126: World Fire Vein Suppression Map

On the seventh day after the Spring Equinox, late at night, at the foot of Mount Longhu, the old locust tree revered as the "Holy Land of Passing the Fire for All People" stood silently in the mixed atmosphere of moonlight and the embers of incense, after the believers had dispersed.

Suddenly, without any warning, a bolt of lightning, pale as bone, struck vertically from the Nine Heavens, precisely piercing through the heart of the locust tree.

There was no earth-shattering roar, only a dull "pfft" sound, like a heart stopping suddenly.

Immediately after, the most bizarre scene unfolded.

From the inside out, the old locust tree was ignited by a dark red flame; the light did not blaze upwards, but instead, like thick blood, clung to the rough bark and slowly flowed downward.

Where the flames passed, the wood did not turn into charcoal or ash, but instead presented a translucent texture like jade, with its internal grain clearly visible, as if it had been trapped in a Seal within amber.

The mountain-guarding Daoists were terrified to the point of Soul Flying Away and Spirit Scattering by this strange phenomenon.

The leader, Daoist Priest Xuantong, looked grave, stepped forward quickly, pointed his peach-wood sword, chanted incantations, and dozens of yellow talismans shot out, sticking onto the flowing liquid fire.

However, the moment the yellow talismans touched the flames, they did not burn; instead, like ink dropped into water, they dissolved without a sound.

Daoist Priest Xuantong let out a muffled groan, feeling the True Qi inside his body rushing out like a floodgate opening, sucked away by the bizarre flames, with his Meridians sending waves of needle-like pain.

"S-Senior Martial Uncle! The talisman technique... has failed!" A young Daoist's voice was filled with unprecedented fear.

The flames had flowed to the ground, showing no signs of extinguishing.

Instead, they seemed to have come alive, splitting into several streams, winding their way in all directions along the paths people had trodden during the day; wherever they passed, the bluestone paved roads glowed with a warm, gentle red light.

This fire did not burn all things, but seemed to be measuring and soaking into this land.

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away, in a dilapidated house within the ruins of an ancient Central Plains city, Cui Wujiu, who had been sitting cross-legged, suddenly opened his eyes.

He spread his right hand, and a scar on his palm that had long since healed was now searing with pain, as if a branding iron had been pressed into his marrow.

A familiar yet strange palpitation came from the depths of the earth, surging frantically into his limbs and bones along the earth veins that he had not sensed for many years.

It was not a violent force, but a rhythm, a beat that was extremely ancient, filled with sorrow and hope.

Thump... thump-thump... thump...

Cui Wujiu's breathing instantly synchronized with that beat, and in his mind, an illusion uncontrollably surfaced—deep in a dark mine tunnel, a group of ragged, emaciated miners used their last strength, using their fingers as pens and their own blood as ink, to write that ancient character "Fire" stroke by stroke on the cold rock wall.

Every breath and every heartbeat of theirs contained the most primitive longing for light.

This rhythm was exactly the breathing frequency of the miners when they carved that character with their lives back then!

The earth veins, the fire of humanity's collective unconscious that had been silent for who knows how many years, had been awakened!

Cui Wujiu stood up abruptly, looking toward the direction of Mount Longhu, his eyes shooting out intense light, shock and realization intertwined.

He muttered to himself, his voice trembling slightly with excitement: "It is not out of control... It is looking for someone."

In the capital, Su Qingzhu's office was brightly lit.

She had just finished a seminar on the social phenomenon triggered by the short film "Fire Won't Wait for You to Be Ready."

The story of that disabled boy had indeed ignited the internet, but it also spawned countless bizarre imitations and interpretations.

On the screen, a well-known psychology "influencer" was holding forth, deconstructing the boy's behavior into a standardized process of "near-death experience triggering heart fire," and even launching a paid course, claiming "Three days to experience desperation, seven days to ignite the heart fire."

Below the video, countless people were flocking to it, leaving comments begging to buy it.

Su Qingzhu felt a deep sense of powerlessness.

She had intended to counter those falsehoods and utilitarianism by sharing a true story, to let people understand that fire is the cry of life itself in extreme environments.

But now, this cry had been transcribed into a musical score and sold at a set price.

Truth was being distorted and consumed in a more efficient way.

Just then, her special attention list popped up a red alert—"Unknown fire incident at Mount Longhu Holy Land, suspected manifestation of a divine miracle."

Opening the video, the bizarre, liquid-like flowing flames instantly occupied the entire screen.

The comment section had already exploded; some exclaimed "The Fire God has descended," others worried about "signs of the apocalypse," and even more people were frantically @-ing major Daoist temples and research institutions, demanding an "official explanation."

Su Qingzhu's fingertips slid across the screen; she did not pay attention to those noisy speculations, but keenly noticed that the direction the flames flowed was not random—they seemed to be avoiding certain things, or perhaps following certain specific trajectories.

She immediately accessed the database to compare the path of the flames' spread with the geographic data of the national "True Fire Certification" in real-time.

Meanwhile, in the small town inn at the foot of Mount Longhu, Zhang Xuanyi pushed open the window and could just see the locust tree in the distance, wrapped in dark red light.

The air was filled with a strange, sweet scent that was neither vegetation nor incense.

He watched the Daoists on the mountain path who were panicked yet afraid to step forward, a mocking sneer curling at the corner of his mouth.

He knew what that was.

It was not a divine miracle, nor was it a disaster.

It was "Fire" itself, which, after being bound for too long by the thoughts, desires, and rules of countless people, had finally begun to redefine itself in its own way.

It was tired of being prayed to, tired of being registered, and tired of being practiced like gymnastics.

Downstairs, the townspeople had also been alarmed and were discussing it animatedly.

A white-haired old scholar was shaking his head at a few young people: "This is the essence of Li Fire; the highest good is like water, and fire is the same. This fire does not burn; it is a Virtue Fire, signaling that the world will have a Great Unity of governance!"

Beside him, an executive Daoist priest from the Tianshi Mansion immediately retorted: "Nonsense! This is a leakage of the Earth Core Karma Fire, a warning! My Tianshi Mansion already has an Elder drawing the 'Map of Suppressing the Fire Veins of the World' based on the flow of the flames, to pacify the country!"

As he spoke, he took out a booklet from his bosom, which was already filled with complex lines and runes drawn in cinnabar, looking every bit like he was preparing to write a treatise on this celestial anomaly.

Zhang Xuanyi's gaze fell on the booklet, the sneer in his eyes gradually fading, replaced by a trace of deep chill.

He saw that under the Daoist's pen, the flowing, vivid fire that was seeking its own kind was being defined and imprisoned by rigid words and symbols.

People always spare no effort to turn the incomprehensible greatness into understandable insignificance.

They want to lock gods inside temples.

Now, they want to write the first wisp of fire of this heaven and earth into the scriptures.