493: Chapter 493 The Burial of the Master Returns to Ruins

The Passing of the Lord of Burials

The moment the Lord of Burials closed his eyes—the entire Universe died.

It was not quiet. It was death. It was the very concept of sound, thoroughly erased from its Origin.

The sound of the wind was gone.

The scent of scorched earth churning in the depths of the rift solidified in mid-air, like an ancient mural held within a Seal of amber.

Even time stopped—not slowing down, not blurring, but like a moving arrow firmly grasped by an invisible hand, suspended on the pulse of the Universe.

It was a silence so profound that even the years dared not breathe.

And then—this remnant body, on the verge of total dissipation, began its final Nirvana.

It was not a collapse, not a disintegration, not a vanishing into smoke and clouds.

It was an ultimate sublimation, bursting forth from the very core of existence, from the deepest Origin of life, and from the depths of the most ancient Bloodline in this world.

Every inch of rotting flesh shed its filth, like casting off shackles worn for ten million years.

Every bone was cleansed of the vicissitudes of time, as if smelting the frost and storms of countless epochs.

Every scale shed its dust, like wiping clean an ancient mirror forgotten for too long.

They melted. Reorganized. Transformed. Turned into light.

The purest light. The cleanest light. The most ancient light—the kind of light peeled away from the very first ray of dawn when the world was born.

It was not blinding, yet it made the Burial Son unable to look directly at it.

Not because it was too bright, but because of its weight.

It was the weight of suppressing the rift alone for a million years. It was the weight of swallowing despair in solitude through countless long nights. It was the weight of the entire clan's Bloodline and curses, hopes and sighs, all condensed into this single moment.

The Burial Son could only squint, peering through his trembling fingers to glimpse the gradually sharpening silhouette within the light—

The mountain-sized rotting corpse beast had vanished. In its place stood a thin, upright elder.

His robes were ancient, the style so simple it was almost blurred, yet one could still discern the solemnity of days past—those were patterns forgotten by time, needlework long lost, and the majesty that once made ten thousand races bow their heads.

His sleeves fluttered without wind, swaying gently, the arc so familiar it made one want to cry—just like the curtain lifted by the first morning breeze before the Ancestor Hall, one morning ten million years ago.

The elder's face was gaunt, cheekbones slightly prominent, eye sockets deeply sunken. The carving knife of time had left gullies on his face, yet it had ultimately failed to harm those eyes—

The Burial Son's breathing completely ceased.

In those eyes, nothing remained. The ghostly green flames were gone. The crimson eroded by rotting flesh was gone. The madness tormented by curses was gone. The despair of suppressing the rift alone for a million years was also gone.

Only one thing remained—clarity.

Like the water of an ancient well washed by the long river of time a billion times. Calm, transparent, capable of reflecting all phenomena of the world, yet already transcending everything—including his own suffering.

"Ancestor..." The Burial Son opened his mouth, but could not emit a complete sound.

Something scalding was stuck in his throat, burning, churning, like lava, like fire, like all the grievances and waiting of these past million years.

Then—tears rolled down without warning.

Scalding. Burning. They streaked across his cold cheeks, dripping onto the scorched earth, emitting a faint "hissing" sound, like a branding iron pressed into snow.

He remembered. When he was very young, he was not yet the Burial Son, just an ordinary child of the Burial Clan. He would sneak into the Ancestor Hall at dusk, tiptoeing to look at the murals on the walls.

On the mural, the ancestor had this very figure. Standing on the peak of the Holy Mountain, back to his clansmen, robes fluttering, gazing into the depths of the starry sky.

The mural was static, its colors already mottled. Yet, as a child, he always felt that the person in the painting would turn around at any moment and smile at him.

Now. He had finally seen it.

The Divine Soul floating in mid-air truly turned around. And smiled at him.

In that smile, there was no million years of pain. No tragic heroism of suppressing the rift with his own body. No sacrifice, no regret, no unwillingness. There was only one thing—relief.

A pure, clean, unstained relief. Like a child who had finished all their homework. Like a traveler who had completed a long journey. Like an old man who could finally set down his heavy burden.

It was as light as a feather. Yet so heavy that it made the Burial Son's heart twitch violently.

And then, the Lord of Burials turned his head. His gaze fell upon Chu Changsheng.

This glance pierced through skin, pierced through bone, pierced through all the disguises of the flesh and blood body—straight to the deepest part of the Divine Soul. Straight to the most hidden corner of the Soul. Straight to the underlying color that even Chu Changsheng himself had never clearly seen.

Everything. Nothing could hide.

Then, the Lord of Burials raised his right hand.

The illusory hand, fingers long, knuckles distinct, could still vaguely show the outline of when he once held the Universe in his palm—fingers that had once pointed across the landscape, suppressed the ages, and held up the destiny of an entire clan.

His index and middle fingers pressed together. Pointing at Chu Changsheng's glabella. A distant tap.

The motion was very light. So light as if afraid to disturb the morning dew. So light as if not daring to touch a fragile dream. So light as if it had exhausted all the tenderness accumulated over a million years.

Just at the instant this touch was about to land— "Hum—!!!"

The entire rift began to vibrate. No. It was not the rift vibrating. It was the lowest rules of this world—the fundamental Law that constituted existence itself—trembling, resonating, and wailing at this moment.

Chu Changsheng "saw" it. Not with his eyes. But with a perception deeper, more ancient, and more essential than vision—

Countless slender threads of fate emerged from every corner of the Void Realm. As thin as spider silk. As firm as Karma.

They wrapped around him. Connecting his past and future. Recording his every choice. Marking his every piece of Karma. Outlining the trajectory of his fate—that was the "coordinate" by which he was tracked, and also the "proof" of his existence.

Then, the Lord of Burials' finger—tapped down. As light as a butterfly landing on a petal.

"Boom—!!!" Chu Changsheng's Sea of Consciousness exploded.

It was not destruction. It was rebirth. A power so vast it was indescribable poured in—not spiritual power, not magical power, not any form of energy within his cognition.

This was something more fundamental, more primitive—the Heavenly Secrets themselves. Or rather, the authority to manipulate, obscure, and twist the Heavenly Secrets.

This power was like a mother's hand, gently and firmly wrapping around his Divine Soul. On the surface of the Divine Soul, it began to weave—

Using the most ancient jurisprudence as the warp. Using the purest Karma as the weft. Using the obsession and sacrifice of a million years as the needle. An invisible membrane slowly took shape.

It did not block any attacks. It did not enhance any power. It would not even make him one iota stronger. It would not even let anyone feel its existence. It was simply—existing. Quietly existing. Isolating Chu Changsheng from the entire world.

Chu Changsheng "saw"—the threads of fate on his body began to blur. Like ink soaked in water, slowly spreading, drifting away, hiding in the Void Realm.

Those tangled threads of Karma snapped one by one—not severed by violence, but naturally loosening, slipping, falling into nothingness, as if they had never been connected.

His past was retreating—from this moment, to the first day he arrived in this world, and then to a more distant, more blurred source—all traces were gently erased, covered, and hidden, just like footprints on a beach being gently smoothed over by the tide.

His future was extending—but that path, which had originally been clearly visible, now became chaotic, blurred, shrouded in dense fog, becoming impossible to peek at, impossible to deduce, impossible to calculate.

One hundred years. He clearly perceived that time limit—not a number, but a "concept," a "promise."

Within a hundred years, no one could deduce his past. No one could peek into his future. No one could calculate his Karma to the end. This was what the Lord of Burials had traded for him by burning his final Divine Soul power and paying the price of his own existence completely vanishing—a hundred years of peace.

The barrier was complete.

The Lord of Burials' Divine Soul was now so illusory it was nearly transparent. Like an old piece of paper worn down by time. Like a wisp of morning mist about to dissipate. Like a dream about to wake up.

He lowered his head and looked at his hands, which were dissolving. These hands had once held up the glory of a clan. Had once suppressed the disaster in the depths of the rift. Had once held up a sky for his clansmen in the deepest despair. Had once drawn the first ray of light in the thickest darkness. And now, they were turning into the tiniest specks of light. Bit by bit. Piece by piece. Drifting in the air. Like sand in an hourglass, the last of time was leaking away.

He raised his head again and looked at Chu Changsheng. His lips moved slightly. No sound came out. But Chu Changsheng understood—every syllable resonated directly in the depths of his Soul, carrying the weight of a million years, carrying the entrustment of a clan, carrying the end of one era and the beginning of another:

"I entrust this to you."

It was not a request. It was not a transaction. It was an entrustment. Entrusting the future of the Burial Clan to him. Entrusting the peace of the rift to him. Entrusting all the hope of this land to him. Entrusting this young man kneeling on the ground, crying like a child—to him.

Then, the Lord of Burials smiled. That was the most relieved smile Chu Changsheng had ever seen in his life. The cleanest smile. The most relaxed smile. As if the burden of a million years could finally be set down. As if the end of a long journey had finally been reached. As if all the suffering and persistence had—at this moment—received an answer.

The next second, the Divine Soul completely disintegrated. Not turning into light dust. But turning into billions of tiny specks of light—like snow falling in reverse. Slowly. Quietly. Gently. Drifting toward the depths of the rift.

They drifted over the scorched earth, kissing this homeland that had been guarded for a million years. They drifted over the cracked rock walls, soothing every scar left by time. They drifted over the remnant Souls that had struggled in the Void Realm for a million years, bidding a final farewell. In the end, all the specks of light merged into one with this land that had nurtured the Burial Clan—never to be separated again.

He was gone. He left cleanly. He left without any attachments. He left as if he had never come to this world. Yet it also felt like—he had never truly left.

But at the same time he completely dissipated— "Thump!!!" A heartbeat. Coming from the end of the endless Void Realm.

It was not a heartbeat. It was the anger of some existence—anger to the extreme, so much so that it shook the Law itself, causing the underlying rules of the entire Universe to tremble.

Anger to the extreme, so much so that that "thump" resounded through the ten thousand worlds, resounded through the long river of Karma, resounded through the depths of every living being's Divine Soul—that was fear itself, knocking at the door.

Then— "Damned things—!!!" The roar exploded. The sound did not travel through the air. It directly shook Karma. Shook time. Shook the most fundamental order of this Universe. Like a heavy hammer, smashing onto the most fragile skeleton of the world.

The Void Realm shattered inch by inch like glazed glass. The flow of time was completely chaotic. The boundaries between past and future blurred, merged, and collapsed in this instant. The Law wailed in that roar.

"It was clearly just a little bit away—!! Just a little bit—!!!" The hatred was deep enough to corrode stars. Deep enough to make every Soul that heard it tremble from the depths of their instincts. Deep enough to seem to span countless epochs, just to vent this one roar.

In the Void Realm—a giant hand reached out. Big. Indescribably big. Big enough to transcend the concept of "size" itself. Big enough that the moment it appeared, the sense of scale of the Universe completely collapsed.

Five fingers spread open, each finger comparable to a galaxy. In the texture of the palm flowed the Law of destruction—those lines themselves were breathing, and with every rise and fall, stars were born, grew, decayed, and annihilated within them.

That was the epitome of the Universe's birth and death. That was the manifestation of the Law itself.

Wherever the giant hand passed—stars collapsed like dust. Not an explosion. Not a shattering. It was a more thorough erasure—from matter to energy, from past to future, from all possibilities, being completely wiped away. As if they had never existed.

"The rise of that person back then was already our clan's greatest miscalculation—" The owner of the giant hand was suppressing it. But the anger beneath that suppression was even more terrifying—like a volcano about to erupt, like a hurricane about to sweep through the Universe, like a knife already placed on the neck of fate.

The Void Realm could not withstand it. It collapsed in large swathes. Revealing the deeper, darker, more unknowable Chaos behind it—that was the nothingness beneath the Law, the abyss outside of existence, the taboo that even gods dared not gaze upon.

"This time—" The giant hand suddenly clenched! "Must never let such a thing—happen again—!!!"

"Boom—!!!" The instant it clenched its fist. Dozens of stars around the giant hand—annihilated. Completely shattered at the most basic Law level. No debris. No traces. Even the fact that "they once existed"—was corrected at this moment.

Only leaving behind the most primitive energy turbulence, raging crazily in the Void Realm, tearing the space for hundreds of millions of miles into tatters—like a rag torn apart by violence.

The light illuminated the eternally dark Void Realm. The loud noise shook the eternally silent dimensions. And in the center of that destruction, the owner of the giant hand slowly withdrew its palm.

In the palm, liquid dripped—not blood. It was dark golden liquid, flowing with the Law of destruction. Each drop was as heavy as a star. Each drop contained terrifying power capable of making a world undergo Reincarnation ten thousand times, and causing hundreds of millions of living beings to annihilate in an instant.

They fell into the Void Realm, smashing out one black hole after another that could never heal—those black holes crazily devoured everything around them; even light could not escape, and even time was twisted and broken there.

"Find him..." The voice, cold to the extreme, echoed in the Void Realm. Every syllable carried unquestionable murderous intent. That murderous intent was so pure, so absolute, so unreasonable—as if it were a Law itself.

"No matter what the price..." "Must—before he grows up—" A pause. A long. Dead-silent. A pause where even time froze. Then— "Kill him."

As the last three words fell, the giant hand slowly withdrew into the depths of the Void Realm. Along with the monstrous murderous intent, it disappeared into the endless darkness. As if it had never appeared.

Only leaving behind that thoroughly erased Star Domain. And the nothingness after the dozens of stars were annihilated. Silently telling a cruel fact in the Void Realm—an existence so ancient it was as old as the Universe, so terrifying it made the Law tremble—had already set its sights on Chu Changsheng.

And Chu Changsheng—was still completely unaware of this.

He stood in place. Eyes closed. Feeling that layer of barrier that had just formed on the surface of his Divine Soul. Warm. Resilient. Invisible. Yet truly existing. Like a mother's hand. Like the promise of an old friend. Like a silent fortress—guarding his most core secret.

One hundred years. He only had one hundred years. Within a hundred years, the Heavenly Secrets were shielded, and no one could calculate. This was the breathing room the Lord of Burials had won for him with his final life. It was his only, and also his last, chance.

What about after a hundred years? Chu Changsheng did not know. He only knew—the day the barrier disappeared. This giant hand, those terrifying existences—would find him again. With even greater murderous intent than today. And a more resolute will.

He slowly opened his eyes. In the rift, the Burial Son was still kneeling on the ground. His shoulders were trembling violently. Tears and scorched earth mixed together, drawing dirty marks on his face. This Burial Clan Son, who was once proud and carried the hope of the entire clan—was now like a child who had lost everything. Fragile as if he would shatter at a touch.

Chu Changsheng looked at his back. Looked at this land that had been guarded for a million years. Looked at the lingering presence of the Lord of Burials that had not yet completely dissipated in the Void Realm—a hundred years. He clenched his fists. It was enough.