“If I attain the Other Shore, then in all worldly affairs, no matter how boundless the predicament, there will always be a glimmer of hope!”
As Meng Qi uttered these solemn and grand words, the turbulent future tributaries accelerated their oscillations, shifting rapidly and branching into even more possibilities. Among these countless ethereal and elusive tributaries, apart from those already predetermined to be “impassable,” the newly emerged possibilities were so numerous that even Meng Qi himself found it difficult to measure them clearly in a short time. Likewise, he couldn’t make an accurate judgment in the blink of an eye to choose the possibilities that could traverse the River of Fate.
Yet, with his words, hope emerged. His body seemed guided by fate, taking a step forward and perfectly stepping into one of the tributaries, riding it toward the future.
“Fate” was illusory and elusive. Meng Qi drifted along, carried by the currents, until after an unknowable length of time, the river finally vanished. An ordinary-looking stone door appeared before him, its restrictions weak enough that even a common martial artist could push it open with ease.
…
Outside the sect’s secret grounds, before the ancient bronze door, the grand voice echoed, and the River of Fate filled the sky, washing away the dust of time.
Gazes from every corner of Zhixu Mountain turned toward it, staring blankly at the emergence of the illusory river, watching as its tributaries changed, no longer bound by the inevitability of fate, no longer immutable.
After a long silence, the roaring and surging waves calmed and gradually faded, leaving behind a brilliant display of colorful clouds above the secret grounds, spanning the mountain range, hazy yet radiant, much like the light of Buddha.
“Has Su Meng truly passed the third trial?” The black-robed old woman looked at the middle-aged scholar as if seeking confirmation, seemingly unable to trust her own judgment.
The middle-aged scholar’s lips moved a few times before he finally offered a bitter smile: “Since the founder fell into slumber, no one has ever been able to pass the third trial. How could I possibly judge? We can only wait for Su Meng to emerge and confirm it from his own words.”
He paused before adding, “However, with the appearance of the Buddha’s light and the colorful clouds, it’s highly likely that Su Meng has crossed the River of Fate.”
As the current sect leader of Zhixu Mountain, he had initially intended to say that they could simply enter and see for themselves. But the words died on his lips as he realized a significant problem: the nature of the three trials within the secret grounds was such that they wouldn’t deactivate simply because someone had passed them—unless they were completely and violently destroyed. Thus, even if Su Meng had crossed the River of Fate, the rest of them would likely still find themselves sighing in despair before the “river,” only able to infer Su Meng’s situation from his absence on this side. And with that, the possibilities became far too numerous.
Yue Ziqing was no longer in her puppet-like state; her eyes burned with a fanatical flame as if she were arguing with someone: “Though it’s hard to believe that ‘fate’ could be altered by a single mighty figure, the anomalies in the River of Fate are enough to reveal much.”
She seemed eager to rush inside and study the current state of the “River of Fate.”
At that moment, streaks of light flew in, and the area around the bronze door quickly filled with the surviving elders and disciples of Zhixu Mountain, layered upon one another. They bombarded each other with questions, none yielding to the others, turning the scene into a cacophony akin to a gathering of a hundred thousand ducks, nearly deafening in its chaos.
The manifested guardian figures appeared, silencing the noise. The black-robed old woman frowned, her silver brows knitting as she muttered to herself: “Based on our research into the River of Fate, we can confirm that aside from those who have attained the Other Shore or the pinnacle of the Time Dao, no one could successfully cross it. Even if the founder were to awaken and return to his peak, unless he used his identity as the founder of Zhixu Mountain to manipulate the restrictions, he likely couldn’t pass the River of Fate either…”
The middle-aged scholar shook his head and sighed: “Though Su Meng is the current ‘Cause of All Effects,’ making him difficult to deduce and calculate, it’s not hard to know that he’s entangled with several Other Shore figures. Moreover, he wields the Peerless Blade of the Overlord.”
“Perhaps it’s precisely by leveraging traces left by the Other Shore that he managed to disrupt the River of Fate and create new future possibilities. Still, achieving this is no small feat. If I were in his place, I fear… I fear I couldn’t do it…”
At this point, his expression turned solemn as he addressed the black-robed old woman and the surrounding elders and disciples: “In the philosophy of our Zhixu Mountain, it’s best to avoid words like ‘certain,’ ‘definite,’ or ‘absolute.’ The Great Dao is elusive, filled with unknowns. What we’ve managed to research so far is but a tiny fraction. Who’s to say there isn’t another method to bypass the ‘River of Fate,’ one beyond the scope of our research? Let a few of us enter first to observe the current state of the ‘River of Fate,’ gather information, and facilitate future studies.”
The black-robed old woman nodded reluctantly and followed him through the bronze door, with several elders and Yue Ziqing close behind. The densely packed disciples outside the door didn’t disperse, remaining gathered there, their eyes alight with excitement as they awaited further news. Some even brought their own tools, conducting research while they waited.
After all, this was the “River of Fate” that had stumped generations of Zhixu Mountain’s strongest!
…
After crossing the “River of Fate,” Meng Qi felt as though his head was splitting open. The sheer scale and quantity of “karmic transference” had pushed the limits of the “Cause of All Effects,” leaving him overwhelmed. But as he ran his fingers over the blade of the Peerless Blade and saw the final stone door of the secret grounds, a smile still surfaced on his face.
With a casual wave, the weakly restricted stone door swung open, revealing the scene beyond to Meng Qi.
Hmm… At first glance, he felt a stir of doubt and surprise.
The sight before him was one of ruins, with shattered artifacts scattered everywhere, as if a terrifying and violent explosion had occurred. Yet, bizarrely, the explosion hadn’t spread beyond the stone door—which offered no real barrier—confining itself to an area of roughly a few hundred zhang in radius.
It was clear that walls had once divided this space into numerous rooms. Now, not even broken walls or remnants remained—only oddly shaped fragments.
This doesn’t seem normal… Meng Qi’s heart sank as he suspected something had happened here.
Had someone bypassed the River of Fate through some ingenious method, arrived here, and caused this destruction?
Or was it one of the Other Shore figures? But given their power, they could have leveled this place with a flick of their finger across the endless river of time, leaving nothing behind.
Stepping inside, Meng Qi picked up a few fragments to examine. Some were pure cyan, others glazed with a glassy green hue—each varying in color but all equally lifeless, thoroughly ruined inside and out, beyond any hope of salvage.
Channeling his divine sense and activating the “Cause of All Effects,” Meng Qi began a meticulous analysis.
His eyes swirled with black and white, cycles of creation and destruction, faintly sparking countless flames of insight. Then, suddenly, everything vanished, replaced by a look of astonishment in his eyes:
“This feels like the work of a consummate Creation realm expert…”
“Could it be the founder of Zhixu Mountain, one of the Six Heretical Teachers, who discovered the remains of a great supernatural being or used a secret method to sever a part of himself to craft the original form of these shattered items?”
Normally, those at the Legend, Creation, or Other Shore realms couldn’t simply use parts of their own dharma bodies to forge artifacts or refine elixirs and then regenerate the lost parts through flesh-and-blood derivation. Once separated from the body, such materials would lose their vitality and many of their inherent traits to avoid interfering with the original form. Thus, they would be far inferior to remains, resulting in artifacts or elixirs of much lower quality. If one truly wished to use such materials, they would have to sever that part permanently through the Great Dao, with no possibility of recovery.
And yet, an artifact crafted in such a manner had been destroyed, shattered into fragments scattered everywhere?
Expanding his divine sense to envelop the surroundings, Meng Qi focused on his search. Before long, he found something beyond the fragments—broken and incomplete jade slips that seemed to have been stored in the most heavily protected area, spared from complete annihilation.
Picking up the first jade slip, he found only a single line of content remaining:
“Measuring the River of Time…”
Meng Qi nodded slightly, roughly understanding what these were—research notes left by the founder of Zhixu Mountain on the eve of his slumber, explorations into the path to the Other Shore!
Subsequent jade slips confirmed his guess, bearing words like “communication,” “retrospection,” “past,” and “future.” But only these words remained, with no concrete content to be gleaned, leaving Meng Qi deeply regretful.
Taking up the final jade slip, Meng Qi began reading once more.
“Hmm, this one is relatively intact.” He murmured to himself, a flicker of excitement in his heart as he focused on the text:
“…After the fall of those at the Legend or Creation realms, traces often remain in the world, carrying a certain measure of fortune. The same holds true for the Other Shore. The ancient Heavenly Emperor Haotian and Donghuang Taiyi, the later Heavenly Emperor Houtu of antiquity—all still leave behind remnants…”
“…These traces are somewhat akin to imprints upon the world, yet they are utterly devoid of vitality, with no possibility of revival. Likewise, they are elusive and difficult to perceive…”
“…I severed my left arm and fashioned it into an object, placing it within my slumbering grounds to sense and seek out these imprints and traces…”
“After tens of thousands of years, I was roused from my slumber—my long search had finally borne fruit!”
“If I can thoroughly study these imprints and traces, my path to the Other Shore will be within reach!”
The content ended abruptly here, with the rest of the slip blank—whether destroyed or simply never recorded, it was impossible to say.
A grave light lingered in Meng Qi’s eyes as he surveyed the ruins around him once more, finding nothing but devastation.
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