36: Lord of Cloth

Once the mountain gate opened, there was no turning back.

That cold system prompt, like a clap of thunder, exploded in the empty square of Tianshi Mansion, echoing in everyone's hearts.

"Final Test: Master of the Cloth, take your place."

Su Qingzhu's face instantly turned pale. She stared intently at the new pattern emerging on the edge of the tattered cloth—a figure with his back to all beings, holding this very street stall cloth, walking step by step into a bottomless, pitch-black abyss.

The scene exuded a chilling sense of loneliness and resolve, as if it were a destined cycle of reincarnation.

"Take his place? What place? Where to?" Her voice trembled as she looked at the Iron Lady beside her.

The Iron Lady, now devoid of any laziness, her eyes sharp as knives, fixed on that pattern, her voice squeezed out from between her teeth: "I should have thought of it sooner... 'Sunken Ship Pact', 'Sunken Ship Pact'! That sunken thing was never a ship, but the previous generation's Dao Market!"

Her words carried immense information, yet were exceptionally clear at this moment.

"Three hundred years ago, Mount Longhu once had an exceptionally talented individual who also wanted to establish such rules, to make 'Dharma not passed to blood relatives, treasures not for personal gain, the Dao not refusing mortals'. He was the first Master of the Cloth. But he failed." The Iron Lady pointed at the abyss pattern, her tone chilling, "He was swallowed by the torrent of the old era, along with all his followers, sinking together into this abyss of eternal damnation. This 'taking his place' is not about being crowned with glory, but about Zhang Xuanyi inheriting that failure, bearing that curse, and walking down the same path to death!"

Curse.

These two words, like two icebergs, solidified the air.

A Yuan's recently surging aura instantly became chaotic. His newfound power, under this fated pressure, became somewhat unstable.

He looked at Zhang Xuanyi, his eyes filled with worry.

Was this stall owner, who had given him new life and dignity, destined to walk towards such a tragic end?

In the center of the square, the golden patterns on the nine stone pillars flowed, no longer soaring into the sky, but like nine golden chains, one end connected to the heavens, the other pointing distantly towards Zhang Xuanyi, as if awaiting the arrival of a prisoner.

The entire Tianshi Mansion, this mountain that had been silent for three hundred years, now transformed into a massive, living altar.

And Zhang Xuanyi was the sole sacrifice.

Everyone's gaze converged on him, filled with tension, worry, and fear.

However, there was no trace of fear on Zhang Xuanyi's face.

He merely gazed quietly at the tattered cloth, his eyes deep, as if conversing across time with that solitary brave soul from three hundred years ago.

"So that's how it is," he suddenly spoke softly, breaking the silence.

He ignored the Iron Lady's warning and the concerned glances of others, simply extending his finger, slowly and firmly, to touch the figure walking into the abyss on the tattered cloth.

"Stall owner!" Su Qingzhu cried out in alarm.

"Don't go!" A Yuan couldn't help but shout.

But it was too late.

The moment Zhang Xuanyi's fingertip touched the pattern, an irresistible, terrifying suction force erupted!

It wasn't a physical pull, but a forced separation of the soul!

Buzz—!

Zhang Xuanyi's body suddenly shuddered, the light in his eyes instantly dimmed, as if he had become a soulless statue.

And in his spiritual world, heaven and earth spun.

He "saw" himself standing in a desolate, gray world.

This was the Tianshi Mansion's square, yet it wasn't.

The nine stone pillars were broken and fallen, and among the ruins, countless blurry, resentful souls drifted.

The sky was rust-colored, and the air was filled with despair, unwillingness, and an unshakeable remorse.

This was the remains after the "sunken ship," the spiritual abyss formed by that failed Dao Market!

In the center of the abyss, a blurry figure stood with his back to him, repeatedly making the motion of walking towards the pure darkness ahead.

With each step, his figure became a bit more ethereal, and at the same time, countless venomous whispers sounded in Zhang Xuanyi's ears:

"The Dharma must be passed through bloodlines to be eternally stable and immortal!"

"Profit must go into private pockets for there to be motivation to ascend!"

"The Dao belongs only to the chosen, and mortals who touch it will surely incur divine wrath!"

These voices, completely contrary to his "three answers" to Xuan Weizi, were filled with the most deeply ingrained, decaying rules of the old era.

They transformed into invisible blades, fiercely cutting at Zhang Xuanyi's soul.

That figure was the first Master of the Cloth from three hundred years ago.

He was trapped by these old rules, bound by the obsession of failure, never to transcend through all eternity.

The so-called "taking his place" meant that Zhang Xuanyi's soul would also come here, replace him, and become the new prisoner until the next challenger appeared.

This was an unsolvable cycle, a curse of inherited failure.

Outside, the Iron Lady saw Zhang Xuanyi's dazed expression, her face extremely grim: "It's over, his soul has been pulled in. This is the 'Ruins of Taking His Place'; unless he can break the three-hundred-year obsession, otherwise..."

Otherwise, it would be eternal damnation.

A Yuan clenched his fists, the residual power of the Pseudo-Three Caverns True Qi Liquid in his palm surging wildly. He could feel the terrifying mental impact Zhang Xuanyi was enduring.

The youth roared, golden light surged again, and he punched the void in front of him, trying to shake the invisible cage with his own strength, but it only caused a ripple, to no avail.

Just when everyone thought the situation was decided, in that spiritual abyss, Zhang Xuanyi made a move no one could have predicted.

He did not, like the first Master of the Cloth, stubbornly walk towards the darkness ahead, nor was he swayed by those venomous whispers.

He turned around.

In this place of despair where there was only one option, "forward," he chose "backward."

He no longer looked at that back repeating failure, but faced this world composed of regret and unwillingness, directly confronting those decaying rules that had lingered for three hundred years.

His voice, clear and resonant, rang directly in the spiritual world, carrying an undeniable resolve:

"The Dharma is in the market, not in blood!"

Boom!

As his voice fell, the resentful souls screaming "bloodline eternal" let out a piercing shriek and instantly exploded into countless specks of light.

"Profit is in the wish, not in the pocket!"

Rumble!

The decaying rules clamoring "personal gain as anchor" were instantly overwhelmed by this will, and a huge crack was torn in the rust-colored sky.

Zhang Xuanyi's gaze swept across the entire desolate world, and finally, with all his will, he roared out the third sentence:

"The Dao is underfoot, not in the heavens!"

"Boom—!"

The entire spiritual abyss, this "Ruins of Taking His Place" that had imprisoned the first Master of the Cloth for three hundred years, before this new, indomitable will, let out a desperate wail like ice and snow melting under the scorching sun, shattering inch by inch!

That figure constantly walking into the abyss, before collapsing, seemed to slowly turn his head, carrying a hint of relieved smile, and completely dissipated.

Outside.

Zhang Xuanyi's dimmed eyes suddenly lit up again, sparkling with brilliance, even more dazzling than before.

The figure walking into the abyss on the tattered cloth in front of him completely disappeared. In its place was a brand new, vibrant pattern—beneath nine towering stone pillars, a bustling market was slowly forming, with myriad lights and countless figures.

The system's cold voice sounded again, but this time, it carried an unprecedented solemnity:

"Final test passed."

"'Sunken Ship Pact' curse has been broken, transformed into 'Foundation Pact'."

"'Spirit Net Core' permissions fully unlocked."

"Congratulations, stall owner Zhang Xuanyi, you have become the sole founder of the Dao Market here."

The moment the voice fell, the golden light flowing on the nine stone pillars was no longer chains, but transformed into nine gentle beams of light, slowly descending and all converging into the street stall.

The street stall, like a giant beast that had eaten its fill, let out a satisfied hum, and all its brilliance was contained within.

In an instant, the wind stopped, and the clouds dispersed.

The grand, solemn, and oppressive atmosphere from before vanished without a trace.

As the golden light receded, the true appearance of Tianshi Mansion was revealed to everyone for the first time, completely and utterly.

There were no carved beams and painted rafters, no golden splendor as imagined.

What met their eyes were beams covered in cobwebs, moss-covered stone steps, a half-collapsed main hall, and broken bricks and tiles scattered everywhere.

A gust of wind blew, stirring up dust everywhere, carrying an air of decay and ruin.

This was not some blessed land, but a vast ruin forgotten by time for three hundred years.

Xuan Weizi's three questions, that test, were not to hand over a magnificent Tianshi Mansion to him, but to dump this mess, this heavy burden that had failed once, on him.

The joy of success was instantly diluted by the reality before his eyes.

Su Qingzhu's mouth hung open, looking at the dilapidated scene, speechless for a moment.

The Iron Lady was also stunned, then gave a wry smile: "What a Tianshi Mansion, what a Xuan Weizi... This is dumping the job of rebuilding a three-hundred-year-old mess entirely on you."

This was not an inheritance; it was clearly pioneering, and on a cursed ruin at that.

However, Zhang Xuanyi's face remained calm.

He looked around, at this silent ruin, his eyes showing no disappointment, but rather an unprecedented gleam of light.

For him, a blank canvas was always better than a scroll covered in old rules and regulations.

He said nothing more, simply walked across the messy square and entered the main hall, which looked the grandest yet most dilapidated.

The plaque in front of the hall was long gone, leaving only an empty doorway.

In the center of the dusty hall, Zhang Xuanyi bent down and slowly spread out the now completely renewed street stall cloth.

His movements were neither rushed nor slow, just like an ordinary vendor preparing for tomorrow's business in a market at sunset.

The street stall lay quietly on the cold stone bricks, unattended and with no goods displayed.

Only an initial, never-used photocopy yellow paper lay quietly in one corner of the tattered cloth, reflecting a faint halo in the dappled sunlight filtering through the broken roof.