Qinglong only felt that the Heavenly Dragon before him had grown quiet once more, his breathing steady again.
The slight furrow in his brow smoothed out at that moment.
“Who could have angered you so much in their dream?” Qinglong grinned. “Could they really have hurt you?”
Naturally, the Heavenly Dragon couldn’t answer. He merely sat silently upon his throne, leaning slightly, his cheek resting in his hand, still deep in slumber.
Just as he had been for decades.
Seeing him like this, Qinglong’s expression flickered slightly.
“All this talk of ‘Primordial,’ ‘Ingenuity,’ ‘Dissolution’…” Qinglong chuckled bitterly. “Heavenly Dragon, you brought this upon yourself—waking every ten days, exhausting yourself, then falling back asleep. Who else is there to blame?”
With that, he stood up, stepping away from the throne and approaching the great tree at the foot of the stairs, gazing up at it.
“I told you long ago… What is the most important thing in a world? The three ‘Immortal Arts’ you chose?” Qinglong shook his head. “Truly, you live up to your title as the ‘Dreamwalker’—always lost in dreams. Look at the arts you picked. From the very start, you sought to craft a perfect world, and the result? You’ve trapped yourself in endless exhaustion.”
His eyes fixed on the red fruit hanging from the tree, Qinglong continued, “You boast of creating all things in this world… yet this fruit grew on its own, untouched by your ‘Immortal Arts.’ So now do you understand? The most important thing in this world isn’t the ‘world’ itself—it’s ‘people.’ Where there are people… infinite possibilities can emerge.”
He turned back, staring at the Heavenly Dragon’s sleeping face. “Time and again, reality has shown you… ‘Creating a world’ doesn’t grant control over all. Only arts like ‘Spiritual Hearing,’ ‘Silence,’ and ‘Soul Theft’—those that manipulate ‘people’—can achieve that. Only by playing with hearts can one obtain what they truly desire… Though, it seems we’ve both been dealing with a ‘monster.'”
The Heavenly Dragon’s silence filled the chamber.
Qinglong’s expression darkened. “Remember that foul-smelling apple you conjured with your ‘Immortal Arts,’ reeking of ‘Peach Blossom Spring’? You told me to discard it… but I took it to the Earth Serpent instead. I chose an ‘ant’ with ‘Metamorphosis’—guess what I turned it into? Just an apple… Now, guess what became of it?”
Still, the Heavenly Dragon remained silent.
“And what would you call someone born from an ‘apple’?” Qinglong asked eagerly. “Isn’t this idea brilliant?”
Only the echoes of the chamber answered him, along with the sharp silence.
Perhaps in all of the “Peach Blossom Spring,” only the Heavenly Dragon could engage in a conversation of equals with Qinglong. Yet, Qinglong was denied even that.
He could only talk to himself.
“What a magnificent idea… yet I have no one to share it with,” Qinglong muttered, trembling as he lowered his head. “Now that this place is already under the overwhelming influence of ‘Endless Cycle,’ why not toss someone in? As long as they believe themselves a ‘participant,’ they’ll join the ranks of ‘Endless Cycle’ without question. If this works… what need would there be for ‘Endless Cycle’? We could turn everything in this world into people…”
“Heavenly Dragon… we were both wrong. Had we realized from the start that ‘Immortal Arts’ would be tied to our own power… wouldn’t ‘Metamorphosis’ have been the better choice? We could have reshaped anything at will—including people. No…”
He shook his head again. “If only we had foreseen everything… How much better it would have been if we had remained just two ordinary men. Why did it have to come to this…?”
……
A portly, aged Earth Monkey stood in the corridor of the “Train,” fishing a cigarette from his pocket and sticking it between his lips.
But when he patted his pockets, he found no lighter.
Then, an empty hand extended before him—fingers twitching—and a lighter materialized out of thin air, its flame flickering to life.
The one offering it was none other than a Human Monkey.
“Dammit…” Earth Monkey cursed. “Just hand me the damn lighter. What’s with the theatrics? You’d better cut it out with the magic tricks on the ‘Train.’ If someone mistakes it for an ‘Echo,’ you’re dead.”
Grumbling, he leaned forward, lighting his cigarette with the flame.
“You jest, Teacher,” the Human Monkey replied. “Many here know I’m just a magician. Why would they trouble me over a simple lighter?”
He flicked the lighter shut and handed it to Earth Monkey.
Without hesitation, Earth Monkey pocketed it in his coat, then craned his neck to peer down the corridor.
The Human Monkey knew that at the far end lay the “locomotive,” the domain of the Heavenly Dragon—and the gathering place of the “Celestials.”
“Teacher…” the Human Monkey called out. “What are you looking at from all the way over here?”
“Dammit…” Earth Monkey exhaled smoke. “None of your business. Why ask?”
“Alright, I won’t pry.” The Human Monkey nodded understandingly. “I just wanted to ask if you’d like to grab something to eat?”
“Fine… let’s go.” Earth Monkey cast one last glance down the corridor, hesitation creeping into his expression.
A bold idea gnawed at him—one he wished to discuss with someone who could also perceive the “Immortal Arts.”
Someone with “Spiritual Hearing,” “Spiritual Scent,” or “Spiritual Touch”… But those with such rare abilities were already scarce on the “Train,” let alone these specific ones.
“Human Monkey…” Earth Monkey suddenly turned.
“Yes, Teacher?”
“Have you ever met… a ‘participant’ outside who could discern others’ ‘Immortal Arts’?”
The Human Monkey paused for half a second before smiling naturally. “What kind of ability is that? Sounds incredible. Could someone’s ‘Immortal Art’ really be identifying others’ arts?”
“Forget it… no point explaining.” Earth Monkey took a drag, scratching his plump cheek. “Just… strange.”
“What is it, Teacher?” the Human Monkey pressed. “Even if I don’t understand, maybe I can help somehow?”
Though his tone was casual, caution was written all over his face.
“Ha.” Earth Monkey smirked, eyes mocking. “I suspect… these so-called ‘Divine Sensitives’—they lose their powers on the ‘Train.’ Now isn’t that odd?”
“What…?”
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