“Barely twenty years,” Song Yan looked at him, his tone flat, “you can no longer even maintain your sanity.”
“Cough, cough, cough…”
Zhu Ye let out a bizarre, hoarse sound, resembling two pieces of rusted iron scraping against each other, extremely grating to the ear.
After a long moment, Song Yan finally realized that he was laughing.
“It is quite a feat that you even managed to find a Seven-Leaf Soul-Returning Herb,” Zhu Ye chuckled. “To use it on someone like me, isn’t that a terrible waste?”
The Soul-Returning Herb grew only in the fiery crystal wilderness of the extreme north. It took a hundred years to sprout a single stalk and two hundred years to grow a single leaf.
Seven leaves were already the limit of what a Soul-Returning Herb could grow to. It was a supreme tonic for the soul, capable of strengthening the spirit and anchoring the psyche to prevent it from scattering.
Yet Zhu Ye had guarded this place with his divine soul for a millennium; had it not been for his lingering resentment and deep-seated grievances, his soul would likely have been worn away and scattered to the winds long ago.
Even a Seven-Leaf Soul-Returning Herb could hardly compensate for the millennia of depletion Zhu Ye had suffered.
At most, it could only buy him a brief moment of clarity.
If Zhu Ye still refused to enter the cycle of reincarnation, once his intelligence disintegrated and his divine soul was completely worn away, he would end up just like the bone spirits in the Wilderness, becoming a monster that only knew how to kill and chase after fresh blood.
Zhu Ye naturally knew this. He was now at the end of his tether, and if he did not want to completely dissipate between heaven and earth, he had to open the gates of the netherworld and step into reincarnation.
Yet he silently stood guard in his original spot, just like every single day for the past thousand years.
Silent and stubborn.
“You still do not wish to enter reincarnation,” Song Yan said.
Zhu Ye flicked his long dragon tail, and the sound of bones colliding rang out once more in a rattling clatter.
He let out a sigh, exhaling endless, unceasing grievances: “With my unfulfilled wish, how can my soul find peace?”
Song Yan lowered his gaze, quietly watching Zhu Ye, this legend from a thousand years ago.
Legend had it that Immortal Lord Zhu Ye was extraordinarily handsome, with a face as smooth as jade. As the crown prince of the dragon race and possessing supreme natural talent, he had been the center of attention since childhood, uninhibited and arrogant.
His true form was a massive black dragon, grand in body, exquisitely proportioned, and possessing a heaven-shaking presence. When weaving through clouds and mists, he could even blot out the sunlight.
Later generations mocked him for this, saying he could rival the sun and moon.
What an untouchable, proud child of heaven he once was.
Yet now, his physical body had perished, leaving behind only a scorched, ugly, and withered skeleton.
The deep blue soul fire burned like clinging maggots upon every inch of his bones, stripping away his memories and his warmth.
The soul fire burned, and resentment rolled in waves.
No trace of his former proud and uninhibited appearance remained.
Unfulfilled wishes and entanglements of heavy karma.
Unable to dispel his resentment, unable to enter reincarnation.
None could escape it.
“Oh, he is back,” Zhu Ye looked at Xie Shi in Song Yan’s arms, saying with a hint of surprise, “you actually had the heart to bring him here. Have you changed your mind?”
Song Yan remained silent.
Perhaps because he had not spoken with anyone for a very long time, Song Yan did not answer, but Zhu Ye continued on unbothered: “Indeed, he ought to guard the Myriad Phenomena Gate.”
“This lord will not let him guard the Myriad Phenomena Gate,” Song Yan stated.
Zhu Ye tilted his head, laughing at him: “Foolish child, if he does not guard the Myriad Phenomena, how long can your one soul and two souls endure within the gate?”
Song Yan ignored these words, his blood-red pupils half-drooped, a murky, gloomy light falling upon Zhu Ye.
“Immortal Lord Zhu Ye,” he said slowly, “do not forget your agreement with this lord.”
Zhu Ye knew what Song Yan was talking about and remained silent for a long time.
Rumble.
Lightning flashed, illuminating Song Yan’s pale face and the silent black dragon bones.
Splash!
The heavy rain began to fall abruptly.
This rain was so blue it was nearly black, and grievances roared and struggled amidst the sound of the rain.
The soul rain poured down, pattering heavily against Zhu Ye’s body, infiltrating his flesh bit by bit.
He should have grown colder, colder still.
Yet his soon-to-dissipate soul suddenly grew scorching hot.
Meanwhile, Song Yan had landed on the ground at some point, his wings unfurled and arched before him, shielding Xie Shi completely so that not a single drop of the soul rain could touch him.
The demon race was the most passionately emotional of all tribes.
Love and lust were melted almost into bone and blood, carved directly into the soul.
Zhu Ye watched Song Yan for a long time before speaking: “You truly do not fear death.”
Song Yan replied: “Neither do you.”
Zhu Ye was stunned, then emitted that grating, cackling sound once again, as though he had gone mad, laughing aloud: “That is true, that is true! If it were for the sake of the common people, what is there to fear in death? What is there to fear in death!”
The soul rain fell even more fiercely, the blue-black rain gathering into trickles on the ground, flowing along the crevices of the mountain rocks, only to vaporize into mist before completely running off into the foot of the mountain.
The blue soul mist grew even denser and more viscous than before, completely obscuring the scenery here.
Then a violent gale swept past, blowing the mist clean away.
And in their original spot, the figures of the two were already gone.
My head hurts so much…
Clutching his throbbing head, Xie Shi opened his eyes.
Where is this?
The scene before him left Xie Shi stunned for a long time.
Above and below, boundless and endless, there was only a vast expanse of nihilistic darkness.
Xie Shi was right in the middle of this nothingness, yet he felt as though he were stepping on solid ground, without falling downward.
And right before him hung a gigantic full moon.
Xie Shi had never seen such a large moon before; it was so massive that it seemed as though the next moment it would plummet downward and swallow him whole.
The full moon was bright, but the light upon it was extraordinarily dim, almost on the verge of extinguishing.
Moreover, the left and right sides of the moon were actually melting!
Silvery-white liquid cascaded down silently and torrentially like a waterfall, plunging into the realm of nothingness.
This bizarre sight gave Xie Shi goosebumps all over his body, and he quickly focused his gaze to look closer.
Only then did he realize that on both sides of the full moon, there were two dazzling rivers of stars extending from behind him.
The stellar rivers embraced the moon and plummeted down on both sides of it.
Xie Shi could not help lifting his head high, looking backward.
He saw two massive silver rivers stretching all the way into the distance.
Stars of all sizes twinkled, interweaving into a dreamlike silver radiance that was gorgeous, magnificent, and breathtakingly grand.
In such a bizarre place, Xie Shi felt no fear; instead, an inexplicable sense of familiarity welled up in his heart.
He could not help muttering aloud: “What place is this?”
“This is the Myriad Phenomena Gate.”
A hoarse, ruined voice echoed across this space, carrying a lingering, empty reverberation.
“Who?!” Xie Shi jumped up in alarm, like a cat with its fur bristling, gazing vigilantly around him.
He reached out to summon Bufan, gripping it tightly in the palm of his hand.
At the edge of the full moon, a man in black emerged from behind the moon, slowly drifting toward Xie Shi.
Xie Shi did not even know whether he should call him a person.
He was unimaginably thin.
Wasted to skin and bones, his face was left with almost nothing but a layer of pale white skin.
His eye sockets were deeply sunken, the dark circles under his eyes pitch-black, and his lips tinged with an abnormal bluish hue.
His black robe hung loosely and emptily on him. As he flew over, the black robe clung tightly, revealing the frail frame hidden beneath.
It looked like a skeleton frame.
The man’s hair was mottled with gray, not a head of beautiful long hair, yet it was meticulously groomed.
This stood somewhat discordantly against his withered, ghastly visage.
The man curved his lips into a smile, and upon his horrifying, ghost-like face, a mature and gentle temperament unexpectedly emerged: “You do not need to be nervous.”
Xie Shi did not dare to relax, staring intently at him: “Who are you? What is the Myriad Phenomena Gate?”
There was no such thing as this in the original novel at all!
Xie Shi cursed inwardly; this ghost of a plotline had completely collapsed!
Suddenly recalling something, he anxiously looked around and saw Song Yan sleeping beside him. Xie Shi sighed in relief first, though he quickly grew tense again.
“What did you do to him?” Xie Shi demanded.
The man shrugged: “He is merely asleep.”
Xie Shi looked at him with some doubt, then crouched down and gently poked Song Yan’s shoulder.
Song Yan was not sleeping deeply and woke up at the slightest nudge.
He opened his eyes in a daze, a trace of moisture still lingering in his newly awakened eyes, which made him look entirely innocent, harmless, and pitiful.
Therefore, when he saw the skeleton-like man before him, his action of trustingly grabbing Xie Shi’s sleeve, shrinking his shoulders, and hiding behind Xie Shi’s back appeared exceptionally natural.
A wave of profound pity welled up instantly in Xie Shi’s chest. He blocked Song Yan in front of him and reassuringly pinched his hand.
The man: “…”
“Who on earth are you?” Xie Shi looked at the man warily.
“This lord’s name…” The man’s gaze grew distant, sinking into memories.
He had possessed far too many names; some called him Exalted Lord, others called him the Lord of the Endless Sea, and after his death, the title he was called most often was simply Immortal Lord.
After a long while, the man shook his head with a trace of self-deprecation: “Just call me Zhu Ye.”
“Zhu Ye?” Xie Shi felt this name sounded somewhat familiar, yet he could not recall where he had heard it. With the system currently offline, he could not get the system to search either, so he asked directly: “Are you that dragon bone from just now?”
There was a hint of hesitation in Xie Shi’s tone, considering that the dragon bone had possessed deep resentment and had been practically on the verge of madness.
It did not look at all like Zhu Ye’s current lucid state of clear sanity.
“Indeed,” Zhu Ye nodded.
It really was?
Xie Shi looked at him strangely, failing to understand this schizophrenic behavior of his.
“Very well, Senior Zhu Ye.” Unsure of Zhu Ye’s status, but judging by his appearance, he seemed to have been dead for a very long time, Xie Shi figured calling him senior wouldn’t hurt. By buttering him up, perhaps the man would be in a good mood and let them out. “So, what exactly is the Myriad Phenomena Gate? Why did you bring us here, and what do you want?” Xie Shi asked.
Zhu Ye stared at him for a long time, so long that Xie Shi began to feel a bit prickly all over, before hearing Zhu Ye let out a chuckle.
It was not the gentle laugh from a moment ago, but a sort of amused surprise.
As if this question ought not to have been asked by Xie Shi.
This attitude left Xie Shi somewhat puzzled, but Zhu Ye’s lapse in composure lasted only a fleeting moment. He quickly restrained his expression and said earnestly: “The Myriad Phenomena Gate is a lock that bears the weight of the world. It locks down all phenomena of heaven and earth, allowing the mortal realm to develop steadily. However, right now, it is collapsing.”
As his voice fell, Zhu Ye looked toward the plunging silver river not far away.
Myriads of twinkling stars fell like a silver waterfall into the void.
Xie Shi followed his gaze, looking at the ring of silver rivers surrounding the moon.
The two ribbon-like stellar rivers were still dazzling and brilliant, yet watching them plunge into the boundless darkness filled one’s heart with unbearable reluctance and lamentation.
“Is that the Myriad Phenomena Gate?” Xie Shi asked. “It is collapsing? Why?”
Zhu Ye turned his head, glanced at him, and murmured softly: “Because this world is collapsing.”