197: Chapter 197 A Broken World
That light shone in the depths of Chaos, and Lu Mingyuan walked toward it for a long time.
As he walked, the light grew larger. It wasn't that the light itself had grown, but that he was closer. Once closer, he could see it clearly. It wasn't a single point of light, but a vast expanse. A massive expanse of light, like a wall, like a mountain, like a world.
Lu Mingyuan stopped and looked up. It wasn't light, but the wreckage of a world. A complete world that once had heavens, earth, and all things, now shattered. It was broken into countless pieces, floating in Chaos like shattered porcelain. The largest piece was thousands of miles wide, still bearing the traces of mountains, rivers, and cities. But the mountains were barren, the rivers dry, and the cities empty. Nothing remained but ruins, wreckage, and resentment.
Resentment seeped from the fragments like blood from a wound. That resentment wasn't black, but gray. It was gray like mist, thick like pulp, and heavy like lead. It clung to the fragments, seeping into every crack and filling every depression.
Lu Mingyuan stepped onto the largest fragment. As he walked, the ground was soft, as if he were stepping on ashes. The layer of ash was thick, sinking to his ankles with every step. The ashes were white—not the white of snow, but the white of bone ash. This world was dead, thoroughly dead. Even the bones had turned to ash, leaving only the resentment behind.
"Bai Ze, which Great Tribulation did this fallen world belong to?"
Bai Ze crouched on his shoulder and unfurled the bai ze map. Golden light flickered, illuminating the ashes. The characters on the map began to dance, and Bai Ze's eyes lit up. But soon, its eyes dimmed because it saw the answer.
"I don't know," Bai Ze said. "There have been too many Great Tribulations, and too many worlds have fallen. The Heaven-Opening Great Tribulation, the Ferocious Beast Great Tribulation, the Dragon-Phoenix Great Tribulation, the Witch-Demon Calamity... every Great Tribulation sees worlds fall. Some worlds were massive, large enough to hold the entire Primordial World. Some were tiny, no bigger than a single village. This world wasn't large, but it once had people. Where there are people, there is civilization. Where there is civilization, there are stories. Where there are stories, there is resentment."
"Where does the resentment come from?"
"From death. The world died, and the people living on it died too. They didn't want to die, but they had to. When a Great Tribulation comes, no one can stop it. Not the Saints, not the Heavenly Dao, and not even Chaos. A Great Tribulation is fate, and fate is heartless. When heartlessness arrives, one can only wait for death."
Lu Mingyuan knelt and scooped up a handful of ash. The ash was fine, like flour. It slipped through his fingers until it was all gone. Nothing remained in his hand, but something remained in his heart. It was a feeling, an indescribable sensation. Like sorrow, yet like anger. Like helplessness, yet like indignation.
"Before they died, they must have been full of hatred."
"Of course they were. Who doesn't want to live? Living is so good. To have food to eat, water to drink, sun to bask in, and wind to feel. Once dead, everything is gone. No more heaven, no more earth, no more self. Hatred exists because they couldn't let go. They couldn't let go of the heaven, the earth, or themselves."
"But what use is hatred? Hatred cannot bring them back to life."
"But hatred allows them to leave a trace. Resentment is that trace. They are dead, but the resentment remains. As long as the resentment is there, it proves they once lived. To have lived means it wasn't all in vain."
Lu Mingyuan stood up and looked around. This world must have been beautiful once. With mountains and waters, flowers and grass, people and beasts. Working at sunrise, resting at sunset. Sowing in spring, harvesting in autumn, storing in winter, and growing in summer. Children playing by the river, elders cooling off under trees. Young men toiling in the fields, women weaving indoors.
How wonderful it must have been.
But it was all gone. The mountains collapsed, the waters dried up, the flowers withered, and the grass died. The people perished, and the beasts died out. Sunrise was still sunrise, but it shone upon ruins. Sunset was still sunset, but it fell upon ashes.
He continued forward. He walked across dry riverbeds where there was no water, only ash. He passed collapsed houses where there were no people, only wind. He walked through barren fields where there were no crops, only resentment.
Reaching the center of the world's wreckage, he stopped.
There stood an altar. It was massive, large enough for thousands to stand upon. It was high, tall enough to touch the sky. But with the sky gone, the altar lost its meaning. Characters were carved into the altar, left by the people of this world. The script was ancient, so ancient that even Bai Ze didn't recognize it. But Lu Mingyuan could understand it—not by reading the characters, but by grasping their meaning.
"We lived."
Just those four characters. We lived.
Lu Mingyuan stood before the altar, staring at those words for a long time. His eyes grew red, not from sorrow, but from being moved. This world was dead, but it had left a trace. Those characters, carved in stone, carved in Chaos, carved in time. Stone might shatter, but the words would not. For the words were not carved in stone, but in the heart. As long as the heart does not die, the words will not perish.
"They wanted people to know that they lived," Lu Mingyuan said.
"But who would know? Chaos is so vast; who would care about a tiny world?"
"I care."
Bai Ze looked at him, a complex light in its eyes. It had followed him for so long, seeing his strength, his fragility, his anger, and his tenderness. But at this moment, it saw something else. It was respect—respect for life. Even if life had vanished, even if the world had fallen, even if only ashes and resentment remained, he still respected it, still cared, and still remembered.
"Do you want to deliver them?" Bai Ze asked.
"Not deliver. Remember. They don't need to be delivered; they need to be remembered. Remember that they lived, remember that they loved, remember that they hated. If they are remembered, then it wasn't all in vain."
Lu Mingyuan sat cross-legged before the altar. He did not circulate his Wanxiang True Qi, nor did he try to mend anything. He simply sat there, eyes closed, using his heart to feel this world. Feeling its past, its beauty, and its demise.
He saw it.
He saw the world as it was at its birth. A rift opened in Chaos, and light shone through. Where light fell on the ground, the earth was born. Where light fell on the water, the water was born. Where light fell in the air, the void was born. Then came the mountains, the rivers, the flora, and the fauna. Finally, there were people, civilization, and stories.
He saw the world at its most prosperous. Cities stood tall, roads crisscrossed. Merchants gathered, and traffic flowed. The sound of reading echoed from schools, and waves of wheat rolled in the fields. Temple bells tolled softly, and songs and dances filled the palaces. People laughed, quarreled, loved, and hated. They lived.
He saw the world at its destruction. The heavens cracked, the earth sank, mountains collapsed, and tsunamis surged. Fire erupted from the ground, and water fell from the sky. Houses collapsed, and cities fell. People ran, shouted, and wept. But they couldn't escape, their cries went unanswered, and their tears never ended. One by one they fell, one by one they died, and one by one they turned to ash.
In the end, nothing was left. Only ashes, only resentment, and only those four characters.
"We lived."
Lu Mingyuan opened his eyes, and tears streamed down. Not a single drop, but two trails. They flowed down his cheeks and dripped onto the ashes. The ashes were moistened by the tears, turning into a small patch of mud. From that mud, a tiny blade of grass grew. It was very small, like the tip of a needle. But it was green—a green like springtime.
Bai Ze saw the blade of grass, and its eyes widened. It had lived for tens of thousands of years and seen countless miracles. But it had never seen a miracle like this. Grass growing from ashes, a flower blooming in a heap of the dead. The impossible had happened.
"How did you do it?"
"I didn't do it. They did. They wanted to live, so they lived. Though it's just grass, grass is life. Where there is life, there is hope. Where there is hope, there can be Rebirth."
The little grass swayed in the ashes, tiny, weak, and pitiful. A gust of wind could break it, a splash of water could knock it down. But it was not afraid, for it had taken root. Its roots were in the ashes, in the resentment, and in death. If it didn't fear death, what was there to fear?
Lu Mingyuan stood up and looked at the blade of grass. He smiled—a soft, faint, and warm smile.
"Let's go," he said.
"Go? You're not going to deliver them?"
"There's no need. They delivered themselves. That grass is their Rebirth. Though it is slow, weak, and tiny, it is growing. As it grows, it will become larger. When it grows up, it can bloom. When it blooms, it can produce seeds. When the seeds fall, new grass will grow. Generation after generation, endless and unceasing. One day, this world will live again."
Bai Ze didn't speak. It looked at the little grass, then at Lu Mingyuan's back, feeling an indescribable sensation in its heart. This scholar always managed to surprise. Just when you thought he would purify resentment, he grew grass in the ashes. Just when you thought he would save the world, he saw hope in the ruins.
Lu Mingyuan stepped off the fragment and continued forward. Behind him, the little grass was still swaying. As it swayed, it grew—not taller, but greener. A green like emerald, like jade, like life itself.
In Chaos, there was now a speck of green.
That green was very faint, weak like a firefly. But that green would not fade, for it was the color of life. As long as life exists, the green remains. Where there is green, there is hope.
In Lu Mingyuan's heart, that little tree was still growing. Thirty-eight feet, thirty-nine feet, forty feet. It was very slow, like a snail's crawl. But it was growing—growing in Chaos, growing on ruins, growing in death. Since it was growing, it would eventually grow large. When it grew large, it could support a greater heaven.
The oil lamp glowed in his hand, flickering like a heartbeat. That light was a beam in Chaos, very weak, like a firefly. But that light would not fade, because Zhao Sanniang had given him her heart, and he had brought that heart into Chaos.
The broken world receded behind him, and that speck of green faded into the distance. But he knew it was still there. It was growing in the ashes, growing in the resentment, and growing in death. As it grew, it would become larger. When it grew up, it would bloom.