176: Chapter 176 The Dark Emperor Reappears

At the Buzhou Mountain Ruins, it was night. Lu Mingyuan sat alone on the mountain peak, looking at the stars in the sky. There were already several thousand stars, yet the sky remained black—black as ink, black as night, black as despair. These thousands of stars shone in the darkness, but they were too few, so few that they could not illuminate the entire sky. He recalled what Bai Ze had said—'One day, the stars in the sky will outnumber the darkness.' But when would that day come? He didn't know. He only knew that he had to keep going until the day everything was mended.

"What are you thinking about?" Bai Ze flew up and landed on his shoulder.

"I'm thinking about An. Thinking about why he is doing this. Why invade the Three Realms? Why destroy all living beings? Why allow the Dharma Ending Age to descend?"

Bai Ze was silent for a moment. "Do you want to know the answer?"

"Yes."

"Then go ask him."

"Ask him?"

"Yes. Go to the edge of The Rift and stand there. He will come."

Lu Mingyuan stood up and walked toward The Rift. Bai Ze did not follow; it simply stood on the mountain peak, watching his retreating figure. It watched this scholar who had walked out of Heyin City, this man who had out-argued the Sages in Zixiao Palace, and this person who had stood his ground at the South Heaven Gate, as he walked into the darkness.

By the edge of The Rift, Lu Mingyuan stood. His Wanxiang Heaven and Earth expanded—one zhang, two zhang, three zhang. His Xuan-shu Path extended—one chi, two chi, three chi. His little tree grew—one chi, two chi, three chi. There was a light on his body; it was very weak, as weak as a firefly's glow. Yet that light would not be extinguished—no matter how strong the wind, no matter how deep the darkness, and no matter how heavy the despair.

"You have come." A voice emerged from the darkness. It was heavy, so heavy it felt like the entire sky was pressing down. It was cold, cold as ice. It was loud, loud as thunder.

"I have come," Lu Mingyuan said.

"Are you not afraid?"

"I am afraid."

"Afraid, yet you still came?"

"Even if I am afraid, I must come. Even if I am afraid, I must face it. Even if I am afraid, I must ask."

In the darkness, the projection of An Tiandi appeared. It wasn't just a wisp of intent like last time, but a complete projection. The projection was massive, large enough to cover half the sky. It was black, so black it seemed capable of swallowing all light. It was cold, so cold the very air was freezing. The projection stood there, right in front of Lu Mingyuan. He had no shape, no color, and no voice. Yet he was there, and just by being there, one could feel a boundless sense of deficiency, an endless resentment, and a bottomless despair.

"What do you want to ask?"

"Why do this? Why invade the Three Realms? Why destroy all living beings? Why let the Dharma Ending Age descend?"

An Tiandi fell silent. He was silent for a long time. Then he laughed. There was something in that laughter—the irony of 'you're actually asking such a question.'

"Do you think I want to? Do you think I'm willing? Do you think I enjoy doing these things?"

"Then why?"

"Because I have no choice. Because I am the Void. I am the projection of the Heavenly Dao's deficiency, the collection of resentment from countless Great Tribulations. In the Heaven-Opening Great Tribulation, the resentment of the Three Thousand Demon Gods killed by Pangu is within me. In the Ferocious Beast Great Tribulation, the resentment of the slaughtered Chaos Vicious Beasts is within me. In the Dragon-Phoenix Great Tribulation, the resentment of the fallen Dragon and Phoenix Clans is within me. In the Witch-Demon Calamity, the resentment of the perished Witch and Yao Races is within me. In the Investiture of the Gods Calamity, the resentment of the Loose Immortals placed on the rank is within me. In the Journey to the West Great Tribulation, the resentment of the slain demons is within me. The Seven Great Calamities, the resentment of infinite sentient beings—it is all within me. That resentment cannot be dissolved, cannot be dispersed, and cannot be extinguished. As long as they exist, I must exist. As long as they exist, I must act. As long as they exist, I must invade, destroy, and bring about the Dharma Ending Age."

"Why?"

"Because resentment needs an outlet. They hate—they hate the unfairness of the Heavenly Dao, the injustice of fate, and the fickleness of life and death. They need to vent, they need revenge, they need destruction. I am their outlet. When I invade the Three Realms, it is they who are invading. When I destroy all life, it is they who are destroying. When I bring the Dharma Ending Age, it is they who are bringing it. I am not myself; I am them. The resentment of the infinite beings from the Seven Great Calamities—that is what I am."

Lu Mingyuan stood there, listening. He understood. An was not evil; he was a deficiency. He was not a demon; he was resentment. He was not an enemy; he was a patient. He was the resentment of all the dead from the Seven Great Calamities, the projection of the Heavenly Dao's missing pieces, and the agony of infinite sentient beings.

"Then, do you feel hate?" Lu Mingyuan asked.

"I hate. I hate the unfairness of the Heavenly Dao, the injustice of fate, and the fickleness of life and death. I hate why Pangu had to open the heavens, why the Vicious Beasts had to be killed, why the Dragons and Phoenixes had to fight, why the Witches and Yao had to battle, why the Investiture of the Gods required struggle, and why the Journey to the West required the scriptures. I hate everything. I hate all. I hate it all."

"Then, do you hate me?"

An Tiandi fell silent. He was silent for a long time. Then he spoke, and the laughter was gone from his voice, replaced by only one thing—exhaustion. "I do not hate you. You are the first person who does not want to kill me. You are the first who wants to mend me. You are the first who wants to deliver me. Everyone else wants to kill me. The Heavenly Court wants to kill me, Lingshan wants to kill me, and the mortal world wants to kill me. But killing only makes me stronger. You kill one demon soldier, and their resentment returns to me, making me stronger. You slay one demon general, and their resentment returns to me, making me greater. You wipe out a Demon Tide, and its resentment returns to me, making me more flourishing. To kill is to feed me. To battle is to provide for me. To destroy is to nourish me."

"So you say that resistance is useless, and that mending is the only Righteous Path."

"Correct. But you do not understand mending either. You delivered Shi Xin and mended three thousand demon soldiers, but do you know where those delivered Souls went?"

"They became stars."

"Yes. They became stars. But what use are stars? Can stars illuminate the sky? A few thousand stars cannot light up the night. Tens of thousands cannot. Millions, tens of millions—they still cannot light it up. Because the night is too vast, vast beyond borders. Because the darkness is too deep, deep without a bottom. Because the deficiency is too large, too large to ever be mended."

"Then what would you have me do? Not mend? Not deliver? Not transform?"

"I don't know. I only know that killing is useless. Mending is also useless. Doing anything is useless. The Dharma Ending Age will come as it should. The Three Realms will be destroyed as they should. Sentient beings will die as they should. This is destiny, a calamity, a fate. It cannot be changed, escaped, or avoided."

Lu Mingyuan looked at him, looked at this boundless darkness, this endless resentment, and this bottomless despair. In his eyes, there was no fear, no retreat, and no surrender. There was only one thing—conviction.

"I don't believe it," Lu Mingyuan said. "I don't believe killing is useless, and I don't believe mending is useless. I don't believe doing anything is useless. I don't believe the Dharma Ending Age must come, the Three Realms must be destroyed, or that sentient beings must die. If the Heavenly Dao has a deficiency, it can be mended. If the human heart has resentment, it can be transformed. If An has a deficiency, he can be loved."

"Love?" An Tiandi laughed. There was something in that laughter—the sorrow of 'you are too naive.' "Do you know what love is? Can love mend a deficiency? Can love transform resentment? Can love cure me?"

"It can," Lu Mingyuan said. "Deficiency is mended with love; resentment is transformed with compassion. Are you not a deficiency? I will give you love. Are you not resentment? I will give you compassion. Are you not darkness? I will give you light."

"How great is your love? How deep is your compassion? How bright is your light? You are at the Late Stage of the Grand Unity realm; I am a Hunyuan Wuji Daluo Golden Immortal. Your love cannot mend my deficiency. Your compassion cannot transform my resentment. Your light cannot illuminate my darkness."

"I know. My love is very small, as small as a grain of sand. My compassion is very shallow, as shallow as a drop of water. My light is very weak, as weak as a firefly. But even small, it is still love. Even shallow, it is still compassion. Even weak, it is still light. A grain of sand can build a pagoda. A drop of water can gather into an ocean. A single firefly can light up the night."

An Tiandi fell silent. He was silent for a very, very long time. Then he spoke, and his voice held no laughter or irony, only one thing—seriousness.

"You may go. Today, I will not strike you. Not because I cannot, but because I want to see. I want to see how much your love can grow. I want to see how deep your compassion can become. I want to see how bright your light can shine. The Dharma-Ending Kalpa is long. We shall take our time."

The projection vanished. The edge of The Rift was empty once more. Yet in that emptiness, there was something—the kind of tranquility that follows a storm. That tranquility was terrifying, so terrifying it was suffocating. But within that tranquility, there was also something else—the light emanating from the man standing there.

Lu Mingyuan stood there. He withdrew his Wanxiang Heaven and Earth into his heart and his Xuan-shu Path beneath his feet. His little tree was still growing. Three chi, four chi, five chi. It was very slow, crawling like a snail. But it was growing—growing in the darkness, growing in the resentment, growing in the despair. As long as it grew, it would become large. Once it was large, it could provide more love, more compassion, and more light.

But he was also pondering a question—can love truly mend a deficiency? Can compassion truly transform resentment? Can light truly illuminate the darkness? He recalled An Tiandi's words—'Your love cannot mend my deficiency.' He thought of his own love, so small like a grain of sand. He thought of his compassion, so shallow like a drop of water. He thought of his light, so weak like a firefly. Can a grain of sand build a pagoda? Can a drop of water gather into an ocean? Can a single firefly light up the night? He didn't know. He only knew he had to keep walking. Walking until the day his love was great enough, until his compassion was deep enough, and until his light was bright enough.

At the Buzhou Mountain Ruins, on the mountain peak, Bai Ze was still standing there, waiting for him.

"Did you get your answer?" Bai Ze asked.

"I did. He said he is not evil, but a deficiency. Not a demon, but resentment. Not an enemy, but a patient. He is the resentment of all the dead from the Seven Great Calamities, the projection of the Heavenly Dao's deficiency, and the agony of infinite sentient beings."

"Then what do you plan to do?"

"Mend him. Deliver him. Transform him. Use love to mend his deficiency, compassion to transform his resentment, and light to illuminate his darkness."

"But your love is not great enough. Your compassion is not deep enough. Your light is not bright enough."

"I know. But I can grow. Love can grow, compassion can deepen, and light can brighten. As long as I keep walking, I can grow. As long as I keep standing, I can deepen. As long as I keep guarding, I can brighten."

Bai Ze looked at him for a long time. Then it smiled. "You have changed. Back at Kunlun Mountain, you were still asking 'how to mend.' Now, you already know the answer."

"What answer?"

"Mending deficiency with love, transforming resentment with compassion. Walking on until the day it is mended. Standing firm until the moment of light."

Lu Mingyuan also smiled. He stood there, atop Mount Buzhou, between darkness and light. Inside his heart, that little tree was still growing. Five chi, six chi, seven chi. It was very slow, like a snail's pace. But it was growing—growing in the darkness, in the resentment, in the despair. Because it was growing, it would eventually be large. When it was large, it could love more. With more love, it could mend more. With more mending, it could shine more.

Above Mount Buzhou, the wind picked up. In that wind was the scent of blood, sweat, and tears. But there was also something else in the wind—the light emanating from the man standing there. That light was weak, as weak as a firefly. Yet it would not be extinguished—no matter how strong the wind, no matter how deep the darkness, and no matter how heavy the despair.

That light was called Love. That light was called Compassion. That light was called Lu Mingyuan.