301: Chapter 299 The Origin of Creation

Shen Nian stayed in the Heart of Tiangong for a full three days.

During these three days, he immersed himself almost without sleep in the information flooding into his Sea of Consciousness, perceiving all the memories of the Tiangong Clan regarding creation.

Late in the night of the third day, he sat cross-legged before that transparent crystal core, closing his eyes and feeling the flowing energy within Chaos.

In his perception, those energies presented intricate and myriad veins, resembling countless rivers intersecting, splitting, and intersecting once more.

Among them, one vein was exceptionally thick, resembling the source of all rivers.

He opened his eyes, got up, and walked toward that direction.

The luminous figure of The Artisan appeared by his side, offering no obstruction, only silently following him.

Shen Nian traversed several passages and arrived at a border area of the Heart of Tiangong.

The wall here was no longer a metallic structure, but a layer of translucent membrane, and beyond the membrane lay that surging expanse of Chaos.

At the boundary between the membrane and Chaos, a cluster of light flickered constantly.

That was a fist-sized ball of light, presenting a color Shen Nian had never seen before.

It was not white, not gold, nor any color within the visible spectrum.

It felt as if all colors had been crushed and mixed together, yet also as if it possessed no color at all—more like a pure "existence", an "existence" emerging from nothingness.

"This is Source Creation."

The Artisan's voice echoed in his mind, "The source of our craft."

"Using the most primitive energy within Chaos to directly condense new matter."

"It is not transforming, reorganizing, or modifying existing things, but creating something from nothing, conjuring things that have never existed before out of thin air."

Shen Nian walked up to that cluster of light, squatted down, and did not reach out to touch it.

He watched that light pulse slowly on the membrane, resembling a miniature heart: "Is this the method created by the Seniors? Directly condensing matter using Chaos energy?"

The Artisan's radiance flickered slightly: "Yes, and no."

"The core of Source Creation lies not in "what to use", but in "how to use it"."

"We directly use will to guide the energy of Chaos, allowing it to solidify and take form according to the structure in our hearts."

"No tools are needed, no Formation is needed, no intermediate steps are needed."

"Only a single ability is required—the ability to turn what is in the heart into what is seen by the eyes."

Shen Nian fell silent for a long time.

Turning what was in the heart into what was seen by the eyes.

This sounded like an ultimate talent, but he knew that any craft mastered by a civilization had its price behind it.

He recalled that the manuscripts left behind by the ancestor Shen Zhao once mentioned a concept—the "Poison of Creation".

When a civilization masters the ability to create matter directly from nothingness, it gradually loses its understanding of "existence" itself.

Because everything can be created, nothing remains precious.

"Senior, what did you create using Source Creation?" Shen Nian asked.

The Artisan fell silent for a moment, and then a projection of light and shadow appeared before him.

That was a city composed of countless precise metallic structures, suspended within Chaos like a floating island.

Within the city were flowing lights, silent architecture, and points of light operating silently within the passages.

Yet the city was empty.

"This is the last city we created." The Artisan's voice was very soft, "We once dwelt here, lived here, and continued our civilization here."

"Later, we forgot why we dwelt here, why we lived, and why we continued."

"So we left. Leaving behind only this city and this Heart of Tiangong."

Shen Nian looked at the image of the empty city, an indescribable bitterness welling up in his heart: "Where did the Seniors go after leaving?"

The Artisan's radiance dimmed slightly: "We scattered to various parts of the Land of Origin."

"Some are wandering, some are sleeping, some are continuing to create—only no longer knowing what they are creating."

"We always believed that as long as we continued to create, one day we would find meaning once again."

"But that day never came."

Shen Nian was silent for a moment, then slowly spoke: "Senior, this Junior wishes to try Source Creation. This Junior wants to know what kind of feeling this power is."

The Artisan's radiance brightened slightly: "You want to try?"

"I do."

The Artisan offered no obstruction, merely guiding that cluster of light down from the membrane to float before Shen Nian: "Place your hand upon it, and then use your will to guide the energy of Chaos."

"Imagine something you wish to create, the more specific the better. Then make it reality."

Shen Nian extended his right hand, cradling that cluster of light in his palm.

The light was warm and gentle, weightless, feeling as though he were holding a cluster of warm air.

He closed his eyes and began to imagine.

He wanted to create a blade of grass.

The most ordinary blade of grass, resembling the unnoticed weeds in the corner of the wall at the Guardian Academy in Yongning City.

Slender leaves, a slightly curved stem, with roots planted in the soil.

It did not need to be very special, nor particularly exquisite.

It only needed to be a blade of grass.

He imagined the appearance of that blade of grass, how its stem gently swayed in the breeze, and how its leaves cast a faint green tint under the sunlight.

Then he guided the cluster of light in his palm, making it capture the energy within Chaos and condense it according to the structure in his heart.

The light in his palm began to change.

Warm light flowed across his palm, and then a tiny shape began to emerge—resembling a fine thread, or perhaps a needle.

Shen Nian continued to guide it, letting the energy slowly fill the shape of that fine thread.

The fine thread grew a bit thicker, and then split into branches, resembling the outline of a leaf.

Fine beads of sweat oozed from Shen Nian's forehead.

This process consumed more mental energy than he had anticipated.

Not spiritual power, nor cultivation, but something deeper—as if the Soul itself was enduring pressure.

Yet he did not stop, continuing to condense that blade of grass.

The leaves began to take shape, and the stem also started becoming complete.

Shen Nian could see the finest veins of that blade of grass, as if Life truly flowed within it.

Then, at a certain moment, that blade of grass was completely formed.

It floated in his palm, its slender leaves curling slightly, its stem bearing a trace of natural curvature.

It looked almost identical to those weeds in the corner of the wall at the Guardian Academy.

Shen Nian opened his eyes and looked at the blade of grass in his palm.

He felt its weight—extremely light, so light it seemed non-existent.

Yet he could feel its existence, its texture, and its weak, almost imperceptible vitality.

"You have done it." The Artisan's voice carried a trace of surprise, "On your very first attempt, you can create a complete organic structure. Your will is stronger than we anticipated."

Shen Nian, however, did not smile.

He looked at the blade of grass in his palm, an indescribable feeling welling up in his heart.

He suddenly understood why the Tiangong Clan had lost themselves.

This blade of grass was created by his will, the product of what he had thought of in his heart.

Of course he could create more—a blade, a patch, a forest.

Yet were these things he created imagined by him, or did they truly belong to this world?

"Senior, this Disciple has a question." Shen Nian raised his head, his gaze solemn, "Is this blade of grass created by this Disciple real or fake?"

The Artisan's radiance fell silent for a moment: "It is real."

"It possesses a material structure, energy attributes, and weak vitality. It is real on every perceptible level."

"Perhaps the "real or false" you speak of is asking another question—does it possess a meaning belonging to itself?"

"Not the meaning of existing in order to be created, but the meaning of existing simply because it exists."

Shen Nian lowered his head to look at the blade of grass in his palm.

It swayed gently, as if greeting him.

He suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.

This blade of grass was created by him, so the meaning of its existence depended entirely on his will.

If one day he no longer remembered it, it would lose all reason for existence.

This was the true meaning of the "Poison of Creation"—things that are created can never obtain an existence belonging to themselves.

"Senior, this Disciple understands." Shen Nian gently placed the blade of grass on the wall beside him, and it rooted itself in the gaps of the metal, its leaves slightly unfolding, "Source Creation is a powerful power, but it also conceals immense risks."

"If the creator loses meaning, everything created will wither along with it. The loss of the Tiangong Clan is perhaps precisely because of this."

The Artisan's radiance brightened: "You are far more lucid than we were back then."

"It was only after being lost for a long time that we vaguely sensed this problem. And you saw it on your very first attempt."

Shen Nian shook his head: "It is not that this Disciple is lucid, but that this Disciple has seen too many similar matters."

"The Disciples of the Guardian Academy are lost in theory, and the Tiangong Clan is lost in creation. Essentially, they are the same—both having mastered powerful power, only to forget why this power was needed."

He turned around and walked toward the direction he had come from.

The aura of that blade of grass still lingered in his palm, but he did not turn back to look at it again.

Because he was not sure whether, after he returned to the Sea of Stars, that blade of grass would still remember that it had once been created.

And all he could do was ensure that the Disciples of the Guardian Academy did not forget—the swords in their hands were meant to guard those things that did not need to be created, yet truly existed.