Tan Ping pushed open the window to see a clear blue sky dotted with white clouds, stretching endlessly into the horizon. It was a stark contrast to the gloom brought by the Nine Nether’s erosion at the end of the previous era, filling him with a refreshing sense of clarity.
Could this truly be the early Middle Ages, during the reign of the Sage Emperor Qi? Had he really traveled back in time?
The Yellow Millet Pillow, the Yellow Millet Pillow… Could this all be just an incredibly lifelike dream?
Amidst the surge of emotions—joy, doubt, and confusion—Tan Ping noticed specks of white light descending from the sky. As they drew closer, he realized they were celestial blossoms, accompanied by an otherworldly fragrance.
“The Sage Emperor offers sacrifices to Heaven, and all evils disperse!”
The grand proclamation he had heard earlier echoed once more. Streaks of multicolored clouds rose from the horizon, spreading and converging into a vast radiant path. Then, fierce winds howled, and raindrops began to fall. The legendary figures, the Wind Marquis and the Rain Master, led their divine troops and immortal generals in a majestic procession, their overwhelming presence making Tan Ping feel utterly insignificant.
After the Wind Marquis and the Rain Master, bolts of lightning split the sky, illuminating the world. The Thunder Marquis and the Lightning Empress escorted an imperial chariot as it slowly advanced, the rumbling thunder sounding like a reverent welcome.
The chariot was ancient in design, stained with patches of blood in varying hues, each imbued with a powerful, unyielding will—as if the fallen had died with grievances unresolved. A strange, archaic aura permeated the air. Pulling the chariot were nine horned flood dragons, their agile forms brimming with explosive power. Just the sight of them made Tan Ping instinctively want to prostrate himself.
Beaded curtains hung around the chariot, faintly revealing a towering figure exuding an oppressive majesty. The aura of imperial authority had solidified into tangible forms—mountains, rivers, the sun, the moon, and stars—all orbiting around him. Even a mere glance caused Tan Ping’s eyes to ache, forcing him to avert his gaze.
This presence, this sensation, was more terrifying than any immortal or deity he had encountered in his past quests for enlightenment. It surpassed even the Wind Marquis, the Rain Master, the Thunder Marquis, and the Lightning Empress in its unfathomable depth. Perhaps only the enigmatic immortal who had lent him the Yellow Millet Pillow could compare.
Tan Ping lowered his head, not daring to look again, his heart already filled with understanding.
If this were a dream, he could never have imagined the Sage Emperor Qi’s overwhelming majesty!
What he had just witnessed was real—neither illusion nor dream!
He had truly returned to the Middle Ages, to the past. This was an immense opportunity!
Here, though he was merely an Outer Scene cultivator, he possessed an advantage that even the greatest powers and sages could not match: knowledge of future events and inevitable outcomes. With destiny’s secrets in his grasp, achieving greatness—ascending to immortality and founding a lineage—would not be difficult.
Of this, Tan Ping was utterly confident. Though he hailed from the Seven Seas and Twenty-Eight Worlds, where history had diverged from the Central Plains, he had spent the last two to three centuries since returning from the edge of the Eastern Sea. Moreover, the remnants of the Myriad World Communication Sphere had left behind countless texts, making it easy to grasp the major events and trends of the Middle Ages.
At this thought, he trembled with excitement, feeling as though a bright future was within reach—a golden path laid out before him.
“Is this what those storybooks call the ‘protagonist’s privilege’…?” Tan Ping mused wildly.
During his travels across different seas, he had come across many storybooks in marketplaces—hand-copied remnants from over a century ago, preserved after the shattering of the Myriad World Communication Sphere.
A full quarter-hour passed before the sky returned to normal, and Tan Ping finally snapped out of his daze. Recalling the history he knew, he began considering what opportunities might be within his grasp.
“The Sage Emperor’s sacrifice to Heaven must be at the Dragon Terrace of Jiangdong. Even if this place isn’t near the Eastern Sea, it can’t be far.” He muttered to himself as he pondered. “The Eastern Sea… the reign of the Sage Emperor Qi…”
Suddenly, Tan Ping’s eyes widened with ecstatic realization.
“The Miaoyan Palace!”
“The Miaoyan Palace appeared once during this period, leaving behind immortal scriptures like the *Taiyi Eternal Life Sutra*, the *True Art of Taiyi’s Salvation from Suffering*, and the *Azure Radiance Scriptures*, along with many treasures!”
The full name of the Miaoyan Palace was the “Miaoyan Palace of the Eastern Azure Radiance Eternal Bliss World”—the sacred abode of the Taiyi Salvation Venerable. After the Green Emperor ascended to the Other Shore, it merged with the Fusang Ancient Tree Realm. Renowned in ancient times, it had vanished into the Nine Nether shortly after its concealment, only reappearing once during the Middle Ages—precisely during the reign of the Sage Emperor Qi.
Excitement coursed through him as Tan Ping paced back and forth, deep in thought.
“I’ve heard that those who reach the Other Shore exist across past, present, and future. But I’m just here to seize a small opportunity—it won’t affect anything…”
“If I fear this and hesitate at that, wouldn’t I be wasting this chance?”
Quickly suppressing his unease, Tan Ping summoned his flying light and headed straight for Qingyan Mountain in the Eastern Sea, as recorded in the ancient texts.
The mountain was remote and desolate, near the vanishing edge of the Eastern Sea. Though Tan Ping knew the general area, he lacked precise knowledge of its location. It took him a full six months to find the correct spot and trace his way there.
The sight of withered vegetation, low hills, and small islands made it hard to believe that this place concealed the sacred abode of the Taiyi Salvation Venerable—had he not been certain, Tan Ping would have doubted.
Sighing, he descended and began scouring the area for clues, fearing he might have arrived too late and missed the historical event.
After several more days, he joyfully discovered a mystical valley. The moment he stepped inside, a thick mist enveloped him.
“This is definitely the place!” Suppressing his excitement, he pressed forward through the mist. What should have been a mere hundred-zhang-long valley took him three days and nights to traverse.
Suddenly, the mist dissipated, and Tan Ping’s vision cleared. Before him, layered clouds of vibrant hues filled the sky, while purple energy suffused the air. Exotic flowers bloomed everywhere, and spiritual springs bubbled from the earth. The vegetation was lush beyond measure, its vitality so intense it seemed tangible. He realized he had entered another realm entirely.
In the distance, towering peaks rose amidst verdant forests, their slopes dotted with tiered palaces and pavilions from which auspicious lights occasionally soared.
Taking a deep breath, Tan Ping cautiously flew toward the magnificent complex. The gates of the Miaoyan Palace stood unsealed and unlocked. As he stepped inside, his eyes fell upon a dark, twisted lake—its waters a mix of crimson and black, thick with the tangles of karma and the weight of death.
At the lake’s center bloomed a single azure lotus, its petals pure and radiant, brimming with potent vitality. Seated atop it was a tall, gaunt Daoist in a water-blue robe and a bamboo crown, his eyes closed, his breath still—as if in deep slumber, or perhaps long since passed into stillness.
“Since the Medicine King Buddha is active in this era, has the Taiyi Salvation Venerable entered slumber to avoid him?” Tan Ping was startled, nearly breaking into a cold sweat. Only when the Daoist showed no reaction did he dare voice his thoughts.
Unable to comprehend the mysteries of the Other Shore, he bowed respectfully to the Taiyi Salvation Venerable—whether alive or dead—and said, “This junior did not mean to intrude upon the Venerable’s abode. I merely followed the clues and was fortunate enough to enter. I beg the Venerable’s forgiveness. If I may be so fortunate as to gain something from this encounter, I shall offer daily devotions in gratitude, never forgetting this great kindness.”
As soon as he finished speaking, a tremor ran through his heart. He looked up just as the Taiyi Salvation Venerable opened his eyes, his aura slowly unfurling.
Alive?
Awake?
Tan Ping felt as though he might faint from terror, his body trembling, his vision darkening.
“I understand.” A gentle voice whispered in his ear.
Understand what? Tan Ping looked around in confusion, only to see the surroundings shifting like fragments peeling away.
“Ah!” He gasped and sat up abruptly, finding himself back in the cave, surrounded by his old friends.
A dream?
A dream so vivid it could replicate the majesty of the Sage Emperor Qi and the Taiyi Salvation Venerable?
Amidst his bewilderment, Tan Ping noticed something new in his embrace—a faintly glowing azure pearl, within which countless mystical runes floated and sank.
“What’s this?” asked a girl in a pink jacket, puzzled.
She didn’t recall Brother Tan owning such a beautiful pearl…
Tan Ping glanced around, unsure whether this was dream or reality. Only after his friends began chattering did he exhale and say, “This must be the reward from the Yellow Millet Dream…”
Had he truly returned to the past in that “dream”? Had he truly met the Taiyi Salvation Venerable?
“So miraculous!” exclaimed a man with sparse eyebrows.
Regaining some composure, Tan Ping thought for a moment and said, “Would you all like to try as well?”
“Can we?” The girl in the pink jacket was both surprised and delighted.
Tan Ping smiled faintly. “Those who see it share in it. Sharing immortal opportunities is what true friends do.”
It wouldn’t do to hide the pillow and risk creating rifts—or worse, resorting to murder to keep the secret.
Amidst the group’s exclamations of gratitude, the girl in the pink jacket lay down, resting her head on the pillow, and fell into a deep slumber.
A short while later, she awoke, shaking her head blankly. “I didn’t dream of anything.”
Tan Ping examined the pillow. Its colors had dulled, its patterns obscured, as if drained of power—yet faint glimmers were gathering, slowly restoring it.
“It might take a few days before it can be used again,” Tan Ping concluded.
The man with sparse eyebrows nodded. “Then we’ll wait until we reach Changmen Island.”
Changmen Island? Tan Ping instinctively looked outside the cave. The storm had ceased, the clouds had parted, and the moon shone brightly amidst the stars, as if the world had been washed clean.
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