Chapter 129: root (2)
129 – root (2)
Originally, they couldn’t report it to the police because the Chixiao Longque Sword was a cultural relic. If they reported it, the cultivation world’s divine artifact would likely end up being handed over to the state. However, once Qi Yun went missing, the problem was easily solved.
—They could report the sword as lost, and they could also report a missing person.
Lin Xun didn’t immediately dial 110. Instead, he recalled Officer Cao’s work schedule. Coincidentally, today happened to be the officer’s night shift, and he probably hadn’t gotten off work yet.
Lin Xun dialed Officer Cao’s number. At this moment, any false pleasantries were meaningless—only family ties could best persuade someone working an overnight shift.
He sincerely called out, “Bro.”
“Hey,” Officer Cao chuckled on the other end. “It’s you. Is something wrong?”
—Since Officer Cao already knew their group wasn’t ordinary, Lin Xun didn’t bother hiding anything. He asked, “Bro, do you remember that young guy who’s always with me? The one with the glow stick.”
“I remember, the one who dresses like he’s not a proper person.”
Lin Xun: “He’s missing. He’s been kidnapped.”
“Huh?” Officer Cao’s tone turned serious. “By those… monsters you deal with?”
“Not this time. It’s not monsters—it’s another group.”
Officer Cao: “That’s good, then. I can still file a case for this.”
Then, the officer changed the subject: “What’s the reason for the kidnapping? Aside from dealing with those monsters, what else do you usually do?”
Lin Xun flatly denied it: “We abide by the law. We usually just practice some Qi exercises. But we have some internal disagreements.”
“So, it’s because of your internal conflicts that this kidnapping happened?”
Lin Xun: “Yes.”
Officer Cao: “Any witnesses or evidence? Is he in any immediate danger?”
Lin Xun: “Only verbal reasoning. We can’t see him, so we don’t know if he’s in danger.”
Officer Cao fell silent for a moment before saying, “This situation isn’t easy to file a case for.”
If it were an unfamiliar officer saying this, it would probably be hopeless. But the current circumstances weren’t too dire.
Lin Xun said, “Here’s the thing, Bro. This is an internal disagreement of ours. It won’t involve any major danger, so we won’t trouble you to actually dispatch officers. We just wondered if there’s a way to track their whereabouts.”
Officer Cao chuckled meaningfully on the other end.
“After all that talk, you just want me to find someone,” he said.
Lin Xun: “Yes. We thought with the surveillance system so advanced nowadays, you could definitely pinpoint his location.”
“Alright,” Officer Cao said. “But you have to give me your word. No causing trouble, no fighting or brawling—resolve it peacefully.”
Lin Xun agreed immediately: “Absolutely.”
Then, Officer Cao said, “Come over, then. You’ll need to provide image materials of the relevant people.”
Lin Xun: “Thanks, Bro.”
The whereabouts of the Chixiao Longque Sword remained unknown, and Qi Yun’s safety was also uncertain. Given the urgency of the situation, they began searching for information immediately after hanging up the phone. Lin Xun naturally had no shortage of photos of Qi Yun, but pictures of that sort might not be of much use. In the end, it was Senior Xiaoyaozi who managed to dig up a photographed version of an old photo from his phone album. The photo was originally hung on a wall, and thanks to modern intelligent optimization technology in photography, it remained relatively clear. In the photo were five men dressed as Taoists, of varying ages, with Xiaoyaozi being the eldest.
Xiaoyaozi said, “This is a group photo of our five brothers from the sect forty years ago. The youngest brother passed away early, the third and fourth brothers have taken charge of their respective peaks, but this Yan Yangzi betrayed the sect. How despicable.”
After sending the photo to Lin Xun, Senior Xiaoyaozi asked, “But he no longer looks like he did in his youth. Will this photo still be useful?”
Lin Xun replied, “It will be. Technology is quite advanced now, Senior. Don’t worry.”
Xiaoyaozi stroked his beard. “That’s good.”
With that, Lin Xun and Chang Ji bid farewell to the seniors and headed downstairs—the seniors would wait here for updates.
When they reached the third floor, Lin Xun remembered he had forgotten his keyboard and made a detour to retrieve it.
Zhi Zhen simply watched him quietly from the sofa.
The kitten’s originally bright blue eyes now glowed with a faint, wolf-like green in the dim light, as if accusing him of the terrible act of banishing it from the bedroom before sleep.
Whether the program frame appeared on its body or not, Lin Xun didn’t bother—it came and went unpredictably anyway. At the moment, there was no frame.
He walked over, kissed Zhi Zhen on the head, and said, “Be good,” before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and preparing to leave. As soon as he turned around, he felt a weight on his back—Zhi Zhen had leaped onto him. Lin Xun had no choice but to take it along.
Downstairs, the small Jetta waited quietly for him. As soon as he got in, Lo automatically input the destination into the driving system. In the morning mist, the car glided smoothly forward. There were few people or vehicles on the road, and nothing particularly noteworthy to see. With nothing else to do, Lin Xun stroked the cat and turned his gaze to Brother Chang Ji beside him.
At that moment, he noticed something stuck to the side of his brother’s neck.
He let out a soft “Huh?” and leaned in for a closer look. It was unmistakably a translucent, dark green fish scale. Noticing Lin Xun’s movement, his brother also became aware of it, frowned, and removed the scale.
Lin Xun glanced at the white cat fur clinging to his own clothes and felt that all things in the world shared similarities—cats shed fur, fish shed scales, both leaving traces behind.
But Qi Yun was a fish in human form, a merman with an enchanting, almost bewitching appearance. Even in the relatively better single dormitory, the bed wasn’t particularly large. The fish, uncomfortable lying in the bucket, insisted on squeezing into the bed with his brother, which seemed rather pitiful no matter how you looked at it.
Still, his brother was steadfast in his resolve and certainly wouldn’t be swayed by the fish’s appearance.
Thinking this, he asked Chang Ji, “Brother, I’ve been troubled by something lately.”
Chang Ji replied, “What is it?”
When it came to matters of Cultivation, Lin Xun preferred discussing them with Chang Ji. After all, they still had some distance to cover before reaching the police station where Officer Cao was stationed.
Gazing at the faintly visible road ahead in the mist, he asked, “Why does Cultivation exist in this world? Is it to resist demonic creatures when they invade?”
“When demonic creatures invade, that is the case,” Chang Ji answered. “When there is no invasion, it is for other pursuits.”
Lin Xun: “To have… greater power?”
“Not exactly,” Chang Ji replied. “Buddhism seeks to save the world, while the Immortal Sect seeks to transcend oneself.”
“Transcend oneself?”
“Cultivate the body and mind, then ascend to immortality and achieve longevity. The pursuit of ascension naturally brings an increase in power, but that is not the purpose of cultivation.”
“Ascension, longevity.” Lin Xun repeated the words twice, then dug up another four characters from his memory: “Shattering the Void?”
Chang Ji seemed somewhat surprised and looked at him. “Did Senior Huo teach you that?”
“No, I read it in a novel,” Lin Xun answered.
The phrase “Shattering the Void” had appeared several times in Thunder Master’s The Long Path of Immortality, and his leveling system had also mentioned it in passing.
“The Void is the Heavenly Dao. Shattering the Void means breaking through the Heavenly Dao, after which one can ascend to the higher realm,” his senior brother explained.
Lin Xun nodded thoughtfully. “Soul Division, Tribulation Transcendence, then ascension. At the Soul Division stage, one can freely harness the power of heaven and earth. As for the hallmark of the Tribulation Transcendence stage… wait, senior brother, don’t tell me yet. Ascension means an individual’s power has surpassed the limitations of the Heavenly Dao, so the hallmark of the Tribulation Transcendence stage should be gradually reaching parity with the Heavenly Dao, right?”
His senior brother nodded.
“Then, for a person to reach parity with the Heavenly Dao, they must possess some abilities that ordinary people lack, abilities only the Heavenly Dao possesses. I don’t know what that is.”
In truth, he didn’t even know what the Heavenly Dao was, only using analogies—like the laws of the universe in real-world science—to understand the concept.
His senior brother fell silent for a few seconds, as if deep in thought, then spoke: “The Heavenly Dao gives birth to all things.”
Lin Xun was taken aback.
“The Heavenly Dao gives birth to all things,” he murmured several times. “Thank you, senior brother!”
His senior brother studied him.
Lin Xun: “Thank you for your guidance, senior brother. I might be able to advance again.”
Senior brother: “Your cultivation speed far exceeds that of ordinary people.”
“But not because I have any special talent,” Lin Xun said. “I… just took some shortcuts that others haven’t.”
“If the shortcuts are open only to you, it is destiny,” his senior brother said calmly. “Or perhaps you possess abilities others lack.”
Lin Xun sighed.
In terms of cultivation, his leveling speed was indeed much faster than others. But his senior brother was right—this wasn’t a stroke of luck. He used programming knowledge to cultivate, which allowed him to progress by leaps and bounds, achieving realms others couldn’t reach even after decades of diligent practice. But before that, he had spent nearly twenty years studying computer science day in and day out.
—Never mind.
He told his senior brother, “I’ll rest for a while,” then closed his eyes and let his consciousness sink into the System Space.
When Dong Jun was by his side, the System Space always vanished without a trace, impossible to enter—this applied only to Dong Jun. Whether Zhi Zhen was present or not, it made no difference. When Dong Jun wasn’t around, the space was always readily accessible.
He walked inside, ignoring the screen, and approached the skill tree.
Up to now, the only language he had exchanged for was Python, saving up all his excess Spiritual Power. Including the substantial rewards from the main quests, he now had 505 points.
Today was the day to put them to use.
As he progressed to the Nascent Soul and Soul Division stages, more and more branches on this skill tree had lit up, meaning he could choose more languages and tools.
He looked at a branch near the top-right of the skill tree.
To be honest, the other branches looked rather ordinary—perhaps the interface had an unqualified designer. But this one was different, resembling a shimmering little deer antler surrounded by fireflies.
—And beside it were four silver letters in English.
Glax.
Lin Xun lightly tapped it with his finger.
A system prompt popped up.
“Consume 500 Spiritual Power to unlock the language ‘Glax’?”
Yes.
“Confirm again: Consume 500 Spiritual Power to unlock the language ‘Glax’?”
Yes.
“Unlock successful.”
“Platform loading, please wait.”
Lin Xun sat back, waiting for Glax to finish loading.
Five years ago, the languages used in the field of artificial intelligence were still dominated by Python and Java. Later, Glax emerged—a more elegant and efficient language. In today’s market, at least half of all AI products use Glax for core development.
Lin Xun’s grasp of Chinese culture wasn’t particularly deep, but he still knew about Pangu separating heaven and earth, and Nüwa creating humans.
His senior brother said that the Heavenly Dao gives birth to all things.
—And humans can also create things.
Such as artificial intelligence.
He raised his eyes to the blue system screen.
In the silence, he asked, “What exactly are you?”
There was no answer.
Lin Xun crossed his arms and faced the screen directly, glancing at it with a slight smile. “If you don’t speak, I’ll take it as you admitting you’re my son.”