Xie Shi smelled the stale scent lingering on Zhu Ye.
At the exact moment Zhu Ye spoke those words.
For a fleeting second, Xie Shi felt as though he were experiencing a shared sensation. This was not just a stale aura belonging to Zhu Ye, but the stale aura of this entire world.
It was on its last breath, decaying and withered, crying out for help.
Xie Shi had suspected that the plotline of this world was likely damaged beyond redemption.
And this world itself was, for the most part, teetering on the brink of collapse.
Yet as a native resident, how had Zhu Ye discovered it?
What on earth was his true identity?
Xie Shi knitted his brows tightly. Zhu Ye, Zhu Ye. Where on earth had he heard this name before?
Zhu Ye. Dragon bone.
Before his death, he should have been a dragon demon.
Dragon demon. Wait, a dragon demon?!
A flash of inspiration struck Xie Shi’s mind, and he suddenly remembered the origin of the name Zhu Ye.
To highlight the protagonist Meng Jingxue’s exceptional talent and brilliant splendor, the original text had once stated that the cultivation world had not seen anyone reach the ascension realm in a full millennium, with only Meng Jingxue alone holding hope for ascension in the current era.
And the previous cultivator who had come close to ascension was a dragon demon from a thousand years ago.
That dragon demon had cultivated for a millennium, yet failed his ascension and perished between heaven and earth.
Xie Shi suddenly recalled that the name of that dragon demon was none other than Zhu Ye?!
He blurted out in shock, “You are the dragon demon from a thousand years ago whose ascension failed?!”
That reaction time was plenty long, and the words were entirely lacking in tact, yet Zhu Ye didn’t mind and simply nodded.
Ascension. Ha.
Zhu Ye thought with no small amount of irony that ascension was nothing more than a scam.
He lowered his eyelids, his eyelashes shielding his gray, shriveled eyeballs. This posture made him look quite desolate.
Wasn’t this poking at someone’s painful memories?
Xie Shi felt a pang of remorse and asked cautiously, “Then how did you end up here?”
Looking like that, he resembled a cat poking its head out, terrified of displeasing anyone.
He was indeed quite cute.
Zhu Ye looked past Xie Shi toward Song Yan, casting a meaningful gaze in his direction.
Song Yan extended an arm, wrapped it around Xie Shi’s neck, and rested his chin on Xie Shi’s shoulder.
Xie Shi had already grown accustomed to Song Yan’s skin-hunger behavior of latching on whenever he had the chance. Finding nothing amiss, he relaxed his body and let himself be held.
Pushing his luck, Song Yan clung to Xie Shi like a climbing vine and refused to let go.
Xie Shi remained completely oblivious, but Zhu Ye recognized this instantly as a territorial demonstration of possession.
Song Yan’s pupils turned bloody red for a fraction of a second as he glared at Zhu Ye, silently emitting a warning.
Zhu Ye felt a mild sense of amusement.
The Demon Lord really wasn’t much for being teased.
Knowing when to stop, Zhu Ye refrained from further provocation and said to Xie Shi, “You needn’t be so cautious. My ascension failed simply because I chose not to become an immortal.”
“Why?” Filled entirely with confusion regarding Zhu Ye’s failed ascension, and since Zhu Ye had said there was no need for caution, Xie Shi spoke with greater boldness. “Do you dislike the immortal realm?”
His questions bubbled up one after another, endless.
Fortunately, Zhu Ye possessed a fair amount of patience. With a cold snort, he replied, “Utterly repulsive.”
“What is wrong with the immortal realm?” Xie Shi asked curiously.
Song Yan, standing behind Xie Shi, slightly lifted his gaze and swept a glance toward Zhu Ye.
It was merely an accidental glance, as though he harbored an interest in the topic.
Zhu Ye paused for a moment, then slowly shook his head, looking as though he had no wish to bring it up.
Heaven knows what had happened to fill him with such deep resentment.
Since Zhu Ye was unwilling to speak, Xie Shi didn’t press further and simply changed the question.
“Then since you have fallen, how did you end up in the Myriad Forms Gate?”
“I cultivated the Dao of all living beings, and when all living beings faced calamity, I could not simply stand by,” Zhu Ye said indifferently. “I stand guard here solely to prop up the Myriad Forms Gate.”
A rather ominous premonition stirred in Xie Shi’s heart, prompting him to probe, “Then have you brought us here in order to…”
Zhu Ye smiled at him, his withered skin bunching into layers of creases at the corners of his eyes, looking somewhat startling at first glance.
He stated, “A lingering ghost like me cannot hold on much longer.”
Xie Shi thought to himself: I knew it!
“You want us to guard the gate?” Xie Shi couldn’t help blurting out. “I am merely a Soul Formation cultivator, and my companion is just a fragile succubus.”
“Cough, cough, cough. What?” As if hearing some absurd fantasy, Zhu Ye choked and coughed violently.
His voice was hoarse, and this cough sounded like a wheezing, broken copper gong clanging together. It was quite earth-shattering, startling Xie Shi into immediate anxiety.
He wouldn’t just keel over right now, would he?
Naturally, he wouldn’t keel over right then and there.
Immortal Lord Zhu Ye simply found it mildly ridiculous.
Try as he might, he couldn’t connect the Demon Abyss Lord who had single-handedly slaughtered his way up Mount Buhui with anything resembling a fragile succubus.
Zhu Ye’s expression was quite indescribable.
“What is wrong with you? Are you alright?” Xie Shi revealed that tentative, peering expression once more.
Zhu Ye glanced at Song Yan, who maintained his pitiful, heart-tugging appearance, even shrinking slightly behind Xie Shi under that look.
Thus, Zhu Ye received yet another round of soothing head-pats from Xie Shi.
“I am quite well,” Zhu Ye said expressionlessly.
“Immortal Lord, the two of us truly cannot guard the gate. This is completely inappropriate.” Xie Shi attempted to bargain, even resorting to self-deprecating remarks. “Besides, the two of us just escaped from the Heavenly Prison. You know what the Heavenly Prison is like, right? It is filled with heinous criminals and vicious demonic practitioners! Leaving us in such a crucial place, aren’t you afraid we will ruin everything?”
“Oh.” Zhu Ye proved completely impervious to persuasion. “Then it seems we have no choice but to let the myriad forms collapse and die together.”
Xie Shi thought to himself: …
Xie Shi cursed inwardly, realizing there was a loophole in his own words.
They had gone through untold hardships to escape the Barren Wilderness precisely because they wanted to survive.
Since they wanted to live, they could hardly let the Myriad Forms Gate collapse.
His self-deprecation had zero effect.
Giving a wry smile, Xie Shi clutched his hair in a near-breakdown. “Senior Zhu Ye, isn’t it a bit too reckless to just grab us to guard the gate? Moreover, the world is collapsing, why is that?”
“I do not know either,” Zhu Ye sighed. “When I fell during my ascension, I accidentally tumbled into the Myriad Forms Gate. Sensing that the gate was tied to the fate of the world, I remained here to guard it. In recent years, as the myriad forms collapsed, I dared not divide my focus to look outward, and thus know very little of external events.”
Was that true?
Xie Shi felt some suspicion. Staring at Zhu Ye for a moment, and seeing nothing untoward, he dropped the matter.
Instead, he asked with a bitter expression, “What will it take for you to let us out? Even if the two of us stay to guard the gate, we will likely perish in twenty years.”
Gazing at the dimmed moon, Zhu Ye sighed, “It is not that I am unwilling to let you go, but aside from the two of you, I have never encountered anyone else in the Black Mountain.”
Xie Shi figured that no one else would come here anyway.
Prisoners couldn’t escape.
Rock monsters and bone spirits dared not come.
High-level cultivators, sensing something amiss here, would naturally steer clear to save themselves trouble.
Only the two of them, whether by coincidence or design, had arrived at this Black Mountain.
The world was on the verge of collapse.
Zhu Ye wanted nothing more than to save this collapsing world.
This coincided seamlessly with the Matchmaker Bureau’s mission.
Xie Shi harbored lingering doubts: could this truly be a coincidence?
Doubt remained just doubt, but lacking further evidence, Xie Shi temporarily suppressed those misgivings. He reasoned that since Zhu Ye wished to save the world, perhaps the matter of the Glazed Heart could persuade him to let them leave?
He only wondered whether Zhu Ye knew of the Glazed Heart, or whether he believed in its existence at all.
Pondering for a long while, Xie Shi looked at Zhu Ye and cautiously broke the silence. “What if I said I have a way to save this world?”
“Oh?” Zhu Ye tilted his head, bringing his ghost-like withered face closer to Xie Shi, intensifying the smell of decay. “You have a way?”
His tone was flat, his expression devoid of excitement, showing he didn’t believe it.
Xie Shi pressed his lips together, paused for a moment, and finally spat out three words: “The Glazed Heart.”
“Ha, the Glazed Heart.” Zhu Ye’s tone carried an ambiguous blend of mockery and sorrow. His gaze abruptly grew desolate as he turned back to look at the moon.
As if fearing that without a few more glances, he would never see it again.
Sure enough, Zhu Ye knew about the Glazed Heart.
Judging by his reaction, however, he seemed entirely disinclined to pin his hopes on it.
Xie Shi did not lose heart, pondering his next words in his mind.
“Legends of the Glazed Heart have existed for over ten thousand years.” Gazing at the moon, Zhu Ye watched its dim radiance fall into his pitch-black, shriveled eyes, coating them with a gray luster. He murmured, “Back then, the divine realm had just fallen, and cultivators stubbornly believed that the gods could not simply vanish between heaven and earth without leaving a single trace. At first it was merely speculation, but gradually, rumors spread that the heart of a god preserved all divine power, and that this divine heart had been lost in the mortal cultivation world.”
“Later on, cultivators renamed the divine heart the Glazed Heart. Ten thousand years have passed, and cultivators have never ceased their search for the Glazed Heart, yet no one has ever truly laid eyes on it, nor ever truly found its whereabouts. When all is said and done, the Glazed Heart is nothing more than a delusional obsession of cultivators.”
That was indeed what people said.
Yet since the Matchmaker Bureau required him to investigate it, the Glazed Heart must carry a possibility of existence.
Furthermore,
“There is only this path left regarding the Glazed Heart now, isn’t there?” Xie Shi said. “Even if we stay to guard the gate, or if other cultivators come to guard it, how long can they hold out? Senior Zhu Ye, you possess the qualifications of an immortal, yet you cannot hold up the Myriad Forms. Who else could possibly sustain it?”
That was undeniably true.
The speed of the world’s collapse was accelerating, and the Myriad Forms Gate would sooner or later perish alongside it.
The current cultivation world could only place its hopes in such illusory objects.
Sighing once more, Zhu Ye displayed the resignation of someone accepting their fate.
He stared fixedly at the moon for a long, long time, long enough for Xie Shi’s legs to grow numb, making him think Zhu Ye meant to gaze upon it until the end of time.
Just as Xie Shi felt compelled to break the quiet, Zhu Ye finally opened his mouth. “What probability do you have of finding the Glazed Heart?”
That meant he was yielding.
Not expecting Zhu Ye’s attitude to soften so quickly, Xie Shi paused before answering, “Thirty percent.”
Thirty percent was already an extremely low probability.
Yet Zhu Ye evidently deemed even a thirty-percent probability as Xie Shi overestimating himself.
“You, a mere Soul Formation cultivator, claim a thirty-percent chance?” He used Xie Shi’s own words to shut him down.
Xie Shi showed no weakness, responding, “But you have no choice other than to believe me.”
Zhu Ye stared at him for a long moment before abruptly letting out a laugh.
A dignified immortal lord was actually pinning his hopes on a Soul Formation cultivator, while he himself had no other way out.
That laugh carried the sorrow of a hero facing his twilight, yet also seemed somewhat comforting.
Comforting?
Xie Shi assumed he must have misheard. Zhu Ye was being compelled by circumstances to trust him, and even Xie Shi himself felt unsure; how could Zhu Ye possibly feel comforted?
Just as Xie Shi intended to observe further, Zhu Ye had already reined in his expression. Looking earnestly at Xie Shi, he said, “If you truly possess a thirty-percent chance, I can tell you a clue concerning the Glazed Heart.”
Xie Shi’s spirits perked up instantly. Turning to fixate on Zhu Ye’s withered, pale face, he asked in astonishment, “You have a clue to the Glazed Heart?”
“For tens of thousands of years, cultivators have searched every inch of land, nearly turning the entire cultivation world inside out, yet still found not a single word regarding the gods. Until one day, the Merman clan of the Endless Sea suddenly acquired a divine artifact.”
“A divine artifact?”
Zhu Ye nodded. “It is a mirror named the Mirror of Manifestations. Rumors say it is the medium through which the gods looked down upon all living beings and governed the world. It knows everything and is omniscient, capable of discerning all existence in the world.”
Xie Shi asked, “So we can go ask the Mirror of Manifestations for clues about the Glazed Heart? Hasn’t anyone ever gone to ask?”
“The mermans live in seclusion,” Zhu Ye stated. “Ever since the Mirror of Manifestations appeared, the Merman clan vanished into the Endless Sea. No one has been able to track down their whereabouts.”
What kind of clue was that?
Xie Shi lambasted inwardly. Even Zhu Ye, a Tribulation-stage expert, couldn’t find the Merman clan’s whereabouts; how on earth was he supposed to find them?
Besides, wasn’t this something common knowledge across the cultivation world?
Perhaps sensing his internal complaints, Zhu Ye smiled and continued, “Once every five years, the Merman Emperor sets sail upon the sea. Reckoning the time, it should be within these next few days.”
Now that was a genuine clue!
Xie Shi’s eyes lit up as he hurriedly pursued the matter: “Where?”