170: Chapter 170 The Rift Between Humanity

In the mortal realm, the sky has cracked.

Not a metaphor, it has truly cracked. The sky is like a piece of shattered glass, with cracks spreading from the Northwest to the Southeast, from Kunlun to the East Sea. There is something inside every crack—Devilish Qi, resentment, and the breath of An. That breath is heavy, so heavy it feels as though the entire sky is pressing down.

Two years have passed since the first The Rift appeared. In these two years, the The Rift has gone from one to ten, from ten to thirty, and from thirty to fifty. Every The Rift is seeping Devilish Qi, which is as thick as ink, as black as night, and as cold as ice. Wherever the Devilish Qi passes, vegetation withers, rivers dry up, and the people are plunged into misery.

The headquarters of the Zhenyi Alliance is located at the Buzhou Mountain Ruins. This place is closest to the first The Rift and also closest to An. The Five Sons sat in the tent, their expressions solemn. Zhang Lingyun had already used ten thousand Talisman, and half of his hair had turned white. Fa Ming had broken three Buddhist staffs, and his Physical Body had cracked in seven places. Yue Wushuang's qingni sword had a chipped blade, but his Dao Heart was firmer than ever. Li Haoran’s record of near reflection was worn out, but his Noble Spirit was more vigorous than before. Bai Ze lay on the table with bandages wrapped around its body; its bai ze map was already filled with records of anomalies from every corner of the Three Realms.

"Yesterday, three more The Rift appeared," Bai Ze said. Its voice was very soft, but within that softness was exhaustion.

"Locations?" Zhang Lingyun asked.

"Mount Tai, Mount Hua, and Mount Heng. Of the Five Sacred Peaks, three have already cracked."

Silence fell in the tent. The Five Sacred Peaks are the backbone of heaven and earth; if the backbone cracks, the sky will collapse. If the sky collapses, the earth will sink. If the earth sinks, humanity will be gone.

"We can't hold it anymore," Fa Ming said. His voice was very calm, as if he were speaking of something that had nothing to do with him. "There are too many The Rift, too many demon soldiers, and too few of us. A direct confrontation only leads to death."

"Then we won't fight them head-on," Yue Wushuang said. "The way of the sword has its advances and retreats; advance when it's time to advance, and retreat when it's time to retreat. Retreating isn't losing. It's for the sake of staying alive, and only by staying alive can we continue to guard."

"But if we retreat, what about the common people?" Li Haoran asked. "In the villages and towns near The Rift, hundreds of thousands of people haven't been evacuated yet. If we retreat, they'll be gone."

Yue Wushuang fell silent. He knew Li Haoran was right. Guarding wasn't about winning. Guarding was for the people standing behind them. If they retreated, those people would be gone. Once gone, they would never return.

"I won't retreat," Zhang Lingyun said. His voice was soft, but within that softness was determination. "The Way of Talismans has a saying—as long as the Talisman remains, the person remains. If the Talisman shatters, the person perishes. My, Zhang Lingyun's, Talisman hasn't shattered yet, so I won't retreat."

"I won't retreat either," Fa Ming said. "Zen Martial Arts has a saying—the body may perish, but the Dao must not. My, Fa Ming's, body hasn't perished yet, so I won't retreat."

"I won't retreat either," Yue Wushuang said. "The way of the sword has a saying—as long as the sword remains, the heart remains. My, Yue Wushuang's, sword is still here, so I won't retreat."

"I won't retreat either," Li Haoran said. "The Way of Confucianism has a saying—the people are of supreme importance, and the state comes second. The common people haven't finished evacuating, so I won't retreat."

Four people, four types of Dao, one answer—no retreat.

Bai Ze looked at them and smiled. "Good. No retreat. Then we won't retreat. I'll provide support."

---

Outside Mount Buzhou, The Rift split open again.

This time, it wasn't an ordinary small The Rift, but the main The Rift. That The Rift split from the ground to the sky, from the sky to Chaos, and from Chaos to the depths of An. There were things inside that The Rift—demon soldiers, demon generals, and the will of An. That will was saying—the mortal realm should be destroyed.

The Demon Tide surged out from The Rift. It wasn't just a normal wave; it was a total outpouring. There were countless demon soldiers, with Golden Immortal-level elites forming phalanxes and Taiyi-level demon generals standing at the front. There was something in their eyes—a murderous intent that said, 'Today, we shall trample the mortal realm.'

"They're here." Zhang Lingyun stood atop Mount Buzhou, looking at the boundless Demon Tide. In his hand was a Talisman that he had spent three months drawing, using half of his essence blood and all of his cultivation. That Talisman was called 'Heavenly Net,' the strongest enemy-trapping Talisman Array of Longhu Mountain.

"Heavenly Net, rise!"

The Talisman flew out and shattered into powder. That powder didn't scatter but instead transformed into a net, covering from the sky, rolling up from the ground, and surrounding from all directions. That net was so large it covered the entire sky. It was so dense that even the wind couldn't pass through. It was so tough that even a Taiyi demon general couldn't break free.

The demon soldiers were netted, and the demon generals were netted too. They struggled, hissed, and roared inside the net. But they couldn't break free, couldn't tear it apart, and couldn't escape. Zhang Lingyun stood on the mountain peak, looking at the net and smiling. But his smile didn't last long because another half of his hair turned white, his face aged another degree, and his body became even thinner. That net was being sustained by his life; as long as the net remained, he remained. If the net shattered, he would perish.

"Fa Ming, hurry!" Zhang Lingyun shouted.

Fa Ming charged out. He led three hundred Martial Monks into the net. Those Martial Monks were the elites of Shaoshi Mountain, each with Golden Immortal-level combat power, each practicing the unity of Zen Martial Arts, and each possessing a resolve for certain death. They charged in, their Buddhist staffs sweeping across, their fists and feet striking, and Buddha light shining everywhere. The netted demon soldiers were unable to move and could only take the beating. One, ten, a hundred. The Martial Monks killed ten thousand, twenty thousand, thirty thousand.

But there were too many demon soldiers. For every ten thousand killed, another ten thousand came. For every hundred thousand killed, another hundred thousand came. Fa Ming's Buddhist staff broke, so he switched to his fists. His fists shattered, so he switched to Buddha light. The Buddha light dimmed, so he switched to his Physical Body. He used his Physical Body to ram, to smash, and to block. His golden body was cracking, his blood was flowing, and his life was fading. But he didn't retreat, not a single step.

"Fa Ming, that's enough!" Yue Wushuang was shouting.

"It's not enough," Fa Ming said. "There are still so many demon soldiers, how can it be enough?"

He continued to charge, continued to kill, and continued to ram. His golden body cracked from his chest to his neck, and from his neck to his face. His face was cracking, and within those cracks was light—that light was his Power Of Will, his compassion, and his Dao.

"Fa Ming!" Yue Wushuang rushed forward, wanting to pull him back.

"Don't come over," Fa Ming said. "If you come over, you'll be corroded by the Devilish Qi."

"I'm not afraid!"

"But I am. I'm afraid you'll get hurt, afraid you'll die, afraid you'll shatter. You're a Sword Cultivator, and a Sword Cultivator must not shatter. If you shatter, the sword will be gone."

Yue Wushuang stood there, watching Fa Ming charge into the depths of the Demon Tide, watching him be submerged by demon soldiers, and watching his golden body shatter inch by inch. He wanted to help but couldn't. He could only watch, watching his comrade, his friend, his fellow traveler of the Dao, shatter.

"Fa Ming..." Yue Wushuang knelt.

Fa Ming didn't hear. He was already deep within the Demon Tide. His golden body shattered, turning into powder that drifted in the wind. There was something in that powder—his Power Of Will, his compassion, and his Dao. That powder didn't scatter but instead gathered together, forming a beam of light. That light was very weak, as weak as a firefly. But that light would not go out; no matter how strong the wind, it wouldn't go out; no matter how heavy the Devilish Qi, it wouldn't go out; no matter how deep the despair, it wouldn't go out.

That light flew up, into Zhang Lingyun's net, into Yue Wushuang's sword, into Li Haoran's book, and into the heart of every person standing.

---

"Fa Ming has attained Parinirvana," Li Haoran said. His voice was very calm, but his hands were shaking.

"I know." Yue Wushuang stood up and wiped away his tears. "He's gone, but we still have to guard."

He drew the qingni sword, and there was light on the sword—a cyan light, cold as ice and sharp as a blade. That light was his Sword Intent, his Dao Heart, and his protection.

"Yue Wushuang, what are you doing?" Zhang Lingyun asked.

"Going out. To hold his position for Fa Ming."

"But your injuries haven't healed yet!"

"They're healed. Fa Ming used his life to heal me."

Yue Wushuang walked out. He walked into the net, into the Demon Tide, and into the midst of those demon soldiers who hadn't been killed yet. The qingni sword was unsheathed, its sword light like a rainbow. With one strike, a hundred demons were slain. With two strikes, a thousand demons were slain. With three strikes, ten thousand demons were slain. His sword was so fast it was invisible. It was so sharp it cut through everything. It was so cold that even the Devilish Qi was frozen.

But he wasn't fighting alone. Behind him was Zhang Lingyun's net, Li Haoran's Noble Spirit, and Bai Ze's bai ze map. The net trapped the demon soldiers, the Noble Spirit protected him, and the bai ze map told him the demon soldiers' weaknesses. Four people, four Daos, twisted into a single rope.

The demon soldiers were retreating. They weren't just beaten back; they were slaughtered back. Zhang Lingyun's net trapped them, Fa Ming and the Martial Monks killed one batch, and Yue Wushuang killed another. The remaining demon soldiers were terrified and turned to run. They ran back into The Rift, back into the darkness, and back into the embrace of An.

"Should we pursue?" Yue Wushuang asked.

"No," Zhang Lingyun said. "If we pursue them inside, we won't come back out."

He walked down from the mountain peak to Yue Wushuang. His hair was completely white, his face was covered in wrinkles, and his body was as thin as a skeleton. That net had cost him too much of his life.

"Zhang Lingyun, you..." Yue Wushuang looked at him, stunned.

"It's nothing," Zhang Lingyun smiled. "I've just aged a bit. That's how the Way of Talismans is; drawing Talisman requires one's life. The more you draw, the faster you age. But it was worth it. Since we held the line, it was worth it."

He looked in the direction where the demon soldiers had retreated, at that The Rift still seeping Devilish Qi, and at the boundless darkness. There was no fear in his eyes, no regret, and no retreat. Only one thing—relief.

"We held it," Zhang Lingyun said. "But the price was too high. Fa Ming is dead, the three hundred Martial Monks are dead, and half of our people are dead too. Next time, will we still be able to hold it?"

No one answered. Because no one knew the answer. They only knew that when the next Demon Tide came, they would still have to guard. They would still have to stand, still have to fight, and still have to die. Not because they could win, but because it was what should be done.

---

Buzhou Mountain Ruins, night.

Zhang Lingyun sat on the mountain peak, looking at the stars in the sky. There were very few stars, only a handful. But they were there, shining in the darkness, flashing in the despair, and living on in the Dharma Ending Age.

"Did you know?" Bai Ze lay beside him. "Those stars are formed from Soul that have been mended. Shi Xin is one of them, as are those Buddha-Devouring Demon who were delivered by Guanyin, and the demon soldiers who were delivered by Tathagata. For every one you mend, another star appears in the sky. One day, the stars in the sky will outnumber the darkness."

Zhang Lingyun looked at those stars and smiled. "Good. Then I'll mend some more. I'll mend them until the day the stars outnumber the darkness."

He stood up, walked down the mountain, and entered the tent. He had to prepare for the next battle. Draw more Talisman, kill more demons, and guard more people. Not because he could win, but because it was what should be done.

Outside the tent, the wind picked up. There was the smell of blood in the wind, the smell of sweat, and the smell of tears. But there was also something else in that wind—the light emanating from those who stood. That light was very weak, as weak as a firefly. But that light would not go out; no matter how strong the wind, it wouldn't go out; no matter how deep the darkness, it wouldn't go out; no matter how heavy the despair, it wouldn't go out.

That light is called the Zhenyi Alliance. That light is called the Five Sons. That light is called Zhang Lingyun. That light is called Fa Ming. That light is called Yue Wushuang. That light is called Li Haoran. That light is called Bai Ze. That light is called the mortal realm. That light is called hope.