A strange ripple spread out, and the Celestial Gate abruptly exploded! Splendid as fireworks, breathtaking as dawn, it appeared so beautiful, a riot of colors erupting violently, light rain like meteors streaking across the vast sky. The gate shattered, accompanied by blood rain and scales, vanishing into the void, marching toward destruction. Shi Hao saw it clearly, a chill rising in his heart—was the lower realm truly this perilous? Clearly, someone had perished, triggering a surge of divine energy. The only relief was that it was far enough away and high in the sky; otherwise, even towering mountain ranges would have turned to dust, ceasing to exist.
“Why did it explode? Was his power insufficient?” Shi Hao asked.
The small pagoda remained silent for a moment before sneering, “Do you think descending is so easy? There must be a price. This one was likely schemed against.”
“Did a great figure perish?” Shi Hao pressed.
“Great beings aren’t so easily killed. More likely, he lost a powerful subordinate after all his efforts were wasted.” According to the pagoda, the mighty of the upper realm possessed heaven-defying methods and were exceedingly difficult to slay. This involved upper realm conflicts—extremely treacherous, with open and covert struggles, every means employed. One misstep could lead to eternal damnation.
Over the next few days, divine light frequently appeared in the distance—void rifts causing bizarre celestial phenomena, alarming countless cultivators in the Desolate Wasteland and stirring unrest. This was an omen of calamity. Everyone knew a great storm was coming! All Revered Ones fell silent, some fleeing beyond the domain, others sealing themselves in abyssal depths, employing secret arts merely for self-preservation.
“Just who is trying to descend?” Shi Hao asked.
“Unknown!” The small pagoda shook its head.
Shi Hao frowned. If the beings of the upper realm were so terrifying and all sought to descend for their games, this vast land would surely collapse, unlikely to endure for long.
The pagoda sighed softly, explaining that only a few individuals were attempting to descend. If detected by the upper realm’s laws or ancient orthodoxies, they would be severely restrained, crushed to dust.
“The Great Dao is boundless, like an abyss, like the void—unfathomable, operating on its own,” the Willow Deity spoke. Normally, descending from the upper realm was nearly impossible, constrained by the world’s laws. Only at special moments, through esoteric methods, could it be done. Those who descended were no ordinary figures, each with terrifying origins.
“What is in this realm that makes a few risk descending?” Shi Hao asked.
“There are treasures. Ever since a forbidden existence perished here, curiosity has only grown,” the pagoda replied.
An indescribably obscure aura filled the heavens, intensifying the sense of dread. People knew the inevitable was coming. All cultivators were uneasy.
Over these days, Shi Hao remained composed, cultivating in the village, occasionally seeking guidance from the mighty beings around him.
“Willow Deity, the great calamity approaches, and I’ve turned fifteen. Should I undergo another baptism?” he asked. Normally, baptisms at ages five, ten, and fifteen were essential to unlock the body’s potential for future cultivation.
“Unnecessary. You’ve continuously broken through extremes, stepping forward by your own strength. You’ve done well—no need for this now,” the Willow Deity replied.
According to it, Shi Hao had been unleashing his latent potential without needing confinement in a cauldron or further intervention. Continuing the baptisms would risk overdrawing his reserves, as he had already pushed far ahead on this path. The Willow Deity advised letting nature take its course—his current path was sound, and he need only press forward steadfastly, embodying the harmony of the Dao.
Shi Hao refined himself, striving for perfection. For half a month, he trained diligently in Stone Village while observing the heavens, witnessing many mystical phenomena. Unfazed, he immersed himself in comprehending the Dao, practicing techniques, and attempting to unlock the beast hide obtained from the Void God Realm, hoping to master an ancient supreme art.
The words “Six Paths” itched at his mind, fueling his desire to grasp this divine ability—a means to secure his place in the coming upheaval.
“Hmm… Why do I feel something calling me from lands far from Stone Village?” Shi Hao was puzzled. Initially planning to wait out the calamity in seclusion, this inexplicable sensation unsettled him, as if he might miss something crucial.
“Your intuition isn’t wrong. It means you’ve touched a thread of the Dao’s trajectory,” the small pagoda said. While the calamity was perilous, it also held immense opportunities. With the heavens unstable, profound truths might manifest, and even great beings could perish, dissolving into the Dao. Witnessing this would be a celestial fortune.
Shi Hao wrestled with the decision—should he venture out? Though not a Revered One and thus less likely to draw attention, danger lurked unpredictably.
“Your choice,” the Willow Deity said softly.
“I want to go, to witness this calamity and understand its nature,” Shi Hao declared.
“Consider carefully. Once you leave, you may not return. I may even take Stone Village into seclusion, vanishing from this world,” the Willow Deity stated plainly. Clearly, it sought no part in the conflicts, intending to recuperate and seal the village away.
Relieved that the village would be safe, Shi Hao felt fewer worries. He need only be cautious outside.
“I’ve made my decision,” he affirmed.
“Your journey may span years, even decades. Before you go, I shall impart a technique.”
Shi Hao’s heart surged with excitement. The Willow Deity’s power was beyond question—its divine art would surely be world-shaking, a formidable safeguard.
A crystalline willow branch, glowing jade-green, touched his brow, suffusing him with sacred radiance. Gradually, the branch turned golden, mysterious ripples flowing into his mind—countless golden symbols, resonating with the Dao, dazzling and transcendent.
His spirit emptied into clarity as he absorbed the art. The symbols coalesced into a primal rune—the essence of the Willow Deity’s technique, myriad evolutions distilled into one, embodying the simplicity of the Great Dao. Yet, deciphering it would require meticulous unraveling, a monumental task.
The branch withdrew. Shi Hao’s eyes snapped open. He knew mastery was beyond his current reach—the Willow Deity had advised waiting until his cultivation deepened. Its Dao emphasized harmony with nature, aligning with one’s state of mind, which he wasn’t yet ready for.
Bidding farewell to Stone Village, Shi Hao departed, vanishing into the wilderness. The small pagoda accompanied him, still dangling from his hair, eager to witness the calamity’s peculiarities.
Winds howled through primal mountains as beasts roared and birds shrieked, all restless. The recent anomalies—especially the void rifts—suggested something colossal was coming.
In this chaotic era, countless vied for the slim chance at enlightenment. Shi Hao gazed skyward, stepping forward against the gale.
Half a month later, he entered the western borders of the Stone Nation, seeking old acquaintances while traversing the land to comprehend the calamity’s scope.
The heavens grew increasingly oppressive. Clear skies would tremble abruptly, thunder echoing as void rifts flashed.
Then, the day arrived. A dull reverberation shook the world, as if the cosmos were being remade. All beings shuddered.
A bizarre, deafening noise—the Great Dao’s trajectory faltered, pausing momentarily. The world seemed to freeze.
Then, every cultivator looked up, horrified. The sky was splitting, an unstoppable force at work.
With a deafening crash, the firmament shattered, unleashing boundless divine light and an overwhelming sacred aura. Countless beings sensed it, their hearts enlightened.
Though the calamity loomed, many cultivators became entranced, grasping fragments of foreign laws, as if baptized by divine wisdom, on the verge of epiphany.
This was no mere gate—it resembled an inverted volcano, spewing radiant mist, vast and blinding.
“Dang!”
A deep, resonant bell toll echoed across the Desolate Wasteland, reaching every corner, inescapable.
Shi Hao’s mind reeled as he stared skyward. A massive bell descended slowly from the volcanic breach, ancient and unadorned. With each gentle chime, visible ripples spread, sweeping across the boundless wilderness.
“How can it be this?!” The small pagoda shrieked, immediately concealing its aura, turning inert as a stone.
The bell was astounding, wreathed in swirling mist and radiant light, outshining all beneath heaven. Symbols ignited along its surface like an incantation, resonating with the tolls, a proclamation to all living beings.
The obscure, profound chant seemed to belong to an eternal, forbidden entity—though no figure appeared, it felt as if a gaze had pierced through time, surveying the entire world.
The chant carried antiquity and sorrow—utterly unlike what Shi Hao and the pagoda had anticipated. No one had descended—only a bell.
And this was only the beginning.
Another dull reverberation—the Dao’s path skewed once more. A second object emerged from the volcanic breach, glowing with dazzling brilliance.
“Ah! How can it be that?!” Shi Hao gasped, stunned beyond belief.
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