164: What you worship is not God, but hope.

The main hall of the Incense Department at Mount Longhu was silent as an abyss.

The projections of the three Elders hovered above the high platform, their faces ancient and simple, their robes fluttering without a breeze.

They were the creators of the mountain-sealing array three hundred years ago, and the witnesses to the contract of that time—but now, that line of small text hidden on the back of the Jade Slip was like a rusted yet still sharp knife, stabbing straight into the heart of the order they had painstakingly built over three centuries.

"This clause... has been erased for over two hundred years." The Elder on the left spoke in a hoarse voice, as if not stating a fact, but mourning something that was about to collapse.

Zhang Xuanyi stood straight, his Daoist robe shifting slightly, but the corners of his mouth curled up, as if he had heard some absurd joke.

"Erased?" He chuckled, his fingertips brushing over the pile of old, broken items on the table—empty bottles, charred shells, yellowed strips of paper. These were all "stock" from the earliest days of the Myriad Laws Street Stall, the very evidence he had used to save lives, turn the tide, and ignite hope for countless ordinary people.

"You use Talismans to price destiny, use incense to measure loyalty and treachery, and stuff the word 'Faith' into the corners of fire coins, yet you refuse to honor the debt?" He raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping across the high platform. "It's not that no one knew this clause existed; it's that no one dared to mention it. You think that by secluding yourselves for three hundred years, you can shirk your conscience?"

He paused, his voice not loud, but every word was like a nail:

"But the fire remembers, the ash remembers, even the crooked circles drawn by children remember."

The air in the hall suddenly froze.

The next moment, he flipped his wrist, and a fire coin with "Myriad Laws Street Stall · Credit Points" engraved on its edge fell into his palm.

It was mottled with verdigris, and on the back, a simple, seal-script "Faith" character felt slightly hot in the dim light.

He walked toward the giant bronze cauldron in the center of the hall—the place where past Tianshis burned contracts and offered sacrifices, symbolizing the transfer of power and the return of oaths.

Footsteps echoed on the stone steps, each step feeling like it was treading on the cracks of time.

Then, he threw it.

The fire coin traced an arc and fell into the cauldron.

In an instant—Boom!!!

The entire hall trembled violently!

The Talisman patterns on the dome cracked inch by inch, debris falling like snow.

The cauldron's mouth, which had long been extinguished, suddenly spewed out golden flames. The flames did not burn people; instead, they carried a gentle warmth, like a stove fire first lit on a winter night.

Following that, the huge light screen that appeared in the air did not dissipate but instead became even clearer.

The images shifted, slowly pulling back from the mountain-sealing ceremony of three hundred years ago, and began to display the various states of the human world thereafter: an old woman in a mountain village kneeling before yellow paper, the Talisman runes on it actually copied by a child with charcoal; at the scene of a collapse in a northern mining area, a miner swallowed heavenly eye mung beans and precisely avoided three collapses in the ruins; on a stormy night in the south, a fisherwoman pasted on photocopy yellow paper, and the fishing boat safely navigated through the storm...

One by one, tiny scenes that were almost ignored flashed by, all showing those who had used the strange treasures from the street stall, grasping at a glimmer of survival in desperate situations.

And their wishes were never prayed for to the Tianshi Mansion; they were only written on sheets of yellow paper that burned to ash and drifted away with the wind.

"What you have always worshipped was never a god." Zhang Xuanyi stood with his back to the light screen, facing the three Elders, his voice terrifyingly calm. "It was hope."

"And I hope that this hope no longer needs anyone's approval, and is no longer distributed by anyone."

He turned around and walked down the steps, his sleeves catching the wind, not glancing at the high platform again.

"I will not be a creditor, nor will I be a god." He stopped in front of the hall door, saying without looking back, "I will just be a debt collector who reminds you to keep your word."

As his voice faded, his figure had already vanished into the morning mist outside the mountain gate.

Meanwhile, in the ruins of the northern mining area thousands of miles away.

The cold wind whistled by, carrying coal dust. Su Qingzhu stood behind an old camera, the lens aimed at thousands of commoners holding pottery jars in front of her.

In their hands, they held the ashes of what was once "Pseudo-Three Caverns True Qi Liquid," the very evidence of the last lifeline they had traded from the Myriad Laws Street Stall over these years.

She held up a charred token; it was the very first fragment of photocopy yellow paper that Zhang Xuanyi had given her back then.

"In the past, we knelt and begged for a glimmer of life." Her voice was clear and bright, piercing through the wind and sand. "Now, we will stand and sign a new contract."

The crowd quieted down.

She looked into the lens, enunciating every word:

"There will no longer be aloof bestowers, only fellow travelers who warm each other."

The words fell.

Everyone raised their hands at the same time, scattering the ashes toward the sky.

The ashes danced, and should have scattered with the wind—but at that moment, the wind suddenly stopped.

Countless golden threads emerged from the ashes, as thin as gossamer, yet they pulled at each other, weaving into a net that extended upward, piercing through the clouds as if connecting to something that had been sleeping for a long time.

No one spoke, and no one moved, but there was light in their eyes.

Just like a spark, finally finding its way home.

Several days later, at the foot of Mount Longhu.

The once-bustling street stall was long gone, leaving only a smoothed-down bluestone slab where traces of Talisman marks drawn with charcoal were still faintly visible.

A few children squatted on the ground, using burnt charcoal to copy the three characters for "Safe and Sound," crookedly, yet with meticulous attention to every stroke.

A breeze blew by, bringing the sound of pine waves from the mountains.

A figure passed by.

Zhang Xuanyi stopped and watched quietly for a moment.

He didn't speak, just silently untied his bundle and took out the last half-sheet of photocopy yellow paper—its edges torn and the ink faint, the last "System product" he had kept as a memento.

He gazed at it for a long time, then suddenly smiled.

The paper turned into tiny specks and scattered with the wind.

"From now on," he said softly, as if to the children, and also to this land, "you don't need to buy Talismans, you don't need to take a master; as long as you want to warm someone's heart—"

The wind swept through the valley, swirling the paper scraps like butterflies.

"The fire will naturally come to find you."

In the distance, the sunset sank into the mountains.

And in the depths of the earth, where no one noticed, a certain ancient rock vein quietly heated up.

A tiny tremor slowly spread along the meridians of the earth...

Late at night, in the belly of Kunlun Mountain.

The wind stopped, the snow ceased, and all was silent.

But in this deathly silence, a silent tremor spread from deep within the earth's core—like a giant beast that had been sleeping for a thousand years opening its eyes.

Cui Wujiu's broken sword, which had long been abandoned at a ley line node, now pulsed like a heart. Gold-red light flowed from the cracks in the blade, spreading wildly along the rock layers and meridians.

In an instant, the roots of the old locust tree thousands of miles away glowed faintly, as if Bloodlines were Awakening; in the cave dwellings of the Loess Plateau, the stove fire that had gone out three years ago roared back to life, the flames leaping like breathing; deep in the northern mine tunnels, hundreds of ordinary people who had swallowed heavenly eye mung beans or used photocopy yellow paper hummed an ancient safety tune in their dreams, unintentionally and in unison—the melody was messy, yet strangely echoed each other, merging into a low chant that pierced through the rock walls and reached the earth's core.

This was not magic, not a Talismanic Incantation, nor any known System of supernatural abilities.

This was the resonance of collective memory.

It was the countless people who had grasped a glimmer of life in desperate situations, unconsciously carving that word "Faith" into the earth.

Above the ruins of the main hall of the Incense Department at Mount Longhu, Su Qingzhu sat curled up amidst the broken walls and ruins, a diary with charred edges spread out on her lap.

She had just finished writing the last line, the tip of her pen pausing, the ink still wet:

"Cui Wujiu is gone, but his obsession has not dissipated. It has become the pulse of the earth, called 'Remember'."

She looked up at the night sky, the galaxy surging, as if the entire firmament was responding to some kind of Awakening.

She suddenly smiled, tears sliding from the corners of her eyes: "So the spark was never bestowed by anyone... It was us, a handful of ash, a single sentence, a night we refused to close our eyes, saved up."

Meanwhile, at the summit of Mount Longhu.

The "Decree of Incense Flow Return" was condensing into golden text on the Jade Slip.

The three Elders held the brush themselves, their hands trembling slightly.

When the last stroke fell, the Talisman array of the entire Tianshi Mansion hummed and trembled, and the sealing power of three hundred years melted away like ice and snow.

The content of the decree shook the world:

- Dissolve the Incense Department and the Power Of Will Audit Institute;

- Open the teaching of basic Talismans to the public;

- Recognize all spontaneously formed "Spark Legacies" as legitimate branches of the Daoist tradition;

- Establish the "Ten Thousand People Talisman Examination," where anyone who has the will can learn the arts.

A small line of text at the end, unsigned, yet appeared like a brand:

"The Dao is not in the scriptures, but in every handful of ash that carries body heat."

At the very moment the decree turned into light, ascended to the sky, and sent messages in all directions—

At the foot of Mount Longhu, the stream gurgled.

Zhang Xuanyi sat cross-legged on a bluestone, fishing with his back to the mountains.

The bamboo rod was old, the fishing line as thin as a hair, and the float was tied with half a piece of charred Talisman paper.

Suddenly, the float ignited without warning.

The flame was deep blue, not hot, but instead exuded a familiar aura—like the moment the System notification sounded when the Myriad Laws Street Stall was first activated.

A few small lines of text appeared in the fire, incomparably clear:

[System Rank: Top Tier]

[Unlock Innate Treasure Permission]

[New Task Issued: Let the people of the world light themselves up]

Zhang Xuanyi stared at that line of text for a full three seconds.

Then he grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth, and casually tossed the fishing rod to the side of the stream, startling a few silver scales into jumping wildly.

"This is just the beginning." He muttered, stood up, and brushed the dust off his Daoist robe.

The night wind blew his robe hem. In the distance, the first ray of morning light was tearing through the clouds.

And the land beneath his feet was still trembling gently—not a sign of disaster, but the fetal movement of a new birth.

Three days later, the "Decree of Incense Flow Return" was officially implemented, with ten thousand people offering sacrifices to heaven and a hundred cities releasing lanterns.

But no one knew that Zhang Xuanyi had long since left Mount Longhu.

He did not stay to receive the title, nor did he go to witness the grand ceremony.

Instead, he embarked on a journey south alone, following the old path where he once set up his stall to sell Talismans, walking step by step into the misty rain of Jiangnan.

And outside a small village hidden in the mountain mist of Southern Anhui, under an old peach tree, a child was using a charcoal pen to draw something crookedly on yellow paper...