The wine cup was set down, the liquid splashing slightly. Gao Lan closed his eyes briefly, and when he reopened them, they burned with fervor and excitement.
The pride in his bones could not withstand the longing for *her* in his heart.
“How do I use it?” Gao Lan struggled to control his tone, yet his voice grew hoarse and trembled faintly.
Since it was the Moonlight Treasure Box, one had to chant “Prajñāpāramitā” or invoke the moon… Meng Qi ultimately refrained from making a sarcastic remark and simply nodded. “Just channel your Dao power.”
Not channeling it would work too—after all, it was merely a communication device. What truly mattered was his own strength…
Gao Lan gripped the Moonlight Treasure Box with both hands, hesitating for a moment. It wasn’t reluctance, but a fear akin to homesickness. After centuries apart, what should he say when he saw her again? How would she respond?
He took a deep breath, and a line of text surfaced in his mind:
“Twenty-seventh year of Yongxi, sixteenth day of the sixth month, fourth quarter of the midnight hour…”
This was a date he would never forget, a memory etched into his very bones.
The Moonlight Treasure Box glowed faintly, its radiance like moonlight, illuminating the hall and casting Gao Lan’s figure into a hazy, illusory state before he was swallowed by surging waves of emptiness.
—
**Twenty-seventh year of Yongxi, sixteenth day of the sixth month, fourth quarter of the midnight hour.**
Chang’an was drenched in heavy rain, dark clouds pressing down upon the city.
*Splash, splash, splash!*
The heavens seemed to pour down, raindrops hammering the ground, kicking up white mist that formed a curtain-like veil. The surroundings were pitch-black, save for the constant clashing of weapons, the occasional flash of lightning, bursts of flame soaring into the sky, and sword glares illuminating the area—revealing blood slowly pooling on the ground, corpses strewn about, and the wounded groaning in pain.
A woman, elegant as an immortal, struggled to hold her ground. Her hands moved swiftly, conjuring countless palm shadows as if she had a thousand arms, each forming seals to block the onslaught of blades. Blood stained her robes—some from others, some her own. She barely survived the fierce assault, but lurking in the darkness around her were still more enemies, their presence flickering in and out of sight.
*”It seems my dreams will shatter here today…”* Yan Ran sighed inwardly, already foreseeing her fate. Her will to fight waned, leaving only one stubborn thought—to live until *he* arrived, to see him one last time…
Just then, a bolt of lightning was summoned from the heavens, splitting the sky and illuminating the entire city. The brilliance dazzled Yan Ran, making her feel as if this was the final radiance of her life.
A sword light emerged from the darkness, soundlessly piercing toward her back. Only when the faint sting reached her did Yan Ran jolt awake—but it was too late to dodge.
*What a pity… I couldn’t wait for him…*
Suddenly, the sword light froze, its tip barely breaking her skin. The clamor and chaos around her vanished eerily, replaced by a serene quiet, as if bathed in the gentle glow of moonlight.
Yan Ran instinctively looked up and saw a man clad in imperial robes, a flat-topped crown upon his head. His towering figure shielded her from the storm and all the surrounding turmoil.
That strikingly handsome face was achingly familiar. The fervent, emotional gaze seemed to pull her back into a dream, filled with self-reproach, relief, and gratitude—yet also tinged with an indescribable pain and tenderness.
Countless emotions surged in Yan Ran’s heart, blurring her vision. Words piled up at the tip of her tongue, but all she managed was a soft murmur:
“You seem to have aged over a decade in a single night…”
The Gao Lan she once knew was spirited and full of vigor, but the man before her now was mature and restrained, his brow bearing the marks of hardship.
Gao Lan’s eyes reddened instantly. His lips trembled slightly as he replied, “Yes… a single night apart feels like over a decade.”
*Not just a decade—this gaze has been delayed for centuries!*
With a sweep of his right arm, he pulled Yan Ran into a firm embrace. Around them, the frozen figures of enemies exploded one after another, flesh and blood scattering like fireworks.
Caught off guard, Yan Ran felt both sweetness and shock before being lifted into the air by Gao Lan. From above, she saw another Gao Lan—a frenzied version of him—charging toward them like a madman!
“Him? You?” Yan Ran was bewildered.
“Tch, ignore that fool!” Gao Lan flicked his finger, and the entire sequence of events flowed into Yan Ran’s mind. In a flash, they soared to the highest heavens, where an eternal, majestic palace stood. A plaque hung quietly above its entrance: **Jade Void Palace**.
Holding Yan Ran’s hands, Gao Lan’s eyes brimmed with the tenderness of a hero—enough to drown one’s heart. He spoke softly, “Wait for me here.”
Understanding everything, Yan Ran nodded tearfully, her voice gentle yet firm. “I will.”
As the moonlight surged, Gao Lan vanished. In Chang’an, a fake corpse of Yan Ran appeared. The mad Gao Lan cradled it, wailing and singing wildly before bathing the city in blood.
A glazed ancient lamp shone, severing the threads of karma. In the present node, the Mystic Maiden of the Ninth Heaven gained new memories and sighed softly. Meanwhile, within the Jade Void Palace, a pure radiance hung high, facing the supreme emperor atop the Nine Heavens from afar.
Yan Ran shivered briefly, composing herself before turning around. The gates of the Jade Void Palace had opened silently, revealing a deep, tranquil interior reminiscent of an ancient temple lit by a solitary lamp.
She bowed slightly and stepped across the threshold, entering a side hall where a statue of the Primordial Heavenly Lord stood. Below it flickered an ancient lamp, its flame reflecting the great events of the mortal world.
—
**Present Node.**
Gao Lan reappeared, but Meng Qi was no longer before him. Raising his head, he saw the gates of the Jade Void Palace in the highest heavens slowly open, revealing a graceful figure—one that had haunted his dreams for centuries.
Yan Ran sensed his gaze and lifted her head. Their eyes met, as if lightning had struck across the centuries.
*Before the Heavenly Lord’s seat, a lone lamp burned. A hundred years of waiting had finally led to this moment.*
—
The Ark of Doom traversed the void, entering Xuan Bei’s Kṣitigarbha Pure Land and coming to rest atop Mount Sumeru. Yet Meng Qi did not immediately begin refining it.
Though he could accelerate time, shortening the lengthy process to mere months, days, moments, or even breaths, an artifact of this caliber and purpose required the right opportunity—only then could he seize the momentum of heaven and earth to achieve the desired effect.
While waiting, Meng Qi was not idle.
In the Eastern Sea’s Immortal Realm, within the newly established Huamei Villa, the back mountain remained unchanged—lush with exotic flowers and a simple thatched hut. A solitary grave stood quietly.
Sword Man Lu Da devoted himself wholly to carving a wooden statue, undisturbed even as a robed, crowned Heavenly Lord appeared before him. Only after completing the final stroke did he set down his tools and smile at Meng Qi.
“During the last surge of the Jin River, I recalled the past. Who would have thought that the boy who once stared blankly at my carvings would become the Heavenly Lord of Daoism?”
“Life is full of unpredictable turns. I owe much to your guidance back then,” Meng Qi replied casually, sitting cross-legged. His gaze drifted to the villa, where the Frost Fairy—now a Dharmakāya cultivator—and former members of the Immortal Trace like Qu Jiuniang, who had extended her lifespan with elixirs, lived on.
“Yan Ran has been revived.”
The Six Paths had long disbanded; the cycle of reincarnation had ceased.
“Is that so…” Sword Man Lu Da paused briefly, glimpsing the heavenly secrets and confirming Meng Qi’s words.
“Back then, you refused the Demon Buddha’s temptation, saying you would fulfill your wish yourself. Now, as this epoch nears its end, would you like to see your wife again—to face what may be the final future together?” Meng Qi asked with a faint smile.
At this stage, he no longer expected Sword Man Lu Da to advance further. Time was running out, so he began helping old friends fulfill their wishes before calmly awaiting the apocalypse.
Sword Man Lu Da’s gaze softened as he looked at the grave. “I am neither stubborn nor a hypocrite. If such a blessing does not violate my principles, how could I refuse?”
As his words faded, he suddenly sensed something and turned toward the mountain path. There, amidst a riot of blooming flowers, stood a graceful woman in palace attire. She smiled gently, her eyes tender—as if this were all a dream.
Sword Man Lu Da was spellbound.
*That gentle smile—the one that had haunted his dreams until this very moment…*
In the past, the moment Sword Man Lu Da’s wife passed away, Meng Qi had brought her to the Jade Void Palace, fed her divine elixirs, and used an illusory body to deceive fate—ensuring Sword Man Lu Da’s cultivation remained unchanged.
—
After completing such tasks, Meng Qi turned his gaze to the ancient past.
This time, it was his turn—to finally face the imprint of the Primordial Heavenly Lord, whom he had long avoided.
Knowing that the Mother of No Birth’s hidden move likely stemmed from secrets left behind by the Primordial Heavenly Lord and the Numinous Treasure Heavenly Lord, refusing to investigate would be tantamount to suicide!
In the Mythological Era, was the Primordial Heavenly Lord merely an imprint, maintaining the flow of history? What would happen when Meng Qi—the product of “emptiness through subtraction”—encountered this imprint?
Would there be another chance to reopen the source of time, reuniting the Investiture of the Gods, Journey to the West, and the Real World—restoring the River of Time to its original form and revealing clues about the two Heavenly Lords’ whereabouts?
As for the reincarnation of the Tyrant’s imprint… that would have to wait for the next epoch. The apocalypse was drawing near.
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