481: Chapter 480 The Grand Finale

Spring in Jiangnan Small Town is like a capricious, petulant child, turning its face faster than flipping a book.

Just a moment ago, when Zhou Wannian stepped over the threshold of the old wine shop, the light had just broken through the clouds. A ray of bright spring sunlight slanted down the corner of the alley, making the uneven bluestone slabs glisten and warming his faded blue cloth long gown.

Yet, his languid steps had not even wandered through two streets along the winding alleyway before the thick gray clouds overhead, which had originally been torn open, gathered once more as if chased by the wind.

Sun shower.

The bright sun had not yet fully retracted its radiance when a fine, hair-thin drizzle began to fall from the sky.

This rain was extremely fine and light, transforming into a hazy mist barrier as it was caught by the drafty wind in mid-air. The sunlight pierced through this thin curtain of rain, refracting a surreal, mesmerizing color, adding a touch of the gentle and cold atmosphere of an ink wash painting to this white-walled, black-tiled Jiangnan Small Town.

"This damned heaven, it's only just learned to breathe on its own, yet its temper hasn't changed a bit—it just starts raining whenever it pleases, without even a word of warning."

Zhou Wannian leisurely clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head, letting the cool, fine rain fall onto his cheeks.

He did not circulate any protective True Qi to ward off the rain, nor did he use the Great Perfection Space Law—capable of distorting dimensions—to conjure an invisible umbrella. He walked forward unhurriedly, stepping on the somewhat slippery bluestone road, just like any ordinary, mundane traveler in this silken spring rain.

His soles made gentle "patta, patta" sounds as they contacted the puddles.

The sound echoed in the empty alley, appearing exceptionally tranquil.

Most of the shops along the street were half-closed due to this unseasonable cold snap. Occasionally, there was a food stall where the owner was frantically setting up a yellowed oiled-paper umbrella to protect the steaming baskets on the stove. White steam, mixed with the dampness of the rain, permeated the air with the delicious scent of white flour buns.

Zhou Wannian sniffed; that complex aroma, mixed with the earthy scent of soil, moisture, and the smoke of human life, made his entire being feel indescribably at ease.

He wound his way through the alley and crossed a single-arch stone bridge covered in moss.

Beneath the bridge was a gentle river that wound around the town. The river water was a translucent emerald green, and as raindrops struck the surface, they sent ripples spreading out in dense, interlocking circles, as if ruffling a pool of fine spring river silk.

After crossing the bridge and walking along the row of aged weeping willows on the riverbank, his field of vision gradually opened up.

In a sheltered spot where the river curved, a makeshift tea stall was set up.

Four sturdy bamboo poles supported a massive, coarse cloth canopy that had been washed somewhat white by the rain. The edges of the canopy were fraying from years of exposure to wind and sun, and at this moment, it was dripping with water. Under the tea stall, four or five square tables with missing corners or peeling paint were placed casually, along with a dozen long benches polished to a shiny gleam.

In the very center of the tea stall, a simple stove made of yellow mud was stacked. Thick firewood burned in the furnace, its roaring flames illuminating the massive, soot-blackened purple copper teapot on top.

"Glug, glug... hiss, hiss..."

The water in the purple copper teapot had boiled; the scalding water pushed against the lid, emitting rapid clattering sounds. Plumes of dense white steam gushed from the spout, making the surrounding air piping hot.

The owner of the tea stall was an old man with a hunched back, wearing patched gray cloth short attire.

He was using a thick, tattered cloth to pad his hand as he lifted the scalding purple copper teapot from the stove, expertly pouring boiling water into several coarse porcelain bowls. Under the rush of the boiling water, the low-quality crushed tea stalks tumbled and floated to the surface, emitting a scent of coarse tea with a slightly bitter and scorched aroma.

On this misty, rain-drenched riverbank, this cheap yet authentic tea aroma was more alluring than any Immortal Realm jade nectar.

Zhou Wannian walked under the canopy of the tea stall.

He paused, habitually patting the fine water droplets from the shoulders of his blue gown, then walked to the square table closest to the river and the edge.

He extended his slender, fair fingers and casually pulled out a long bench.

The bench scraped against the somewhat damp muddy ground, emitting a short "shrieking" sound.

Zhou Wannian lifted his hem and sat down with composure.

"Guest, this unseasonable spring rain is quite chilly; how about a bowl of hot tea to warm yourself up?"

The old man selling tea carried that massive purple copper teapot and walked over with a stumbling gait. His aged face, filled with the ravines of time, was crinkled with a fawning yet simple smile.

"I'll have a bowl. Use the crushed tea dregs from the very bottom, make it strong. The water must be just boiled—the hotter, the better."

Zhou Wannian tilted his head slightly, offering the old man an easygoing smile, and tapped his fingers twice lightly on the rough tabletop.

"Coming right up! Just a moment, guest. Although this tea of mine isn't any precious variety, the water was drawn early this morning from that old sweet well outside the town. The tea brewed from it relieves fatigue and quenches thirst—it's the best for refreshing the spirit!"

The old man rambled on, praising his own wares while untying a somewhat blackened cloth from his waist and wiping the tabletop in a haphazard manner.

Afterward, he picked up a large coarse porcelain bowl from the tray and placed it steadily in front of Zhou Wannian. He raised the purple copper teapot high, and the scalding boiling water poured into the bowl like a silver Dragon.

"Whoosh—"

The crushed tea stalks tumbled violently in the boiling water, and the originally clear well water was instantly dyed a murky dark brown. A thick, bitter, and even slightly earthy tea aroma accompanied the rising steam and rushed toward him.

"Enjoy, guest, but mind it doesn't scald your mouth. This tea must be drunk while hot; once it cools, that astringent taste becomes unbearable."

The old man put away the teapot, gave a smiling instruction, and turned to tend to the firewood in the stove.

Zhou Wannian did not rush to pick up the bowl of scalding tea.

He adjusted his sitting posture.

Those hands that were capable of crushing galaxies and shattering the black whetstone with a single palm strike within the Taiwu Ancestral Court and the underlying backend of the Universe, were now resting extremely relaxed and naturally on this somewhat greasy, dilapidated square table.

He bent his left arm, resting his elbow steadily on the rough wood grain. Then, he gently leaned his handsome face against the back of his left hand.

Resting his chin on one hand.

This was the most unpretentious, yet also the most comfortable and relaxed posture.

Those so-called mighty Cultivators and Sect leaders, if they were sitting at this riverside tea stall, would surely be sitting upright with straight backs, surrounded by Immortal Qi that kept everyone at a distance.

But Zhou Wannian was different.

He was like an old scholar who had grown sleepy while listening to a lecture at school, or like an old farmer resting in the shade after a day of farm work. His entire body blended perfectly into this broken table, this long bench, and this marketplace air filled with the scent of bitter tea.

It was as if he had been born to sit in this seat.

Zhou Wannian tilted his head slightly, his eyes—deep as an abyss yet clear as a mountain spring at this moment—looked past the dripping water curtain at the edge of the tea stall canopy, toward the outside.

Or rather, he looked toward the side of the tea stall, at the bluestone road hugging the small river, and the mottled white wall not too high across the road.

This white wall belonged to a wealthy family in town. The plaster had already peeled off somewhat, revealing the gray-blue bricks inside. At the base of the wall grew a thick layer of moss, like green velvet.

On the inside of the white wall, an aged peach tree was planted.

It was early spring, and although the branches of the peach tree were gnarled and vigorous, the tips were already covered with dense pink flower buds, and many had even impatiently bloomed.

The peach branches that reached over the wall swayed gently in the spring breeze. The pink petals were layered upon each other like strips of light gauze dyed red by the morning glow, appearing exceptionally charming and striking in this gray, rainy day, revealing an irrepressible vitality.

However.

The lingering spring rain, this cold rain of the unseasonable cold snap, although fine and dense, carried a hint of relentless, biting chill.

"Patta... patta..."

The fine rain relentlessly tapped on those delicate pink petals.

The petals could not bear the weight of the rain, nor could they withstand the tugging of the breeze mixed with the chill.

Finally.

A pink peach blossom at the very tip of the branch, which had bloomed most fully, emitted an extremely faint "tearing" sound that could only be captured by Zhou Wannian's Great Perfection hearing.

The flower stalk snapped.

That pink petal, like a red-pink butterfly with broken wings, spun in mid-air, floating and drifting, detaching from the protection of the mother tree, and fell.

With the first, came the second, and the third.

A wind mixed with rain blew past.

The peach tree, which had reached more than half its body over the wall, seemed to let out a sigh of helplessness.

"Pitter-patter—"

A small "flower rain" was tragically and beautifully performed in the rain curtain of this Jiangnan Small Town.

Countless pink peach petals drifted down from the branches. Some landed on the moss at the base of the wall, dotting the deep green with specks of crimson; others fell directly onto the bluestone road that had been washed bright by the rain.

The bluestone road was not flat; it was slightly higher in the middle and slanted on both sides. The rain gathered into a shallow stream on the stone slabs, following the terrain and flowing toward the nearby river.

The peach petals that fell on the bluestone did not wither on the hard stone.

They were lifted up by the rainwater on the ground.

These pink, light petals were like tiny pleasure boats, starting a journey of aimless drifting along the subtle water flow on the bluestone road.

They spun in puddles, they stumbled through the gaps in the stone slabs.

But no matter how winding the path, they were swept along by the water, inch by inch, helplessly drifting forward.

Eventually.

The water converged at the riverbank and poured down along several moss-covered stone steps.

"Splash."

Those pink peach petals, following the rainwater, tumbled into that translucent emerald green river.

The petals that fell into the river could no longer control their own fate. They became a part of this river, drifting slowly and quietly with the gentle current toward the unknown distance outside the town, until they disappeared into the misty rain curtain where the water met the sky.

Zhou Wannian rested his chin on one hand, watching this scene quietly.

His gaze followed those pink petals, watching them drift from the branches, watching them drift with the current on the bluestone road, watching them finally fall into the river and disappear.

The fallen flowers have intent, but the flowing water is heartless.

This was originally a desolate scene that scholars and poets loved to use to lament the spring and grieve for the autumn. Lamenting the brevity of life, lamenting the impermanence of fate.

But in Zhou Wannian's deep eyes, looking at these knocked-down peach blossoms, there was not even a trace of desolation or sorrow.

On the contrary.

His expression was extremely calm, as calm as the stagnant water that had suppressed things for tens of millions of years at the bottom of the Withered Well in the Taiwu Ancestral Court. No, that was not stagnant water, but a kind of absolute clarity that had seen through all prosperity and decay, encompassing all life and death.

"It is good that they have fallen."

Zhou Wannian looked at the empty branches, his lips moving slightly, whispering in a voice that only he could hear.

"Flowers bloom and flowers fall, spring departs and autumn comes. This is inherently the most ordinary, and the most should-not-be-interfered-with, principle in this heaven and earth."

His thoughts, in this lingering spring rain, could not help but unfold.

He thought of that immense, boundless dark green copper coin that trapped the All Heavens and Myriad Worlds. He thought of that black whetstone engraved with the character "Wu," tirelessly grinding the threads of Law.

That Universe cleanup program he had shattered with one palm, that deformed monster hiding at the bottom of the Withered Well.

The reason they wanted to destroy the heavens and the earth, the reason they wanted to turn this Universe into a cold, heat-death grave, was simply because they felt that these peach blossoms should not bloom, and these petals should not fall.

They felt that the blooming of flowers consumed the tree's nutrients, and the falling of petals would dirty the moss on the ground. These were all consuming the Universe's energy, all creating chaos.

In the eyes of those things that were absolutely rational, recognizing only mathematical formulas and closed-loop logic.

The most perfect state was one without trees, without flowers, without wind, and without rain. Everything became a piece of cold, black stone that would never change.

That is called "Zeroing Out," that is called "Eternal Tranquility."

However.

"If flowers didn't bloom, if leaves didn't fall, how boring this world would be."

Zhou Wannian picked up the bowl of coarse tea in front of him that was still slightly warm.

He didn't mind the tea stems floating on top, tilted his head back, and took a big gulp.

The bitter tea slid down his throat, bringing a coarse yet real sense of refreshment.

He set down the tea bowl, withdrew his gaze from outside the window, and let it fall on the opposite side of his square table.

There, it was empty.

No bench, and no one.

But Zhou Wannian remembered very clearly that just a few days ago, before he went deep into that ancient starry path and kicked the Dimensional Loom to pieces.

He had once sat in this same spot at this tea stall.

At that time.

In that empty seat, a passerby was sitting.

It was a young swordsman carrying a notched iron sword on his back.

The swordsman's face was etched with the hardships of travel, and his coarse cloth clothes were stained with mud and dried blood.

His eyes were vigilant and anxious, filled with fear for an unknown future and a fanatical desire for some ethereal "Opportunity."

The swordsman only drank half a bowl of tea at the stall, then hurriedly threw down two copper coins, and, braving a wind and rain even heavier than today's, charged into the depths of the alley without looking back.

He wanted to fight, to snatch.

He wanted to go into that dangerous Cultivator world and carve out a path to immortality.

That swordsman was a microcosm of the billions of living beings in these All Heavens and Myriad Worlds.

In that old era where the Universe was trapped inside a copper coin, with a black whetstone hanging above its head.

All living beings, regardless of their cultivation level, could actually vaguely feel the oppression and despair permeating the depths of the Heavenly Dao.

Spiritual Qi was drying up, and the world was aging.

It was like a guillotine hanging above their heads, ready to fall at any moment.

That was why the swordsman was so restless and so hurried.

He didn't dare to stop and finish the whole bowl of tea because he was afraid that if he stopped, he would be completely swallowed by the torrent of the era and the "Heat Death" approaching in the dark.

But now.

Zhou Wannian looked at that empty seat.

The passerby at the tea stall was long gone.

It wasn't just the swordsman who was gone.

Zhou Wannian's Divine Sense, spread across the entire Mortal Lower Realm, perceived it.

That invisible restlessness and oppression that had shrouded the hearts of all living beings.

Had also vanished into thin air amidst this sky full of spring rain.

Although the Mortals didn't know that just a moment ago, the underlying logic of the entire Universe had undergone a heaven-destroying reshaping.

They didn't know that the rusty copper coin pressing down on their heads had been forcefully shattered by an idle scholar.

But their instincts and their vitality truly and clearly felt the changes in this world.

The air was no longer so stagnant.

The faint, putrid, sour smell in the Spiritual Qi was replaced by a freshness as vibrant as spring buds.

It was like a dilapidated room with doors and windows sealed shut, packed with people.

The people inside were about to suffocate, fighting and snatching the last bit of thin air.

And now.

Zhou Wannian had walked over, kicked the locked iron door to pieces, and even casually ripped the roof off this dilapidated room.

The endless fresh air from the high-dimensional deep space, accompanied by brilliant starlight, poured in without obstruction.

The room was no longer oxygen-deprived.

Although people were still in this somewhat cluttered room, the suffocating sense of despair had completely vanished.

The passerby with the notched iron sword might still be searching for his Opportunity in some unknown mountain forest.

But his state of mind when drawing his sword was no longer the hysteria of struggling to survive in the apocalypse, but had turned into a pure exploration and pursuit of a higher Realm.

"A passerby is a passerby after all; they are always in a hurry to continue their journey."

Zhou Wannian's posture of resting his chin on one hand didn't change, and his fingers traced circles on the tabletop unconsciously.

"Without that copper coin lid that crushes people, the road ahead, though it still has to be walked on two legs, at least I don't have to keep my head low and back bent, worrying about being crushed to death whenever the sky falls."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The air, mixed with the fragrance of tea, the scent of damp earth, and the moisture of spring rain, followed his breath into his body.

And in the deepest part of his body.

In that vast and boundless inner universe.

The power that had once made Zhou Wannian feel incomparably heavy, pressing down on him for millions of years so he dared not slacken in the slightest, had now undergone an earth-shaking change.

Those ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine Jade-ified Chains.

Those Seals that were once used to suppress his own "Unlimited Absolute Mass" and prevent him from crushing the entire Universe.

At the bottom of the Taiwu Ancestral Court, after absorbing endless Death Qi and converting it into vitality, after breaking through that dark green copper coin.

These chains had completely lost their meaning as "shackles."

In Zhou Wannian's inner universe.

The originally empty and lonely Void Realm had now turned into an endless, vibrant sea of stars.

Those ninety-thousand-plus Jade-ified Chains had completely melted, merging into his flesh and blood, his True Spirit, and every corner of his inner universe.

The Absolute Mass that had once made him feel fear was no longer a stick of dynamite that could explode at any moment.

It had turned into an extremely fertile, dense, and boundless "grandmist mother earth."

Zhou Wannian no longer needed to spare even a sliver of his mind to suppress it.

Because he had now completely and perfectly integrated himself with this reborn Universe.

He was no longer that coolie forced to prop up the main beam with his shoulders.

He was the foundation of this world, he was the anchor point of this vast sea of stars.

As long as he sat here, as long as he was still breathing.

The physical framework of this Universe would be unbreakable.

That hanging Death Qi of heat death would never be able to cross the crack he had cleaved open and descend upon the world again.

"I used to feel a soreness in my bones, and my shoulders felt too heavy to lift."

Zhou Wannian felt an unprecedented sense of lightness within his body.

This was an extreme relaxation that came after completely unloading a burden of millions of years from his spirit.

"So it wasn't that my bones were weak, it was that this damn heaven had dumped the weight of the entire house onto my back alone."

He slowly opened his eyes.

His deep eyes reflected the Jiangnan spring rain that was still drizzling unceasingly outside the tea stall.

The crisis was averted.

The black whetstone was shattered, the copper coin was broken, and the Dimensional Loom had turned into scrap iron.

The desperate deadlock that had shrouded the All Heavens and Myriad Worlds for countless epochs had been smashed to pieces by him with a bowl of low-quality warm wine, a dish of salted peanuts, and that unreasonable Absolute Mass.

However.

Did this mean that from now on, this Universe would become a Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss, with no disputes, no bloodshed, and flowers blooming everywhere?

Zhou Wannian watched a few street rascals on the bluestone road, pushing and swearing at each other to compete for a shelter from the rain.

He looked at the small river in the distance, where two black-awning boats had collided because they were fighting over the channel, and the boatmen were standing at the bows, waving bamboo poles and cursing at each other.

This world was a messy place.

"There is no such thing as a Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss."

Zhou Wannian picked up the coarse tea in front of him, which had already turned slightly cool, and took a slow sip.

The bitterness in the tea became even more intense, but he didn't frown.

"As long as there are living people in this world, and birds and beasts that can breathe."

His gaze pierced through this Mortal clamor, as if seeing the vast world of Cultivators in the infinite distance.

There, old Sects perished, and new Holy Lands rose.

To compete for a newly born Spiritual Vein, to snatch an ancient Cultivation Technique left behind.

Countless Cultivators were still drawing their swords against each other, still fighting until rivers of blood flowed.

Betrayal, slaughter, greed, deception.

These things that belonged to the very foundation of life did not disappear just because the dilapidated Universe had been repaired.

Wherever there are people, there is Jianghu.

Wherever there are living beings, there will be new disturbances.

This is a Law that even the Creator cannot change; this is the friction and collision that must inevitably arise in the process of life's reproduction and expansion.

If one day there really wasn't even a trace of argument in this Universe, and all living beings were as polite as guests to each other, with no desires or demands.

Then this Universe wouldn't be far from turning into that lifeless, dark green copper coin again.

"Toss and turn, keep tossing and turning."

Zhou Wannian watched those few rascals who were fighting over the shelter, watching their comical appearance as they were bruised and swollen but still grappling desperately in the muddy water.

Not only did he not feel annoyed, but he even found this scene so vivid it made him want to laugh.

"I have already used steel and iron to rebuild the foundation of this dilapidated house for you. As long as you don't tear down the load-bearing walls, this roof won't collapse, even if you spend every day ripping off tiles up there."

He didn't need to be that lofty deity, setting down any absolute rules for these disturbances.

The fate of the Truth Realm had already proven that there was simply no such thing as an absolutely perfect rule in this world.

He only needed to be a gatekeeper.

A spectator sitting at a tea stall, drinking coarse tea, watching the sentient beings of this world wallowing in the mud and singing on the clouds.

Where would the future of this Universe lead?

Could those Cultivators find a broader world after opening the passage to the high-dimensional deep space?

Could those Mortals struggling in the mud harvest two more bushels of grain in the next autumn harvest and make a new set of clothes without patches for their children?

All these unknowns, all these possibilities.

Were all things for the future.

Zhou Wannian didn't have the leisure to deduce the future, nor did he want to bother with such idle concerns.

The burden of millions of years had been unloaded, and the Karma that had forced him to save the world had been kicked by him into the dustbin of history.

From now on.

He was no longer that singularity seed carrying the Universe on his shoulders.

He was just himself.

An idle scholar named Zhou Wannian, who liked to drink a sip of low-quality warm wine on days of late spring cold, and liked to listen to the sound of the Old Shopkeeper's abacus when he had nothing to do.

The rain gradually eased.

Although it hadn't cleared up, the continuous sense of gloom had been diluted a lot by the unique, lively atmosphere of this Jiangnan Small Town.

A breeze carrying the lingering scent of peach blossoms blew past, stirring a few strands of hair at Zhou Wannian's temples.

He still maintained that posture of resting his hand on the table.

His washed-out blue cloth robe fluttered gently in the breeze.

The bowl of coarse tea on the table had turned completely cold.

In the stove not far away, the firewood used for boiling water emitted a crisp "crackling" sound, splashing a few warm, orange-red sparks.

Zhou Wannian quietly watched outside the window.

Watching the gaps in the bluestone road that had been washed clean by the rain.

Watching the peach tree branches on that white wall, which, although many petals had been knocked off, still stood stubbornly, preparing to welcome the next spring.

Watching a dilapidated black-awning boat in the small river, rowing slowly, passing through the stone arch bridge, and disappearing into the mist-shrouded distance.

Everything had returned to the most plain, most real tranquility.

No more threat of world destruction, no more hanging guillotine.

The noise and disturbances of this world, heard at this moment, had all become the most pleasant, most reassuring lullaby.

Zhou Wannian rested one hand on the pitted elm wood table.

He slowly withdrew his gaze and let his sight fall on the bowl of cold, coarse tea in front of him.

The broken tea stems at the bottom of the bowl had quietly settled.

Then.

In this Jiangnan Small Town with its drizzling spring rain.

At this simple tea stall, now free of any Karma shackles.

This scholar in a green robe, who had once smashed the Universe's deadlock with one punch and let the All Heavens and Myriad Worlds be reborn.

Tilted his head slightly.

His lips curled upwards, bit by bit.

Eventually, blossoming into a hint.

A smile that emanated from his very bones, free of any more worries and burdens.

An extremely comfortable, faint smile.

At least for now.

Amidst this misty rain, in this small world exhaling the scent of earth and tea.

No need to care about the birth and death of galaxies.

No need to ask about the geometry of the Dao.

This world, this peace.

Belongs to him, Zhou Wannian.

(End of Book)