The Heavens: A Qing, the Yue Girl at the beginning

This question may seem offensive, but if we don't clarify things clearly, it could be difficult to handle if the other party tries to backstab us.

"In a sense, you're right."

She quickly received this answer.

“However, that promise… has transformed from ‘a promise made in another time’ to ‘a promise made in the present time’.” The Pure White King said, “It has never ended, and it never will end… but what the silver-haired girl promised back then and what the White King later fulfilled are no longer the same thing.”

Shi Yiguang listened intently, knowing the weight of those two words.

In Buddhist discourse, "the promise of a future time" refers to a promise that is not fulfilled in the present and can only be hoped for at some unknown point in time; while "the promise of the present time" refers to a proposition that must be faced and completed in this moment and place.

“So it was never forgotten,” Shih Yi-kuang said softly, “it just changed shape over the long years.”

“Yes,” the king said slowly, his voice like a thin but resilient frost covering the solidified ripples of memory: “Over tens of thousands of years, she gradually came to understand her unwavering conviction: salvation is to kill Him.”

“To end that inevitable fate, to prevent it from ever happening again… that is indeed a solution,” Shi Yiguang remarked.

"Then perhaps you've misunderstood." After a long sigh, a more essential and simpler answer emerged: "This is just an excuse to rebel based on dissatisfaction and disgust."

"Disgust? For the sake of understanding?" This word is too simplistic, so simplistic that it hardly does justice to the magnificent life of the White King.

“Disgust is older and more honest than love. Love needs an object, a reason, and a two-way response; disgust does not.”

"It is enough that it exists."

"She packaged her inner discontent into a magnificent narrative of redemption, elevated her instinctive rejection to a sacred mission, and claimed that everything was for the sake of the world's great love and justice... She learned such deceptive tricks from the original tribal ritual."

Shi Yiguang fell silent.

She remembered the girl who was tied to a wooden plank and pushed into the river, and the burning hatred in her eyes—"Why me?"

That hatred was real and pure.

No reason is needed for packaging.

All philosophy, all doctrine, all grand narratives are branches that grow from that origin.

The root of it all is aversion.

I hate being chosen, I hate being defined, I hate that aloof, silent being who never answers my prayers.

Just as in almost all languages, profanities are ancient, stable, and frequent. They are the most direct and the most undeniable.

Before civilization was born, before the first word was uttered, the roar of anger had already echoed through the valley.

"But what's the difference?"

Shi Yiguang finally spoke: "Whether her motives were love or hatred, she did indeed take that path, she did indeed create civilization, and she did indeed become a second ray of light. Can the embellishment of the process change the authenticity of the result? Will the person illuminated care whether that light comes from the sun or from fire?"

"For the one being saved, there is no difference. But for her, there is." The Pure White King chuckled self-deprecatingly.

"You can live your whole life in disgust, do everything you're supposed to do, and even do it better than anyone else."

"But when you reach the end and look back, you'll find that not a single flower ever bloomed along the way. All the scenery is gray, and all arrivals are just another kind of departure."

"Disgust can drive you to cross mountains and rivers, but it can't make you feel that it was all worth it when you arrive."

“So she needs Maple Butterfly,” Shi Yiguang said.

"Yes."

……

Almost at the same time, deep within the moon's canopy.

Xia Mi watched quietly as the radiance of the sword intent seed illuminated all directions, feeling the entire star core tremble violently. The ancient alchemical patterns lit up one by one, wandering and deforming between the iron and nickel textures, eventually converging into countless concentric rings.

One ring after another, contracting inwards and extending outwards, as if trying to encompass the entire universe within this tiny seed.

She heard a vague, widespread, and continuous commotion all around her and overhead, composed of countless noises of various kinds. The low noise seemed to come and go, and the pulse of life was both bewildering and intense.

Like a giant awakening, trying to breathe after a long slumber.

"And then?" Xia Mi pressed.

"Just dream." Zhao Qing's instructions were quite concise: "Next, there will be some 'bumps'. Remember, hold fast to the truth and guard your mind. Let your consciousness go with the flow, but keep the core point of your spirit bright and clear. Observe what you see, but you don't have to agree with what you feel."

"Easy for you to say..." Xia Mi muttered.

Before she could finish speaking, she realized that her feet had slipped and lost their footing.

They plunged into the darkness that had been waiting in the depths for them.

The solid form of the iron-nickel metal quietly disappeared, leaving only emptiness. Only the eerie glow remained temporarily visible, but it grew ever more distant and gradually faded away, like the last lamp bidding farewell to the world.

The light shrank behind me, from a surface to a point, and from a point to a faint memory.

What kind of feeling is this?

It's like a lone boat setting sail in the dead of night, its oars and paddles lost at some point, left to drift aimlessly with the current.

Ahead lay endless, dark waves, and behind was a shore that could no longer be seen. The boundary between the sea and the sky was indistinguishable, and one could not even tell whether one was rising or sinking.

The low noise suddenly became clear, transforming into countless whispered streams that seeped into every crevice of consciousness.

It felt like being enveloped by an endless field.

She passed through barrier after barrier, each layer like a filter, washing away the excess color from her soul.

First, there are black layers.

As she passed through it, she felt as if she were immersed in the sea during the polar night, with billions of years of loneliness pressing in from all directions.

That was the loneliness of the Black King, the loneliness of the will of the stars, the darkness solidified from the insurmountable chasm between creator and creation. Loneliness here has weight, pressing heavily on every corner of consciousness, turning into a glacier of despair.

Then there are the white sections.

It was blindingly white, hollowly white, white like bleached bone fragments. It was a purity devoid of all warmth, devoid of memory, desire, and any outline to grasp. It illuminated nothing, leaving only resentment and sorrow.

Next was a space of pure red.

The red was thick like blood plasma, carrying a scorching, fishy smell, with countless unfulfilled obsessions churning within it—those forgotten vows, betrayed waits, and extinguished hopes, all transformed into this unfading, burning scarlet.

Intense, violent, a mixture of glory and pain.

After the three dimensions have been washed away, there is nothingness.

Or rather, it is the superposition of black, white, and red, a fusion of light and color.

The spirit is repeatedly washed, soaked, and stripped away by these three "colors." Memories, emotions, and personality are all torn apart by a tremendous force, about to leave the body and fall into the void at the end.

Xia Mi, however, saw a glimmer of light for the first time in a long time.

Her consciousness transformed into countless spatial fragments, drifting in an endlessly extending silver grid. The grids pulsated and leaped with a unique rhythm, constantly multiplying and splitting.

This is the underlying structure of the world, the concrete manifestation of the spacetime probability element.

Originating from a parallel universe, her distant gaze, though faint enough that even a billion strands could not compare to a single candle flame, stubbornly shone brightly, only to be diluted by the endless grid, gradually dimming and extinguishing.

Who am I? Why am I here? What is dissolving me?

Xia Mi was almost completely lost and forgotten.

But something deep within the star's core finally lit up, and a vast radiance of divine light burst forth from her heart, gushing forth from the cracks in the grid.

They transformed into countless dazzling threads, evolving into countless subtle outlines identical to her own in the instant Xia Mi's consciousness dissipated and she was about to be completely erased and assimilated.

Those outlines bore the brunt of wave after wave of erosion for her.

Like removing masks, one after another, eerie and terrifying, yet carrying a cruel beauty of purification.

As those identical clones were stripped away, erased, and swallowed by nothingness, her "self" was preserved by cleverly "compensating" through the seed of sword intent.

I don't know how much time passed.

As the last mask drifted down, Xia Mi felt herself become extremely light, extremely thin, and extremely transparent.

Like a freshly cut sheet of Xuan paper, yet to be inscribed with ink.

Like a drop of water just emerging from the morning dew, not yet evaporated by the sun, nor yet fallen into the soil.

The surrounding area was empty and silent.

There was only one locked door.

Xia Mi naturally placed her palm on it, but felt no resistance at all, and it went straight in.

Because she has survived all tribulations and passed the trials.

Thanks to Zhao Qing's deliberate arrangement, they crossed its entry threshold: anchoring themselves with the "vision" of a parallel universe.

In simple terms, if we divide it by the levels of the gaze of fate, we can list four ranks: no light, faint light, light that illuminates oneself, and light that illuminates all things. At least a very high level of the "faint light" rank is required, such as the first generation of seed kings who combined the two, Xia Mi, to be qualified to pretend to be a third-rank existence.

The third tier, namely the Nine Realms of Longevity, belongs to the immortals and gods whose laws are immortal.

"What do you think is hidden behind that door?"

Inside was a spherical space about ten feet in diameter, with walls made of pure, flawless monocrystalline iron that shimmered with a faint silver light.

In the center of the space, a semi-transparent crystal sphere about the size of a human head floats. Inside the sphere, countless fine black, white, and red threads intertwine and entwine, forming an extremely complex high-dimensional topological surface, with certain nodes shimmering with regular light.

Countless tiny, dust-like runes floated in the naturally distorted space around them, constantly rotating, separating, and scattering.

Directly below them, a simple symbol is carved on the ground—a small white flower with eight petals outlined in lines.

Xia Mi drifted closer to that symbol.

She crouched down and gently touched the ancient carvings, and a certain image surfaced in her mind: on the edge of a cliff, beside a well, a silver-haired girl wearing a crown made of small white flowers in her hair.

“Tsukimi Sakura…” she murmured the name.

"The nexus is right here." Zhao Qing's thoughts emanated from the seed: "Using the moon's gaze to control the darkness, and redrawing light and shadow with human will, were just its early applications. Later, it became deeply involved in the construction of the 'White Moon,' the cultivation of the Tree of Life, and most importantly: the awakening of Theia." "The consciousness of the second Earth?" Xia Mi pondered.

"The massive impact 45 billion years ago almost completely vaporized the primordial Earth and Theia. With such a violent release of energy and dramatic environmental changes, it is hard to believe that this was a one-sided tearing and devouring; it was more like a merger, a merger of the consciousnesses of both sides."

“Although Theia’s core sank into the Earth’s core and left no trace that could be detected by the outside world, considering that this planet formed earlier than Earth and has a higher density, its share of consciousness after the merger may exceed one-fifth, and its influence should not be underestimated,” Zhao Qing said.

"So is it dead, or alive? Or is it a major alternate personality of Earth's consciousness?" Xia Mi asked.

“Its state cannot be simply described as ‘dead’ or ‘alive’,” Zhao Qing replied. “We all know that retroviruses contribute to the DNA of many organisms. Transposons account for as much as 45% of the human genome, and a considerable portion of them can still perform functions or even be activated to produce virus-like particles.”

"The consciousness of Theia, its original laws and Dao patterns, are embedded in the 'genome' of the Earth's will like a retrovirus, part of it dormant and part of it active."

"This is the last means by which the consciousness of the stars maintains its continuation."

"In most cases, 'activity' is controllable and can be easily suppressed, but there are rare exceptions."

"This gave the opportunity to the so-called 'awakening' Theia project."

"And the LLSVPs, remnants of the Theian mantle, share the same origin as most of the Moon's material. The two naturally resonate with each other's primordial energy, and their connection is no less profound than that between the core of this star and Earth in the past. They have the potential to act as a fulcrum to leverage destiny."

"It's a bit like a ghost trying to return to life." Xia Mi thought for a moment: "How much of the lunar consciousness does Theia have involved?"

"About 80%, for example, there is a significant difference in the vanadium isotope δV between the moon and the earth. The moon's δV value (-1.037‰) is about 0.18‰ lower than the earth's (-0.856‰)... This conclusion is also drawn for molybdenum and zirconium isotopes."

"So deep in the moon, a small portion of Earth's consciousness has become its 'transposon'? A home-swapping tactic?"

"more or less."

“Hmm…” Xia Mi pondered for a long time: “Then, this sword intent seed I have is also a ‘retrovirus’?”

“It will ‘infect’ this star core,” Zhao Qing admitted, “reprogramming the ‘nexus’ here, so that the gazes from another world, from the stars in the heavens, will be drawn down.”

Xia Mi listened quietly, watching the radiant light shine brightly in the void once again. The double helix runes were unfurling in circles, slowly reaching towards the central crystal sphere, like some ancient vine trying to climb and grow. They occasionally clashed and collided with the three-colored threads, stirring up dust-like ripples of law.

Gradually, slowly, it formed a gray cocoon.

Will it hurt?

Xia Mi suddenly asked a completely unrelated question.

"Yes," Zhao Qing answered readily.

"Then I'll pretend it's in pain."

"Medicine is always bitter, but it's good to get better."

……

Several months later, in the other world of the Sword Dynasty.

The spring breeze, like scissors, cut out the green leaves of the trees in Changling, and gently swept into the courtyard, brushing over the sword manual spread out on the stone table.

It was late spring of the twelfth year of the Yuanwu reign, exactly five months after the edict to "widely spread cultivation among the people" was issued.

The plum blossoms are sparse and pale, the ice melts and dissipates, and the east wind silently changes the years.

Five months is enough time for the streets and alleys of this magnificent city to take on a brand new look.

In the past, the mornings were filled with the smoke from cooking fires and the cries of vendors. Now, however, there is another rhythm – the long, drawn-out breaths of countless people, like fluttering butterflies and fragrant mist, covering every alleyway.

That exercise called "Health Preservation and Body Cultivation Technique" truly seeped into every household like spring rain.

In teahouses, young people dressed in coarse cloth and short browns often sip coarse tea while demonstrating sword moves and arguing about whether the dantian should be "warm for a long time" or "hot suddenly" during a certain breathing exercise.
An old man selling candied hawthorns had a wooden sign hanging beside his pole with the words "Today's Qi Practice Insights" written crookedly on it, which attracted several young men who gathered around to ask for his advice.

Swords became the most common objects.

The blacksmith's business had been booming for five months, but now it had finally cooled down a bit—not because no one was buying, but because most people were already carrying swords. Iron swords, bronze swords, fine steel swords, and occasionally a few bamboo or wooden swords that they had carved themselves, hung on the waists of the peddlers and laborers.

Those carrying loads, driving horse-drawn carts, and washing clothes—almost everyone carried a sword. The sword became a symbol of "spiritual practitioners."

In Changling today, eight out of ten people claim to be practitioners, and the remaining two are on their way to study at a Taoist academy.

Wang Jungui was one of those eight people. He was thirty-four years old and ran a general store in Walong Lane in the east of the city. He practiced swordsmanship for half an hour every morning and had been doing so for three months.

Although he used an ordinary sword that cost twenty coins a coin, and even the guard was just a simple piece of wrought iron, he cleaned it very carefully. He repeatedly rubbed the blade with an old cotton cloth, absorbing the thin layer of sweat that had just adhered to it, until the surface of the sword could vaguely reflect his eyebrows and eyes.

"Dad, have some water."

The ten-year-old son ran out of the house carrying a rough porcelain bowl, the rim of which was still covered with leftover millet grains from the morning.

Wang Jungui took the bowl and his gaze fell on his son's wrist—there was a red string tied there, which was the "registration talisman" he had applied for at the Yuehai Taoist Temple last month, indicating that the child had been registered by the authorities and could exchange work points for more advanced breathing techniques in the future.

"Have you remembered everything the instructor taught today?" Wang Jungui asked.

"I've got it!"

The son nodded emphatically, his little face full of seriousness: "The instructor said that the most important thing in the second level of 'The Essentials of Children's Breathing' is to breathe evenly and not hastily. The neighbor's father was in a hurry to sense the breath and held it too hard. He fainted last night and hasn't woken up yet this morning."

Wang Jungui grinned but didn't reply. A child's body hasn't fully developed; how could their training be the same as an adult's?
He drank water from his bowl, his eyes peering over the earthen wall at the faint outline of the Taoist temple in the distance—it had once been the villa of a retired official, but three months ago it was requisitioned by the Zhengwu Division and transformed into a training ground that could accommodate 1,200 people at the same time. Instructors from the nearby Yuehai Sword Academy taught the classes, and the place was quite well-organized.

It is said that 27 similar locations have been established throughout Changling, spread across the east, west, south, and north of the city.

A spring breeze swept by, and peach blossoms fell in profusion from the corner of the wall.

Wang Jungui put down his bowl, picked up his sword again, and planned to practice the "Three Forms of Initial Control" he had learned that day once more.

Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from the end of the street.

The sound of hooves grew louder as it approached, not just from one rider, but from dozens or even hundreds, causing the water on the stone slabs to tremble slightly.

Wang Jungui stopped what he was doing and listened intently—the sound of horses' hooves echoed across Qinglong Avenue, heading straight for the Imperial Palace.

"What happened now?"

The wife poked her head out of the kitchen, her hands still covered in flour.

Wang Jungui did not answer.

He watched the dust rising from the alley entrance and saw a troop of black-armored cavalry galloping past in the distance. The riders all had solemn expressions, and the leading officer did not even strictly command his men to avoid pedestrians as usual, almost knocking over an old man selling steamed buns.

"father--"

Practice your sword.

Wang Jungui interrupted his son, resumed his stance, pointed his sword diagonally at the ground, inhaled, drew his sword, sheathed it, and exhaled.

Three months of practice taught him a lesson: ninety-nine percent of the things in this world are none of his business.

However, today is destined to be an unusual day.

After another incense stick's time, the sound of even more concentrated hoofbeats came from outside the city. This time it was no longer a few scattered messengers, but a large, organized cavalry force—a dark mass of riders surged into the city gate like a tide, their armor reflecting a dazzling cold light in the sunlight, and even giant eagles carrying people soared and flew high above.

Wang Jungui finally stopped wielding his sword.

He saw the flags of those cavalrymen—the black eagle flag of the Hengshan Shenzang Army, the red dragon flag of the Guanzhong Guards, and even a few other battle flags that he didn't recognize but were clearly standard border army flags.

These elite troops, who should have been stationed in the main camp outside the city to protect the surrounding towns, entered Changling City at the same time.

"Close off the street!"

A rough shout rang out from the street corner. A squad of armored soldiers quickly occupied the various alley entrances, driving bystanders back into their houses. Wang Jungui pulled his son back into the courtyard and peered out through the crack in the door.

On the streets, people were stuck in various places, whispering and discussing among themselves.

"What's going on? Have they attacked from the north?"

"Nonsense! The north belongs to the Wu clan, and they only changed their diplomatic ties last year. How could that be—"

"Why did they bring in the city garrison? I've lived for fifty years and never seen anything like this!"

"Could it be a major treasonous infiltration? A thorough investigation is needed."

Shh, be quiet, listen—

The sound of horses' hooves gradually faded, replaced by a suppressed silence. Wang Jungui pressed his face against the crack in the door and saw a middle-aged man dressed in a blue robe, looking like a scholar, hurrying past the alley entrance, his face showing an undisguised anxiety.

"Mr. Zhou!"

Old Liu, who sells tofu next door, called out to him through the crack in his door, "What's going on? Why have all the soldiers gone into town?"

Mr. Zhou paused, looked around, and lowered his voice, saying, "You still don't know? The Deer Mountain Alliance has failed!"

"what?!"

Old Liu's voice suddenly rose, only to be covered by a hand—Mr. Zhou looked around in terror, then shouted in a low voice, "Are you out of your mind?! Close the door and talk!"

Wang Jungui's heart sank.

The Deer Mountain Alliance.

He roughly understood what this topic, which had frequently appeared in the imperial gazette and casual conversations over the past few months, meant—Emperor Yuanwu personally went to Lushan to hold an alliance with the Qi, Chu, and Yan dynasties in order to establish the hegemony of the Qin Dynasty.

If we win, the border will be secure for at least ten years; if we lose...
What will happen if we lose?

Wang Jungui didn't know.

All he knew was that Emperor Yuanwu was the greatest expert in the Qin Dynasty, having reached the eighth level of the Qitian realm, and that there were very few in the world who could rival him. His personal visit to Lushan was the strongest deterrent.

But now—

What does "栽了" mean?
……

The news, like spring water seeping into parched land, slowly but irresistibly permeated every street and alley of Changling.

It can't be suppressed, nor can it be blocked.

By evening, the street closure order had only been lifted a short time ago, and the general situation had already spread among the public. (End of Chapter)