Chapter 1301: The Tenth Extreme!

Chapter 1301: The Tenth Pole!

The path to comprehending the Tenth Pole was destined to be arduous and obstructed.

Even for Xu Qing, who had walked this road thus far—constantly pondering, repeatedly gaining insights, and even receiving demonstrations of personal realizations from Mi Ming’s Young Master—

all of it could only serve as reference, never as a direct choice.

For his Xian Blossom required nourishment drawn solely from his own experiences, so that it might bloom into a Law uniquely his own!

“This… is the process by which Xian gives birth to Law…”

Xu Qing murmured, his raised foot suspended midair, not yet touching down.

He was deep in thought.

Contemplating whether his preparations were truly sufficient.

“Five Elements as foundation; Time and Space layered upon one another form Spacetime… And through these chaotic currents, I have verified the incompleteness of my Spacetime, realizing that right and wrong are one—only then does true Spacetime emerge.”

“Thus, at last, my foundational Spacetime Xian becomes whole.”

“And next…”

“If I regard this complete Spacetime as but a single point… then…”

Xu Qing lifted his head—and suddenly set his foot down.

The moment it met the void, his Ninth Pole, transcending Spacetime itself, transformed into Daoic resonance, echoing throughout the turbulent currents of spacetime.

“Converging Universes, Stacking Eons.”

These four words seemed imbued with an uncanny magic, drawing Xu Qing’s spirit ever outward, as if guiding him toward the deepest, most enigmatic heart of the cosmos.

In an instant, the void before his eyes shifted violently. It was as though he soared infinitely upward, while the spacetime turbulence he had inhabited shrank infinitely downward.

At last, within Xu Qing’s perception, all of Spacetime condensed into a single point.

Within that point resided every fragment of information contained in his Spacetime Xian.

And beyond that point… within his awareness, he abruptly sensed countless other points forming.

More and more appeared, densely packed, until they filled his entire field of vision—

an endless sea of shimmering lights.

From each luminous speck radiated profound currents of spacetime power. Each seemed to contain an entire world, an entire spacetime, along with the fates of all beings dwelling therein.

They bore the joys and sorrows of innumerable lives, interwoven with the divergent paths of countless existences.

This was Xu Qing’s previously realized Ninth Pole:

Converging Universes, Stacking Eons!

Yet this Xian, before he reached the peak of Quasi-Immortality, could exert only limited influence. Only after achieving Perfect Quasi-Immortal status could Xu Qing manifest it to its fullest extent.

Thus, Xu Qing gazed.

Within those points of light, he saw infinite versions of himself—countless divergent lives.

Like scrolls of varied tapestries unfolding slowly before his eyes.

In one such scroll stood a scholar.

Clad in a moon-white robe, wearing a scholar’s cap, he held an ancient tome in hand, pacing thoughtfully through an elegant courtyard.

Flowers bloomed profusely around him, their fragrance delicate and sweet—but a faint melancholy lingered between his brows, as though troubled by obscure passages in his book or lamenting ambitions yet unfulfilled.

Occasionally, he would sit at a stone table, dip his brush in ink, and write with graceful strokes that nonetheless carried quiet resolve—each character etching his unwavering pursuit of knowledge.

Unaware, however, that beyond spacetime, he was being watched.

…

In another spacetime appeared a wandering swordsman.

Wearing a bamboo hat and dressed in black martial attire, a longsword hung at his waist, its scabbard adorned with ancient, mysterious patterns.

Now he strode along an official road, posture upright as a pine, each step exuding carefree boldness.

When bandits or bullies dared block his way, he merely drew his blade—a flash of cold steel—and sent them sprawling to the ground.

Then, without pause, he sheathed his sword and continued onward toward distant horizons.

Beneath the crimson sunset, his silhouette stretched long across the earth,

bearing tales untold—of vengeance and loyalty, of blood and righteousness, a life written in gallant deeds.

Until the sun finally sank below the horizon.

…

Outside spacetime, Xu Qing withdrew his gaze.

In silence, his eyes grew deeper, and he turned once more to observe other scrolls,

as if seeking to pierce through the river of time, to discern the very fabric of parallel realities.

Thus he saw artisans, officials, butchers, bandits, children, elders—

the full spectrum of human existence.

In yet another spacetime, he beheld himself as a physician.

Within a humble clinic, the doctor carefully took pulses, sometimes furrowing his brow in concentration, sometimes offering gentle reassurance to patients.

With deft hands, he handled herbs—brewing decoctions, grinding powders—all to ease others’ suffering.

At times he shouldered his medicine box and wandered through alleys and markets, his face always bearing a kind smile, patiently attending to every commoner who sought his aid.

Through his skill, he guarded the health of those around him within this small corner of the world—

ordinary, yet profoundly meaningful.

…

One self after another. One life after another.

Some alike, some different.

Like identical seeds, nurtured differently, blooming into flowers both similar and distinct.

Xu Qing watched quietly, and gradually understanding dawned in his eyes.

“The me of old was mistaken…”

“My Xian arises from my cognition—and is also bound by it.”

“In the past, upon reaching this Ninth Pole, I fixated solely on the path belonging to cultivators within my understanding.”

“Thus, all the spacetimes I perceived were filled only with cultivators.”

“Indeed, they were merely imagined versions of myself—those parallels were false parallels.”

“But true parallelism, genuine Converging Universes and Stacking Eons… reveals itself only when my Spacetime is made whole, and through these chaotic currents, the mists part—revealing before me…”

…the myriad forms of life.

“Each life holds its own unique flavor, its own joys and sorrows, each tracing an independent course…”

Xu Qing murmured softly.

This—this was his true Ninth Pole: the Convergent Cosmos.

A grand tapestry woven from countless choices, infinite possibilities, and innumerable karmic threads.

“Alas,” he sighed, “I cannot yet fully command it.”

Closing his eyes, Xu Qing whispered,

“To see and to act—they are two distinct steps. Among these countless parallel timelines, I now possess only the right to witness. As for intervention… my power remains scant.”

“Unless I resort to the old methods—but those are petty paths, mere leaves obscuring the mountain.”

“And seeing… is itself a manifestation of stepping onto the Grand Dao’s covenant.”

Xu Qing fell into contemplation.

“Then… is my Tenth Pole the passage from seeing to doing?”

He pondered deeply.

Yet doubts still lingered, clarity not yet absolute.

After a long while, Xu Qing opened his eyes.

“Doing… seems still within the domain of the Ninth Pole—at most, half a step toward the Tenth, not true transcendence…”

He shook his head. This fell short of the Tenth Pole he had envisioned.

So Xu Qing continued gazing at those unfolding scrolls, watching the myriad versions of himself within.

Time flowed on, unmeasured.

Until, in one such scroll, amidst his unwavering gaze, Xu Qing saw another self.

That version of him was peculiar—

a painter.

This artist had spent his life creating countless works: delicate portraits of noblewomen, majestic landscapes of rivers and mountains, vivid depictions of birds and beasts—all renowned far and wide.

Yet in his twilight years, for reasons unknown, he burned every single painting himself, leaving behind only a single sheet of blank rice paper.

Then, after staring at that emptiness for a long time, he lifted his brush—and made just one stroke upon the void.

At the very moment the brush tip stilled, Xu Qing, watching from beyond spacetime, felt his soul tremble.

He whispered, voice hushed with revelation:

“Return to One…”

“This is Return to One!”

“The Tenth Pole—is Return to One!”

In an instant, unprecedented radiance blazed in Xu Qing’s eyes. Every fog in his mind vanished in that single breath.

“So now the question becomes… how to Return to One!”

Gazing at the countless scrolls before him, each containing a different self, Xu Qing already knew the answer deep within.

“Let every version of me across the Convergent Cosmos awaken the will to Return to One.”

“With that will as a thread, bind together all my selves across every timeline!”

“Thus, through unified intent, achieve conscious oneness across all parallels!”

“But how to accomplish this…”

Xu Qing narrowed his eyes. He knew the greatest obstacle before him: the incompleteness of his Ninth Pole.

Though he could see, he could not yet fully control.

“I can only influence a small fragment.”

And influencing merely a fragment made it nearly impossible to awaken the same realization—the will to Return to One—in every version of himself.

There were too many timelines. Too many lives. Too many divergent thoughts, desires, and distractions among his countless selves. Unifying their consciousness required full mastery over parallel forces—something he did not yet possess.

A sharp glint flashed in Xu Qing’s eyes.

“There is… another, more cunning way.”

“The God of Suffering…”

Suddenly, Xu Qing raised his hand. From within his immortal embryo, from the depths of his celestial palace, he summoned forth the coffin that held the subdued God of Suffering—and placed it before him.

Ripples surged through the surrounding void. Without hesitation, Xu Qing pressed his right palm firmly upon the coffin.

As the coffin trembled, his consciousness surged forth with overwhelming force, instantly flooding into the withered, dying deity within—seizing partial dominion over its form.

Having done so, Xu Qing’s eyes gleamed with strange light.

His plan was this: to borrow the divine authority of the God of Suffering to weave illusions for every version of himself across all timelines.

Tailored illusions—shaped by each self’s unique life, experiences, and obsessions—so that each would become immersed, unable to distinguish dream from truth, just as he once had.

But crucially, he would leave them all the same exit—

an exit leading toward the awakening of the singular will: to Return to One.

Thus, through this artful ruse, he could achieve what direct action could not:

awaken the will to Return to One in every self across every timeline.

Ordinarily, such illusions—limited by his own power—would remain mere phantoms, unable to touch reality, like dreams upon waking.

But this illusion…

…held truth within.