440: Chapter 440 At the End of the Stroll, One Sees the True Self; Tea Smoke Rises from the Other Shore of the Void

Cyan cloth shoes stepped on ankle-deep ash powder. The dense, dull "rustling" sound gradually grew fainter as Zhou Wannian continued deeper into the darkness ahead, until it vanished completely.

Passing the charred dead tree with tender green tea buds, the last outlines of the Taiwu Ancestral Court were left behind. There was no longer rolling black ash mud here, nor the sour, rotten, aged Death Qi.

What remained was only a void pure to its very essence.

There was no light, no sound; even the boundaries of space and time became blurred. Walking within it, Zhou Wannian felt as if he were traversing an absolute void with neither beginning nor end. The Great Perfection Space Law lost its leverage to pave the way here because there was simply no "space" to pave.

Relying solely on the innate guidance deep within his Divine Soul, he walked unhurriedly on this other shore of the void.

He did not know how long he had walked.

Suddenly, deep within the thick, impenetrable darkness ahead, a glimmer of orange-red light leapt up.

The light was small, like a firefly lost in the wilderness on a summer night. Yet, within this light, there was not a trace of the coldness belonging to high-dimensional energy, nor the eeriness of the abyss's Death Qi.

It radiated a sense of warmth.

It was the light emitted by the most ordinary, common charcoal fire in the mortal world.

Accompanying this glimmer as it pierced the void was a faint "gurgling" sound, like a pot of water boiling and churning on a clay stove. Immediately after, a wisp of faint white smoke, carrying the scent of steam and burning aged firewood, drifted through the darkness and entered Zhou Wannian's nostrils.

This scent of hearth and home, at the end of the abyss known as the ultimate dead land of the Universe, seemed so out of place, yet it brought a sense of grounded peace.

Zhou Wannian walked over, hands clasped behind his back, following that spark of orange-red light.

As the distance closed, the scene before his eyes gradually became clear in the darkness.

On the other shore of the void, a clearing the size of a square zhang had been forcibly carved out. The ground of the clearing was level, with a rough round bluestone table placed upon it, accompanied by two equally unpolished round stone stools.

On the bluestone table sat two washed-out, coarse ceramic cups.

Not far from the table, a small red clay stove was lit. Inside the stove, several pieces of dark red charcoal were burning, the flames licking the bottom of a black sand pot set upon it.

The lid of the black sand pot was pushed up and down by the boiling water, making crisp clattering sounds. At the spout, white steam gushed out, turning into curling tea smoke that spiraled and dissipated in mid-air.

Beside the small red clay stove, a figure was crouching.

The figure had his back to Zhou Wannian and was wearing a washed-out cyan cloth robe. He was reaching out one hand, holding a short wooden stick, casually poking at the burning charcoal in the stove to make the fire burn brighter.

The style and fabric of that cyan robe, and even the slightly faded, wrinkled texture on the shoulders of the back, were identical to the one Zhou Wannian was wearing.

However, this figure did not look solid, but rather presented a semi-transparent, illusory texture. The orange-red firelight leaping in the stove could even faintly penetrate his body, shining onto the darkness behind him.

Zhou Wannian walked to the bluestone table and stopped.

The hem of his cyan robe hung quietly in the breeze stirred up by his movement. His deep eyes gazed at the illusory figure crouching before the stove, poking at the charcoal.

"You're quite slow to arrive."

The phantom crouching before the stove did not turn back; the voice came over, accompanied by the clicking sound of poking the charcoal.

The voice was calm and cold, carrying a sense of detachment and laziness, as if nothing mattered.

This was not the voice of someone imitating him. This was Zhou Wannian's own voice, just like the clear echo one would hear when speaking in an empty valley.

The phantom tossed the short wooden stick aside, patted the non-existent dust off his hands, then stood up and slowly turned his head.

The firelight shone upon that semi-transparent face.

The features were handsome, the brows and eyes deep, with a bit of unshaven cyan stubble on the chin. The weariness of one who had seen through the world, lingering in the depths of his eyes, was exactly the same as Zhou Wannian's.

This was Zhou Wannian.

Or rather, this was a wisp of Divine Soul that the idle scholar had casually stripped away and left here to keep watch, back when he was locking up this Taiwu Ancestral Court countless eras ago, simply because he found it too boring down below.

The main body wandered everywhere in the All Heavens and Myriad Worlds, drinking inferior rice wine.

This wisp of Divine Soul had remained in this dead land at the very bottom of the Universe, guarding a red clay stove, enduring eras so long they could not be calculated by numbers.

Zhou Wannian looked at this illusory "self" before him; there was no surprise or shock on his face, only the familiarity of an old friend reuniting after a long time, or even like looking in a mirror when waking up in the morning.

"I ran into a few biting tin cans on the way, along with some self-righteous rotten drafts, so I was delayed for a while."

Zhou Wannian replied in a flat tone.

He strode over to the bluestone table, lifted the back hem of his cyan robe, and sat down steadily on one of the round stone stools.

The cold touch of the stone stool came through the fabric, making one feel refreshed.

The phantom opposite him smiled, the mockery in his smile perfectly measured.

"It was originally very quiet at the bottom of this well, but these fellows insisted on coming up to rummage around. I found them noisy, so I threw some scented bait out through the door crack. The mark on that kid from the Qingping Realm, and the water droplets flowing out from those drafts, were just a few stumbling blocks I set for them because I was bored out of my mind."

As the phantom spoke, he walked over to the red clay stove.

He reached out his semi-transparent hand, unafraid of the boiling water scalding him, and directly grasped the handle of the black sand pot, lifting the piping hot pot.

Walking to the bluestone table, the phantom tilted his wrist slightly.

The boiling water poured down from the black spout, falling into the coarse ceramic cup in front of Zhou Wannian, making a crisp, tinkling sound.

There were no tea leaves in the cup. It was just a cup of clean, plain boiled water.

A mist of white steam rose from the surface of the water, blurring the line of sight between the two of them.

Zhou Wannian picked up the piping hot water, feeling the scorching temperature through the walls of the coarse ceramic cup. On this other shore of the void, where even time was frozen, this scorching temperature felt exceptionally real.

He brought the cup to his lips, gently blew away the steam, and took a sip.

There was no tea fragrance, but it carried a crisp sweetness that only came after the most thorough purification.

"Treating the schemes others painstakingly laid out as amusement—your temperament hasn't softened one bit after staying down here for so long."

Zhou Wannian put down the cup, rubbed his fingertips along the rim, and looked up at the phantom sitting opposite him.

"What kind of amusement is that?" The phantom put down the black sand pot, leaned back, and slumped on the stone stool in a comfortable position. "True amusement is watching them treat this mud pit as a prime geomantic location, drilling into it with all their might, only to end up not even knowing how they turned to ash."

Zhou Wannian's gaze passed over the phantom and landed on the small red clay stove.

The charcoal fire in the stove was burning brightly, making faint crackling sounds.

Just now, when the phantom added firewood, Zhou Wannian caught a glimpse of what had been thrown in as firewood.

It was not a piece of ordinary dry wood.

In the leaping orange-red flames, the outline of the remains gradually became clear.

A broken dark wooden frame with a thin metal rod threaded through the middle. On the metal rod were two or three round abacus beads, blackened by the heat of the fire.

At this moment, the remains of this half-abacus were quietly burning in the stove; the wooden frame cracked under the high temperature, and the abacus beads made faint popping sounds, turning into wisps of smoke, providing the final heat for this pot of boiling water.

Zhou Wannian's hand holding the cup paused slightly.

This abacus.

The dark wood, the style of the threaded beads—he was all too familiar with them.

Not long ago, in that lower-level fish pond called the Qingping Realm.

The Soul Transformation Stage Cultivator who called himself the "Extraterrestrial Angler" had been holding this very Magic Treasure abacus, specifically designed to calculate the Origin of the world and manipulate the fates of all living beings.

At that time, Zhou Wannian had used only one finger.

Under the Absolute Mass of the Great Perfection Space Law, that abacus, which claimed to be able to calculate Heavenly Secrets, shattered into pieces on the spot. The Angler was erased, and the Heavenly Dao of the Qingping Realm was reshaped.

And that broken abacus, when Zhou Wannian broke through the dimensions to leave, had been swept into the chaotic spatial turbulence.

Who could have imagined.

This broken abacus, which symbolized the Immortal-Demon Great World's exploitation of the Lower Realm and represented meticulous calculation.

After experiencing countless washings by the spatial turbulence and crossing who knows how many layers of dimensional barriers.

It had actually fallen, with an eerie coincidence, straight into the void at the very bottom of this Taiwu Ancestral Court.

In the end, it landed in the hands of this wisp of Divine Soul guarding here to boil tea, becoming a piece of firewood for starting a fire.

Zhou Wannian watched the few abacus beads melting in the stove.

All the clues, all the grudges, those forces that stirred up the All Heavens and Myriad Worlds, had completed a seamless closed loop in this tiny, square inch of space, in the most absurd yet most reasonable way.

The Immortal-Demon Great World used the abacus to scheme against the Qingping Realm, only to be shattered by Zhou Wannian.

The remains of the abacus fell into the Taiwu Ancestral Court and became firewood for the phantom to boil tea.

The Truth Realm used bone towers to probe the mist, only to be kicked into ruins by Zhou Wannian.

The Initial Circle used drafts to set the rules, only to be wiped out by Zhou Wannian with one hand.

In this closed loop, whether it was the self-important gods and demons or the high-and-mighty Mainframe, all their schemes and ambitions, when they reached before Zhou Wannian, at the very bottom of this Taiwu Ancestral Court.

Were nothing more than a handful of firewood added when boiling water, or a handful of dust raised when sweeping the floor.

"The material of this piece of wood is actually quite good; it burns brightly and produces little smoke, making it just right for boiling water."

The phantom followed Zhou Wannian's gaze, pointing at the broken abacus in the stove, his tone revealing a bit of satisfaction.

He certainly knew the Origin of this abacus. He and Zhou Wannian were originally of one source; the experiences of the main body outside were naturally perceived clearly by this wisp of Divine Soul.

He had picked up these abacus remains as firewood not just to boil water, but more so to express a disdain ingrained in his bones toward those who attempted to lay hands on this Forbidden Ground.

"No matter how loudly the abacus is clicked, in the end, it cannot escape the fate of ending up in the stove." Zhou Wannian withdrew his gaze, looking at the cup of steaming hot water before him. "These people always like to make simple things so complicated."

"Because they are afraid of death."

The phantom retracted the smile on his face, and on that face, identical to Zhou Wannian's, appeared a sense of vicissitudes from cold-eyed observation over countless eras.

"Afraid of death, so they must desperately grab onto something. Grabbing Spiritual Qi, grabbing the Origin, grabbing the rules." The phantom's fingers tapped lightly on the bluestone table. "They think this Universe is a dilapidated house that will collapse one day, so they try every possible way to dig for stones and find pillars."

The phantom looked up, his semi-transparent eyes staring straight at Zhou Wannian.

"Yet they do not know that the reason this house has not yet collapsed is because the spine beneath it has not yet broken."

Zhou Wannian did not speak.

He understood what the phantom meant.

Before Li Changge died, he said that what he locked was "Him," the end of the Universe's collapse. But this was only a superficial understanding.

The true core lay in the fact that those ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine chains were the "weight" that Zhou Wannian had forcibly hammered into the very bottom of this Universe using the Great Perfection Space Law.

It was this Absolute Mass that, like a stabilizing needle, pulled on those dimensional threads that were about to snap, maintaining the last shred of balance for this broken Universe.

And now.

Because of various external interference, and because of the autonomous transformation of Zhou Wannian's mass, those ninety-thousand-plus chains began to fuse.

The load-bearing spine was undergoing deformation.

"The smell of mud from below is getting stronger." Zhou Wannian picked up the cup and took another sip of warm water.

"The lid has been kept on too long; the things underneath have fermented, so naturally, they will bubble up." The phantom spread his hands, looking detached and idle, as if it had nothing to do with him.

"Lately, the commotion of the chains fusing has become greater. You can suppress it for a while, but not for a lifetime." The phantom looked at Zhou Wannian. "Ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine chains—if they really fuse into one, to what extent that mass will expand, even I cannot calculate."

"If you can't calculate it, then don't."

Zhou Wannian placed the cup on the bluestone table, the bottom of the cup making a crisp clinking sound.

He raised his eyelids, his gaze deep and calm as he looked at himself opposite.

"If every step in this world were calculated clearly, how would that be any different from those tin cans outside?"

Upon hearing this, the phantom was slightly taken aback, then immediately let out a light, resonant laugh.

"That's true. Acting according to one's heart is the true nature of you and me."

The phantom stood up.

He did not return to the stove but walked around the bluestone table to stand before Zhou Wannian.

As he drew closer, his semi-transparent body began to emit a soft light. There was no piercing sharpness in this light, only a closeness like water and milk blending.

Over long eras, this wisp of Divine Soul had guarded a stove in this void, enduring countless dead, silent eras. Now, the main body had overcome numerous obstacles and arrived at this end.

The task of keeping watch was over.

"The water in this stove is about boiled enough."

The phantom lowered his head, looking at Zhou Wannian sitting on the stone stool, the expression on his face gradually becoming serene.

"The mess outside still needs to be cleaned up by you yourself."

Zhou Wannian sat there without getting up.

He looked at this phantom who had accompanied him for countless eras and nodded slightly.

The phantom smiled, and his semi-transparent body began to disintegrate, turning into countless specks of cyan fluorescent light.

These fluorescent lights did not dissipate into the void but, like a flock of birds returning to their nest, circled around Zhou Wannian once before silently merging into the depths of his Divine Soul through his brow.

Two periods of time spanning who knows how many Universe eras.

Two portions of memories settled under different circumstances.

At this moment, they completely overlapped.

Zhou Wannian closed his eyes, feeling that long-lost Perfection and clarity deep within his Divine Soul. That feeling was like a traveler who had wandered outside for many years, finally washing away the dust of his journey and returning to a warm hometown.

In the inner universe.

Those ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine ancient chains erupted with an unprecedented roar the moment the Divine Souls merged.

The bronze-colored glimmer on the ten-thousandth chain instantly surged, illuminating the entire inner universe. Those Fusion trends that had originally been forcibly suppressed by Zhou Wannian began to stir again, and even more violently than before.

Zhou Wannian did not suppress it.

He opened his eyes, the depth in those pupils seemingly able to devour the light of all stars.

He reached out that hand with distinct knuckles and picked up the cup of plain boiled water on the bluestone table that was still emitting a trace of heat.

He tilted his wrist slightly.

And drank the remaining warm water in the cup in one gulp.