Chapter 151: Chen Changsheng Retreats Behind the Curtain, The Struggle for Heaven’s Mandate Begins
Chapter 151 – Chen Changsheng Retreats Behind the Curtain, The Struggle for Heaven’s Mandate Begins
“Teacher, could you…”
Hearing Chen Changsheng’s words, A-Li practically tripped over his own tongue in his rush to speak.
But before the words could leave his mouth, Chen Changsheng raised a single hand, slicing off the sentence.
“I know what you wish to say, but you should know better than anyone that it is impossible.”
“You have your own life to lead, and I have my own Dao to walk. I cannot shadow your steps for eternity.”
Wu Li’s lips trembled uncontrollably. He knew the absolute finality in his teacher’s tone; departure was imminent.
Once he left, only the heavens knew how many cycles of the sun and moon would pass before their paths crossed again.
He had been nothing but an ignorant, feral child running wild in the depths of the Hundred Thousand Mountains.
If his teacher had not pulled him from that savage wilderness, he would never have forged his current greatness.
More than that, without his teacher silently moving the pieces in the shadows, his cultivation path would have been paved with corpses rather than stepping stones.
Noticing the redness brimming in Wu Li’s eyes, Chen Changsheng smiled and lightly patted his broad shoulder.
“Enough of that. You are a man grown; do not let tears fall so cheaply.”
“There are endless scrolls to read here. I cannot finish them in a day, which means I am not vanishing this very second.”
“Since you have already comprehended the sixth realm of Body Cultivation, show me. Let us see if this surprise of yours is worthy of my time.”
Wu Li swallowed his lingering sorrow, his expression hardening into resolution. “Teacher, I have not failed you. I truly forged a third path.”
As he spoke, a nine-colored glazed lamp materialized above his crown, shimmering with ethereal brilliance.
Basking in the radiant glow of that artifact, genuine pride touched Chen Changsheng’s ancient, tired eyes.
“You stubborn rascal. You actually did it.”
“The fifth realm of Body Cultivation is known as the True Self. It mimics invincibility, yet conceals a fatal, unresolvable flaw.”
“As one’s cultivation deepens, a terrifying chasm opens between the physical vessel and the Divine Sense.”
“To bridge this rift, history offered only two bloody solutions: sever the True Self, or forcefully shatter it.”
“Whether through severing or shattering, the cultivator is forced to carve away a piece of their own soul.”
“Yet you circumvented the heavens’ design with this exquisite method of ascension.”
“Using mortal essence to cast the lamp, spirit to ignite the flame, and qi as the oil, you have ignited a Bright Lamp.”
“Anchored by its guiding light, your flesh and Divine Sense are perfectly bound, extracting every drop of your Potential.”
“You truly did not disappoint me!”
Hearing such high praise from his teacher, pure, unadulterated joy blossomed in Wu Li’s chest.
“Teacher, you have sheltered me from every storm. Now, let me be your sword.”
“I am strong enough to stand by your side.”
Meeting the fierce sincerity in his disciple’s gaze, Chen Changsheng chuckled softly. “Your current path is indeed smooth.”
“But the Dao stretches endlessly into the dark. Sweep your own courtyard before you offer to clean mine.”
“When the time comes that I require your strength, I will not hesitate to call.”
With a flick of his wrist, Chen Changsheng tossed a smooth jade slip into Wu Li’s hands.
“The method of Body Cultivation is tyrannical, but beyond the sixth realm, the mortal shell will inevitably buckle under the weight of surging spiritual power and expanding Divine Sense.”
“To maintain the harmony of your foundation, you must refine the trinity of flesh, blood, and bone.”
“This contains my deductions and theories regarding the subsequent realms. Let it be the flint that sparks your enlightenment.”
“Additionally, Feng Yuxiu and Yang Feng are rough jades waiting to be carved. I have already imparted the new cultivation framework to them.”
“Since you hold the secrets of the sixth realm, reeling them into your fold will be effortless. Whether they are worthy of your vanguard is yours to decide.”
“That is the limit of my guidance for this era. I have labored far too long, and my bones ache for rest. Leave.”
Watching Chen Changsheng sink back into the towering ocean of ancient texts, Wu Li gripped the jade slip until his knuckles turned white, then turned on his heel and strode into the world.
……
Year One.
Following his coronation, the newly enthroned Purple Mansion Holy Lord walked alone into the domains of the Middle Heavens’ two remaining Great Holy Lands.
The nature of his discussions behind those sealed gilded doors remained an absolute mystery.
The world only witnessed the aftermath: immediately following the Holy Lord’s departure, the Yaoguang Holy Land shocked the realm by formally forfeiting their claim to this generation’s Heaven’s Mandate.
Conversely, the Kunlun Holy Land responded by raising their war banners against the Purple Mansion Holy Land.
As the two leviathans clashed, the fires of war devoured the Middle Heavens. Amidst the slaughter, wandering prodigies vying for the Heaven’s Mandate baptized themselves in blood, rapidly ascending in power.
The carnage raged unabated for five long years. In the twilight of the fifth year, Wu Li, the Purple Mansion Holy Lord, finally descended from his throne onto the battlefield.
The Ruthless Fairy’s blood painted Duanhun Cliff red. The Demonic Monk Xuan Xin was crushed at Wolong Pond. Batulu, the peerless prodigy of the Southern Plains, fought until his mind fractured into madness, only to have eighteen of his bones methodically shattered.
Even Jiang Feng, the lone spear lauded as the only man capable of standing equal to Wu Li, was cleanly decapitated by a casual swipe of two fingers acting as a sword.
These world-shattering duels were isolated within the exalted echelons of prodigies. No mortal eyes were ever permitted to witness the devastating majesty of their clashes.
Yet, whispers blew through the bloodied winds—rumors that a phantom third observer haunted every execution.
The sole anchoring proof was the headless corpse of Jiang Feng, reverently interred by a mysterious figure who left only a single epitaph: “The Undertaker.”
Whether this Undertaker was merely a disguised Wu Li or an ancient ghost walking the earth, the cultivation world argued endlessly, chasing shadows without a singular truth.
Bleeding from Wu Li’s systematic dismantling of their allies, the Kunlun Holy Land buckled under the terror and desperately forged a pact with Fang Qiancheng.
A Holy Land locking arms with a Forbidden Land birthed a terrifying amalgamation of power, a suffocating pressure that even the Purple Mansion Holy Land found thoroughly agonizing.
The world held its breath, expecting Wu Li to retreat and bide his time. Instead, he publicly and brazenly accepted the Kunlun Holy Land’s challenge for absolute annihilation.
Strangely, the moment the decree of total war was stamped, Wu Li simply vanished into thin air.
For a prolonged period, the heavens were deaf and blind to his location.
When he finally tore back into reality, he dragged with him eight hundred sets of archaic, blood-rusted bronze armor, slamming down the exact hour for the world’s end.
The cataclysm arrived in the opening dawn of the sixth year, heralded by a suffocating blizzard of goose-feather snow.
The Purple Mansion Holy Land emptied its vaults and drained its barracks. The Huben, the Meiying, and the Seventy-Two Earth Fiends—every last legion marched forth, their killing intent parting the winter clouds.
Beside these ravenous wolf-pack armies, the disciples hoisted heavy, unyielding sarcophagi onto their shoulders.
Sealed shut with weeping, blood-red stones, these coffins radiated a necrotic dread—the true, buried foundation of the Purple Mansion Holy Land.
The ensuing slaughter fractured the sky and choked the sun and moon. By the time the dust settled, half of the Kunlun Holy Land had been violently erased from existence.
Tens of thousands of miles of vibrant earth were reduced to black, smoking ash. The Purple Mansion Holy Land had sacrificed more than half of its vanguard, while the crippled Kunlun Holy Land immediately sealed its mountain gates, vanishing from the world for a millennium.
Yet, across the vast expanse of the Middle Heavens, not a single drop of ink was spent recording the details of this massacre.
Those who dragged themselves back from the ashes sealed their lips, locking the nightmare behind their teeth.
The only surviving fragments were the hushed, terrified folklore whispered over tavern tables.
Fools claimed that the Kunlun Holy Land had summoned an ancient abomination from the Sacred Ruins, positioning Wu Li on the absolute precipice of death.
But out of the void, Wu Li had called upon a nameless, overpowering horror of his own, violently suffocating the will of the Sacred Ruins.