153: Chapter 152 A Hidden Gem in the Ocean: The Azure Islands

In the far eastern lands of the Xuanhuang Realm,

separated from the Northern and Tiannan Regions by the tens of thousands of miles of the Endless Sea, lies a corner forgotten by the world.

Here, there are no lamentations of an Age of Dharma Decline where Spiritual Qi is exhausted, nor are there the cruel Laws of the jungle where Sects stand in numbers.

Here, there is only the boundless azure and an archipelago suspended alone upon the vast sea.

The archipelago consists of thirty-six islands of various sizes, like a string of emerald necklaces lost in the blue waves, quietly embedded in the center of the vast ocean.

The largest island is named "Biluo Island,"

spanning no more than a hundred miles, it is the core of the archipelago.

The terrain of Biluo Island is high in the center and low around the edges, with a main peak named "Wanghai Peak" towering in the middle.

The mountain peak is less than a thousand feet high, yet because it is year-round eroded by sea breezes and nourished by clouds and mist, it grows lush and green with ancient trees reaching for the sky.

Looking down from high above, Biluo Island is surrounded by a ring of pure white beaches, the sand as fine as powder, shimmering with fine silver light under the sun's brilliance.

Behind the beach are dense coconut groves and broad-leaved jungles, full of greenery and vibrant life.

Further inland, the terrain gradually rises until it reaches Wanghai Peak in the center.

The summit is shrouded in clouds and mist year-round, as if wearing a white fur cap; only when the sea breeze blows hard can the clouds be dispersed, revealing the dark blue rocky peak.

Around Biluo Island, the reefs are rugged, and the waves beat against the shore day and night, stirring up thousands of piles of snow-white foam.

After millions of years of washing, these reefs have taken on various shapes—some like fierce beasts emerging from the sea, some like an Immortal pointing the way, and some like an old monk in meditation, forming a natural barrier around the island.

In the southeastern corner of Biluo Island, in a bay sheltered from the wind and facing the sun, lies a fairly large village.

The villagers have lived here for generations and are well acquainted with one another.

There are about a hundred people in the village, across dozens of households.

Most houses are built from local materials, using the island's unique red pine and bluestone, with roofs covered in thick thatch—warm in winter and cool in summer, simple and natural.

The houses are neatly distributed on the gentle slopes of the bay, stretching from the seashore to halfway up the mountain.

In the courtyard of every household, some fruits and vegetables are planted, or perhaps a few unknown wildflowers, filled with the essence of life.

At the entrance of the village stands a massive ancient banyan tree, likely over a thousand years old; its trunk is so thick it would take seven or eight adults joining hands to encircle it.

Its massive canopy is like a giant open umbrella, shielding half of the village entrance from the sun.

Beneath the tree is an ancient well, its water clear and sweet, the source of the villagers' daily drinking water. Beside the well is a smooth bluestone slab, where villagers gather in their spare time to chat or mend fishing nets.

In the center of the village is an open threshing floor, which also serves as a venue for the villagers' sacrifices and celebrations.

To one side of the threshing floor stands a simple Earth God Temple, dedicated to the Sea God and the Earth God; though the incense is not abundant, it burns year-round.

Behind the village is a dense bamboo forest; deep within the forest, a few thatched huts are faintly visible, the dwellings of the village's hunters and herb gatherers.

At the end of the bamboo forest is a winding mountain path leading to Wanghai Peak.

The mountain path is rugged and rarely traveled; only the bravest young people, in specific seasons, will go up the mountain together to pick rare herbs or wild fruits.

In front of the village is that azure sea.

The water in the bay is very shallow and crystal clear, allowing one to see colorful fish swimming in the water.

At the entrance of the bay, there are two massive reefs, like two guardian deities, silently protecting this peaceful harbor.

Besides Biluo Island, the other thirty-five islands vary in size and shape.

Some islands are only a few acres in size, barren with only a few reefs and clumps of wild grass;

Some islands are lush and green, covered with dense forests and flowers;

On other islands, there are freshwater lakes, which are habitats for seabirds and fish.

Between these islands are straits of varying widths.

The currents in the straits are rapid and full of hidden reefs; only experienced fishermen dare to pilot small boats through the islands.

The villagers not only fish near Biluo Island but also take their fishing boats to other islands to gather wild fruits, hunt seabirds, or search for rare shellfish and seaweed.

For the villagers, this archipelago is their entire world.

They are familiar with the shape of every island, the flow of every strait, and the location of every fishing ground.

Days here pass very, very slowly.

The villagers work at sunrise and rest at sunset, living a simple and regular life.

The men go out to sea to fish, while the women stay home to weave nets, mend clothes, and care for the children.

The elderly sit under the ancient banyan tree, basking in the sun and telling stories that have been passed down for countless generations.

Their stories feature Immortals who fly through the sky and burrow into the earth, Spells that move mountains and fill seas, the blessings of the Sea God, the terror of storms, and the arduous journey of their ancestors as they thrived on this isolated island.

They know that Immortals are lofty beings, possessing power beyond a Mortal's imagination.

Every few decades, Immortals descend upon this archipelago.

Those Immortals, either treading upon Flying Swords or riding in flying boats, descend from the clouds and land on the Wanghai Peak of Biluo Island.

They release a strange light that envelops the entire village, then select a few children with excellent Aptitude to take away from the archipelago to those distant and mysterious Immortal Sects.

Once chosen, the children are separated from the Mortal world, embarking on a path of cultivation filled with unknowns and challenges.

Their families feel pride and relief for them; though their hearts are full of reluctance, they know this is the best destination for the child.

Children who are not selected continue to stay on the island, living a peaceful and stable life, marrying, having children, and carrying on the lineage.

For these Mortals, the arrival of Immortals is both an opportunity and a test.

They revere Immortals and also long to become one.

Their world is this archipelago, this bay, and these hundred-plus fellow villagers they live with day and night.

In the early morning, when the first light of dawn pierces the clouds and spills onto the sea, the entire archipelago awakens.

The sea surface glitters like a layer of crushed gold.

On the distant horizon, several fishing boats are setting sail, their sails filled by the sea breeze like giant wings.

The men stand at the bow, skillfully operating the rudders; their skin is dark and rough from the sea breeze, but their eyes are firm and bright.

They know where the schools of fish are, how to avoid hidden reefs and whirlpools, and how to battle the wind and waves.

The women carry wooden buckets to the ancient well to fetch water.

As they wash clothes and cook, they chat about domestic matters, their laughter crisp and pleasant, drifting in the morning breeze.

Children chase and play on the threshing floor or run to the beach to pick up shells and starfish washed ashore by the waves.

The air is filled with the salty scent of seawater mixed with the aroma of cooking smoke and the fragrance of flowers and grass, forming a unique and reassuring scent.

At noon, the sun is fierce, and heatwaves roll over the sea.

The fishing boats return one by one, their holds filled with lively fish, shrimp, crabs, and shellfish.

The men carry the catch ashore, while the women are busy sorting, cleaning, and pickling.

The entire village is a scene of busy yet orderly activity.

Children cool off in the shade, listening to the elderly tell the story of the "Immortal's Descent." The elders say that long, long ago, a white-robed Immortal treading on seven-colored auspicious clouds descended onto Wanghai Peak. With a wave of his hand, he quelled a tsunami that was about to destroy the entire archipelago, saving the lives of the whole village.

The villagers have heard this story countless times, but every time they hear it, they are still filled with reverence and gratitude. They believe that Immortals and deities are protecting them, allowing them to live and work in peace on this isolated island, generation after generation.

In the evening, as the sun sets, the sky is dyed with a brilliant sunset.

Over the sea, returning birds circle, and fishing songs answer one another.

After a busy day, people begin to enjoy this rare leisure time.

The men sit by the sea, smoking pipes, watching the sunset, and chatting about tomorrow's weather.

The women are in their courtyards, lighting fires to cook dinner. On the threshing floor, children play various simple games, their laughter and noise rising and falling.

As night falls, stars dot the sky, and the Milky Way spans across the heavens.

In the village, the lights are dim, and occasional barks and insect chirps make the night even more tranquil.

The men have long since entered their dreams, while the women still mend clothes under oil lamps.

The elderly sit in their courtyards, looking up at the starry sky, identifying familiar constellations and guessing tomorrow's weather.

The sea breeze blows gently, carrying the breath of the ocean and stroking the sleeping archipelago.

The waves continue to beat against the shore with a rhythmic sound, like an ancient lullaby, coaxing the people on the island into a sweet slumber.

Here, time seems to have frozen.

No strife, no war, no anxiety or fear for the future.

Only the day-to-day peaceful life and the eternal rise and fall of the tides.

Yun Ming observed for several days and confirmed that this place is quite suitable for retirement.