The shimmering light, illusory yet real, seemed invisible yet vividly conveyed the passage of time. The Blade of Time lay quietly on the altar, showing no extra reaction.
Facing this, Meng Qi treated it as ordinary and continued speaking as if he had never expected an answer:
“If the Celestial Emperor truly returns, achieving his peak state immediately would be one thing. But if he still needs time to consolidate, I believe he wouldn’t mind gaining an ally on the other shore.”
“As long as he or you intervene at the critical moment, once I attain the other shore, I will assist the Celestial Emperor in regaining his peak.”
After speaking these words in the tone of a grand vow, he withdrew his gaze, dispelling the purple light from the eyes of the current leader of the Xuantian Sect and retracting the heart demon. He neither waited for the Blade of Time’s reaction nor cared whether it could relay these words to the hidden, undying Celestial Emperor.
The Jade Emperor Mountain still stood, and the Xuantian Sect remained. No major figure had seized the Blade of Time—perhaps they were simply “waiting for the hare to run into the tree.”
……
In the deepest abyss of the Netherworld, at the core of the Ruins of the Nether Sea, sat a young man draped in black robes. His delicate features bore an expression of weariness and exhaustion toward the mortal world and all things. Across his knees lay a dark, lightless sword, three feet, three inches, and three-tenths long. With a mere wave of his hand, it seemed he could sever everything—including himself.
Suddenly, a flash of purple light twisted before him, taking the form of Meng Qi.
“You’ve come,” the Seven-Killing Taoist said flatly.
Meng Qi nodded slightly. “I have.”
“What do you offer to persuade me?” The Seven-Killing Taoist seemed already aware of his purpose.
“Within the Netherworld, only you and the Nine Chaos Heavenly Venerate are qualified to intervene slightly in the real world. But he is a madman devoid of reason, only knowing destruction—impossible to reason with,” Meng Qi replied, sidestepping the question and instead addressing the state of the Netherworld.
Among the current pseudo-other shore figures, those wielding other shore-level supreme treasures were himself, Yang Jian, the Nine Chaos Heavenly Venerate, and the Seven-Killing Taoist. Outside the Netherworld, they could barely withstand two or three strikes from the major figures. Meng Qi didn’t expect them to join the main battlefield—only to divert attention from treasures like the Plain White Cloud Flag, the Green Lotus Treasure Flag, and the Heaven-Slaying Axe.
Pausing briefly, before the Seven-Killing Taoist could respond, Meng Qi continued, “As for the reason—if I die, the Demon Buddha will achieve completion and return as an Ancient One. Isn’t that enough?”
The Seven-Killing Taoist’s gaze remained unmoved. “The Nether Sea Sword has fully awakened. Within the Netherworld, as a pseudo-other shore, even if I can’t defeat him, why should I fear him?”
“The Demon Buddha is first a demon, then a Buddha. I worry he may seek to assimilate or even devour the Netherworld. And your pseudo-other shore status is merely a gift from the Netherworld,” Meng Qi said slowly before dispersing his figure. Flecks of purple light vanished like fleeting bubbles.
The Seven-Killing Taoist watched the fading purple light, his eyes growing profound.
……
“Mother! Mother!”
The childish voice echoed in her ears, distant as if from a past life. Gu Xiaosang slowly opened her eyes, her pupils reflecting dazzling stars, dreamlike and mysterious.
She surveyed her surroundings—a lavishly decorated bedroom housing priceless ancient zithers and one of the world’s most renowned bamboo flutes. The floor was covered in thick, warm carpets, inviting one to lie down.
In stark contrast, the windows were crisscrossed with black wooden bars, layer upon layer, sturdy and impenetrable, allowing no light. Even more bizarrely, the room had no door.
“How twisted…” Gu Xiaosang curled her lips into a smile, half-playful, half-mocking, ignoring the persistent calls of “Mother.”
She rose from the bed, her bare feet like snow-white sprites, and walked to one of the windows, running her fingers over the overlapping black bars.
When she withdrew her hand, a sliver of light seeped through—a tiny gap had appeared between two tightly fitted bars, piercing through several layers of confinement, revealing the persistence and stubbornness of whoever had carved it.
Her smile deepened slightly as she stepped forward, passing through the gap like a phantom, through the bars and the window itself.
Outside was not a courtyard but a vast, boundless river with no opposite shore in sight. A ferryboat waited by the bank, its helm manned by an old boatman in a straw hat.
Gu Xiaosang walked barefoot toward the boat, leisurely as if on a spring outing. After a long while, she reached the ferry and saw the boatman clearly—his sallow skin deeply wrinkled, his eyebrows and hair long gone. Without a word, she boarded and sat at the bow.
The boatman pushed off, steering the ferry into the river’s heart. Only then did Gu Xiaosang smile gracefully and bow slightly. “Greetings, the Welcoming Buddha.”
This boatman was the Welcoming Buddha—Amitabha, the Ancient One among the other shore?
“Welcoming is welcoming. A Buddha has no ancestors,” the old boatman replied calmly, tacitly acknowledging her address.
Gu Xiaosang chuckled. “They’ll all assume I’m using the Eastern Emperor’s flesh to connect with the Heavenly Dao monster or secretly seeking the Hidden Emperor or the Celestial Emperor. But that alone isn’t enough. So I hid within the Peerless Heavenly Blade, pretending to begin my schemes. Only after my husband severed the Mother’s reach into the Netherworld and blocked the Black Celestial Emperor did I, under the blade’s concealment, step into the ‘Heaven of Self-Transformation,’ the birthplace of the ‘Great Freedom Son,’ using the source of the heart demon to connect with dreams and invite the Buddha here.”
The “Heaven of Self-Transformation” was another name for a layer of the Netherworld—a paradise for demons. Amitabha was the true master of dreams.
“Compassion, compassion. What does the benefactor seek from me?” The old boatman showed no surprise at her words.
“To ask the Buddha to help my husband ascend to the other shore, of course,” Gu Xiaosang declared matter-of-factly. Any bystander would have gaped in disbelief.
Wasn’t it Amitabha who once blocked the Tushita Palace, preventing the Moral Heavenly Venerate from intervening, allowing the Golden Empress to act freely against Meng Qi and Gu Xiaosang?
Wasn’t it Amitabha who formed a firm alliance with the Golden Empress, dividing the core of humanity?
Yet here she was, seeking his help—more unthinkable than making a pact with a tiger.
The old boatman regarded her with a faint smile. “Such a grand aspiration is rare indeed.”
“If the Maitreya Fellow Daoist seeks to break free from the sea of suffering, the Moral Heavenly Venerate will surely intervene. The Demon Emperor would never accept all races entering the earthly Buddha-land. Though the Green Emperor is the Medicine King Buddha, past grievances remain unsettled. The Pure Land and the earthly Buddha-land are fundamentally at odds. At this critical juncture, what will the Golden Empress think? Will she watch herself weaken?” Gu Xiaosang spoke fluidly, without pause. “With only you and the Ancient Buddha, the burden is too great. Releasing the Demon Buddha would only add another foe. Knowing this, when the Mother returned early and tried to kill me and my husband, you held back—leaving me as a thread.”
Her last words were spoken with absolute certainty, as if she had witnessed Amitabha’s restraint firsthand.
“Though the Moral Benefactor is the foundation of existence and will weaken in the final calamity, he has already achieved the embryonic Dao Fruit. The impact is minimal. Even with his ‘Three Pure Ones’ incarnation, blocking him was arduous,” the old boatman replied, his tone unchanged.
Gu Xiaosang tilted her head slightly and suddenly smiled. “I don’t mean you held back personally—but you didn’t employ the Hidden Emperor.”
At the last two words, her voice sharpened like a sudden thunderclap.
The old boatman fell silent, studying her before sighing softly. “I never imagined the benefactor knew this secret.”
He openly admitted his control over the Hidden Emperor.
“The end of the Primordial Era wounded the Three Sovereigns—not just Haotian and the Eastern Emperor. Yet the Hidden Emperor briefly resurged in the early ancient times before mysteriously vanishing. Much remains unknown, but he ended up like the Eastern Emperor—under your control,” Gu Xiaosang elaborated, proving she wasn’t bluffing. “Even with the Hidden Emperor, the Maitreya Fellow Daoist’s path to freedom remains perilous.”
“My husband has always had ties to Buddhism—born in Shaolin, mastering the Tathagata Palm’s essence, and learning several of its forms. He harbors no innate hostility toward Buddhism. If you aid his ascent, he will reciprocate when the Maitreya Fellow Daoist seeks enlightenment. The Moral Heavenly Venerate will surely turn a blind eye.”
“Moreover, isn’t the Maitreya Fellow Daoist’s earthly Buddha-land crucial to you?”
As she spoke, the rippling waters carried the ferry back to the original shore. The old boatman’s hat shielded his eyes as he remained silent.
Gu Xiaosang stood, stepped off the boat, and retraced her steps. Only when the river vanished did her lips curl into a faint smile.
After her figure left the dream, the scene didn’t collapse. Instead, a full, flawless moon rose over the river, casting boundless, crystalline light.
“If you could truly rejoice in Su Meng’s ascent, you wouldn’t have stood by when the Ancient Buddha’s incarnation perished under the True Martial Sword,” a cold, ethereal voice drifted down.
The old boatman smiled faintly. “And what does the benefactor think now?”
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