Worried about the affairs of the founding patriarch, Mo Fei personally escorted Meng Qi out of Zhixu Mountain without further delay, then sealed off the realm, cutting off all connections between inside and outside.
Meng Qi’s figure flickered and instantly appeared outside the realm where the ancient Fusang Tree stood. He gazed upon the towering ancient tree, its twin trunks supporting each other, leaves resembling mulberry, bathed in golden flames. A sense of primal antiquity and scorching bloodlust permeated the surroundings, propping up a world no less vast than the real one.
Stepping through the gap, the ancient fairyland unfolded before Meng Qi like a scroll—ethereal and transcendent, yet laden with the dust of ages, decayed and lifeless.
Without lingering, Meng Qi followed the details deduced by Mo Fei and Huang Yao, arriving directly before the Fusang Tree. He sensed the distinct auras of its two main trunks: one exuding supreme and solemn weight, the other profound and mysterious, as if two ancient emperors stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing down upon the current era.
His cognition restructured, old perspectives collapsed, and a new framework rapidly formed based on his surroundings. What Meng Qi now saw was entirely different—the Fusang Tree resembled the skeleton of all heavens and worlds, towering amidst the vast darkness, connecting and bearing countless mulberry leaves, each a universe unto itself, rendering even legendary figures insignificant by comparison.
Meng Qi advanced no further, standing quietly above the valley formed by the roots and branches of the towering ancient tree. Countless thoughts flashed through his mind, only to settle one by one, leaving no trace.
He extended his right hand, pressing his index and middle fingers together, and inscribed golden characters on the cliff face of the “valley”:
“Su Meng of Yuxu respectfully awaits Senior Qingdi, leaving this message at the current node.”
The characters shimmered like glass, resembling a talisman meant to suppress the Monkey King beneath Five-Finger Mountain—solemn and sacred. Yet the moment Meng Qi finished writing, he turned and left without hesitation, as if the Fusang Tree’s realm harbored beasts fierce enough to threaten him. He gave no thought to whether later arrivals might destroy his message, leaving it unprotected.
Normally, the future holds countless possibilities. Even if Qingdi were certain to arrive here in five years, it didn’t guarantee Meng Qi’s words would survive until then. Many with ulterior motives could erase them through various means. Leaving the message unguarded was akin to inviting trouble.
With his current legendary realm and ability to scrutinize thoughts, Meng Qi was well aware of this. Yet his departure was resolute, his expression calm—not a frantic escape, but a deliberate act.
Xiao Sang had long guided him to seek Qingdi’s whereabouts, suggesting that leaving a message for him years later would greatly benefit his understanding of the future. Coincidentally, Zhixu Mountain had deduced the time and place of Qingdi’s enlightenment, though the two “destinies” contradicted each other. Connecting the dots, if Meng Qi still failed to grasp the underlying mystery, he’d be as foolish as an ox—though not the Ox Demon King’s kind.
“Heh, no matter how skilled Zhixu Mountain is at deduction or how ancient their knowledge, their predictions about Qingdi’s enlightenment must be far off. I wonder which being deliberately guided them?” Meng Qi stepped onto clouds, naturally arriving at the gap of the Fusang Tree’s realm, a faint smile curling his lips.
Qingdi was the closest among living great supernatural beings to the Other Shore. For Zhixu Mountain to deduce matters related to him couldn’t have been easy—likely akin to peering at Meng Qi himself, who bore the “Cause of All Effects.” Even if they possessed unimaginable strengths and corresponding treasures to glean fragments about Qingdi, his enlightenment inevitably involved the schemes and struggles of Other Shore figures. How could they possibly discern the exact time and place?
The Zhixu Mountain experts, engrossed in research and free from worldly distractions, might not have noticed the anomalies. But Meng Qi recognized the truth the moment he heard their deductions.
Since this involved the schemes of Other Shore beings, fulfilling his part was enough. There was no need to worry about whether his message would be destroyed—others would handle that. Overextending himself would only invite unpredictable dangers beyond mortal comprehension.
He wasn’t yet ready to truly get involved in the affairs of the Other Shore.
When it was time to retreat, he had to retreat immediately!
As for the benefits Xiao Sang mentioned, Meng Qi had already reaped them in Zhixu Mountain—gaining insights into glimpsing the future. True to her word, whether through Yue Ziqing’s descriptions, the specifics of the “River of Destiny,” or Mo Fei and Huang Yao’s deductions about future possibilities, it was all part of the “intended meaning.”
With a faint smile, Meng Qi clasped his hands behind his back and stepped through the gap, returning to the Yuxu Palace on Kunlun Mountain.
Once again, he vanished into the depths of the clouds.
…
Inside Jin Prince’s residence.
Yu Jinghua, dressed in the attire of a lowly maid, toiled at menial chores without a trace of complaint. Her delicate face bore only focus, save for beads of “sweat.”
The supervising matron nodded slightly in approval, silently praising the girl’s simplicity and diligence. For a year, she had worked earnestly, followed rules, endured hardships, and shown no suspicious or ambitious behavior—no pursuit of martial arts, no yearning for the jianghu, no attempts to approach the prince.
“I should mention her to the steward for a raise,” the matron mused inwardly.
But Yu Jinghua was far from the diligent maid she appeared to be. Her infiltration had lasted nearly a year, far exceeding the minimum time set by the Six Paths, yet the follow-up mission still hadn’t triggered.
With a godlike Jin Prince in residence and ties to the dreaded “Immortal Trace” organization, she had no choice but to wait patiently, immersing herself fully as a genuine maid, every action flawless, even convincing herself she was no longer a reincarnator from another world.
Only this way could she safely remain in Jin Prince’s residence.
Finishing her tasks, Yu Jinghua put away her tools and followed the matron to the next courtyard, where the remaining chores were handled by Mo Palace’s automated mechanisms.
Passing through the moon gate, she encountered the gardener Zhu Tianming, her teammate, who had just finished pruning the foliage.
As they brushed past each other, they exchanged nods and casual words, not pretending to be strangers. Their household registrations shared the same origin, and avoiding interaction would only raise suspicions. To outsiders, they were simply fellow villagers—one entering first and later introducing the other.
In their brief exchange, both saw the anxiety in each other’s eyes. But without the Six Paths’ next mission, they were powerless.
“Will I really spend my life as a maid in Jin Prince’s residence?” The thought surfaced unbidden in Yu Jinghua’s mind.
Just as she and Zhu Tianming parted, their backs still visible on either side of the moon gate, their bodies suddenly stiffened simultaneously, as if sharing a single mind.
The long-unfamiliar, yet intimately known voice had finally spoken!
…
Deep within Chang Le Imperial Palace, in a heavily restricted secret hall.
Gao Lan, surrounded by countless rays of human path radiance and the silhouettes of emperors, abruptly opened his eyes. Light emerged from the void, illuminating every corner of the hall.
“Finally, enough ‘other-self imprints’ have been gathered!”
His expression cold and detached, Gao Lan couldn’t suppress a faint emotional ripple, exhaling softly.
Merging two personalities through the Mirror of This Life was no simple feat—its difficulties and reversals were beyond outsiders’ comprehension. Through this, he had long gained insight into the nature of “self.” When Yan Ran’s resurrection plan failed, he saw himself clearly, penetrating all illusions. Now, his accumulation was complete.
His right hand descended, gripping the Human Emperor Sword at his waist as he rose slowly, standing proudly between heaven and earth. With a tone both sentimental and solemn, he murmured, “A century of suffering, a lifetime of vicissitudes—this heart remains unchanged, this will unbroken!”
With a resonant *clang*, he drew the Human Emperor Sword, its blade gleaming faintly gold.
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