the forest of the green mountain. He fell into a deep sleep, and his body began to emit a strange fragrance.

It was not the scent of flowers, leaves, or cosmetics. It was faint but lingered in the night breeze, and when it was strong, it was ethereal, not a scent that could appear in the human world, impossible to grasp, and extremely alluring.

Yu Ren was the first to notice Chen Changsheng's condition. Smelling the strange fragrance, his expression became extremely serious.

In the slightly dark green mountain, covered by leaves, there were lion roars, tiger growls, crane dances, and dragon surges, and the thunderous frog croaks that should only appear in the summer night. In the misty depths of the green mountain, a huge shadow appeared, unknown to what creature. Under the greedy and reverent gazes of countless beings, Chen Changsheng emitted a strange fragrance, closed his eyes, and slept, not knowing when he would wake up.

Yu Ren frantically fanned the air by Chen Changsheng's bed, trying to disperse the fragrance, as it made his mouth water and gave him a strange, terrifying thought. He had to fan the air to dispel this thought.

The middle-aged Taoist appeared in the room at some point, standing by the bed, looking at the closed-eyed Chen Changsheng, and said something only he understood: "Where is the cause?"

After a night passed.

The moment the morning light fell on the green mountain, the strange fragrance from Chen Changsheng's body suddenly disappeared, and he returned to his usual self. The countless strange beasts in the green mountain and the terrifying shadow behind the clouds also vanished.

Yu Ren looked at his sleeping junior, finally no longer panicked, sighed in relief, and tried to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead, only to find his shoulder sore from fanning all night.

Chen Changsheng opened his eyes and woke up. Although he had slept