Chapter 672: The World Has No Eternal Joy

Chapter 672: A World Without Eternal Bliss

The Eternal Bliss Grotto, the sun slanting westward.

The setting sun pours down like flames, igniting the whole river, a lone skiff sailing amid the river of fire.

Fú Lí stood at the bow, the serpentine beast-shadow clinging to the back of his hand had vanished, replaced by a woman standing behind him, punting the boat.

The woman was lovely, though dressed in sharp attire, her brows and eyes betrayed an irresistible allure, her waist straight as a rod, she gazed about with keen interest.

This was the true form of Shéntú, one of the Nine Lords of the Eastern August Palace bearing the honorific 'Candle Dragon'.

The hull cleaved the waves, splashing! The river's surroundings were shrouded in thick mist, like a wall built upon the water, slowly undulating with the gaze.

Occasionally, through gaps in the fog, a corner of mountain could be seen, foliage lush, palaces half-hidden within.

"Master's Eternal Bliss Grotto is indeed a splendid sight."

A clear, bright voice suddenly rang out from the boat.

"If you can't speak, then keep silent."

Shéntú pursed her lips and smiled: "Your temper need not be so fierce; for now this place is temporarily seized by Longhu Mountain, but when we depart, will it not return to your hands?"

"Return to my hands? Hmph, perhaps it will go back to your Eastern August Palace instead!"

"If you put it that way, you sound overly distant. Now we are one family; what difference does it make whether this authority belongs to the Eastern August Palace or the Eternal Bliss Palace?"

Shéntú slowly dragged her long pole along the riverbed, the ripples it stirred drawing curious fish to follow the boat.

"Furthermore, before I came this time, the Divine Lord himself instructed me to tell you that this grotto is merely on loan; its structure will remain untouched. After this period, it shall surely be restored to its rightful owner."

Shéntú paused, then glanced back at the distant figure and winked: "When the time comes, if you wish to use this to revive the Eternal Bliss Palace, perhaps we can lend a hand."

Fú Lí ignored her, staring blankly, a complex emotion welling in his eyes that defied words.

He reached forward, as if trying to grasp the mist, but it slipped through his fingers like threads, leaving his palm empty.

A hint of bitterness touched Fú Lí's lips; after a long while he spoke: "I have a few questions I'd like to ask you."

"Please speak, Master; I shall hold nothing back, and speak without reserve."

"You know full well I have lost the seat of the Bing-character Celestial Immortal; why are you so certain I can still lead you into this grotto?"

"The Celestial Immortal seat? You mean the authority of Huang Liang, of course."

Shéntú candidly admitted: "Though the authority here was snatched by Zhang Xiji, after all it was built by the Eternal Bliss Palace itself; surely they left some hidden doors for entry and exit?"

Fú Lí's brow furrowed slightly, as if he took issue with Shéntú calling the immortal seat 'authority'.

Although he knew the two were essentially the same, he still felt it awkward.

"So from the start, your Eastern August Palace has been scheming to seize the Celestial Immortal seat held by Zhang Xiji?"

"It's because he went too far."

Shéntú sighed deeply: "If he hadn't insisted on using Huang Liang as a shield and a scapegoat, we would not have wished to offend those two exalted heavenly sovereigns of the Dao order."

Fú Lí asked in a low voice: "What exactly is your aim?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Your Yin-Yang order clearly possesses such overwhelming strength; why, when the various schools divided Huang Liang, did you choose to swallow your anger, offering not even a token resistance?"

Shéntú spoke softly: "Even if we rose in revolt, what could we do? Two fists can hardly fight four hands. Moreover, given Huang Liang's special nature to us, it is destined that others will not allow us to hold too much authority."

"So you actually knew from the beginning that once Huang Liang was completed, other orders would unite to sideline us?!"

"That's right." Shéntú nodded.

Fú Lí asked, bewildered: "Then why did you still participate in constructing Huang Liang?"

"Master, do you think that without these authorities, Huang Liang has nothing to do with our Yin-Yang order?"

Shéntú chuckled: "Authority is merely for use, not possession; this dark sea forever belongs to Huang Liang Herself. On the contrary, relinquishing these authorities lets other orders use the dreams with ease, and helps Huang Liang grow faster."

"Growth?"

Fú Lí snorted: "So your purpose is to fashion a god?"

"Don't you feel this world lacks something?"

Shéntú gave a half-smile: "Here there are ancient court bureaus, emerging schools of the three teachings and nine streams, Buddhist and Daoist practitioners who neglect sutras yet cultivate in dreams, Confucian scholars who do nothing yet seek office and promotion, machinery replacing flesh, and flesh prevailing over steel."

Fú Lí impatiently cut her off, coldly snapping: "What exactly are you trying to say?!"

"Our world blends old and new, truth and falsehood walk side by side, yet it lacks the one essential thing: order."

Shéntú proclaimed loudly: "The root of all chaos lies in the fact that this world lacks a true sovereign capable of commanding all beings."

Sovereign!

Fú Lí's heart throbbed with waves of agitation, as if a voice from the depths urged him to kneel and bow.

The surrounding mist roiled incessantly, horrifying scenes flickering and intertwining within it.

"The Martial order runs rampant, the Confucian order factions intrigue, the Dao order new and old betray each other, the Buddhist order's faith collapses, the Mohist order's ideals split. All these happenings ultimately stem from the lack of a sovereign to uphold justice."

The suddenly dazed Fú Lí could not block Shéntú's words from drilling into his mind.

"You just mentioned a god; indeed, a being of boundless power can only be called a god."

Shéntú gently shook her head: "But in my view, 'god' is too narrow. He ought to be heaven and earth, also father and mother, bearing all things while also giving birth to them. Under his watch, the world would have no scheming or deceit. Our efforts should be directed toward exploring the orders, and what lies beyond them."

"Zhuang Zhou dreaming of a butterfly is ultimately mere illusion!"

Fú Lí's forehead veins bulged, as if straining to shake off the hallucination gripping his mind, he forced out stiff words from between his teeth.

"When everyone has abandoned their flesh to ascend to Huang Liang, will anyone still deem the Huang Liang world illusory?"

Shéntú's face retained its bright smile.

"Whether it is Zhuang Zhou dreaming of the butterfly or the butterfly dreaming of Zhuang Zhou, the ancients lacked the capacity to discern; we, however, have the chance to see clearly."

Shéntú's words carried the power to part clouds and reveal the sun; the mist over the river suddenly dispersed, as if a curtain were drawn back, finally revealing the green hills on both banks.

Pavilions, towers, flowing water and waterfalls, strange flowers and rare stones all came into view together.

Amid them, a winding mountain path led straight to the summit, flanked by tier upon tier of palaces and halls, incense curling, bells ringing intermittently.

Shéntú piloted the small boat toward a modest landing on the shore; Fú Lí disembarked first, head bowed as he trudged up the mountain, his face dark as iron, silent throughout, as if nothing had just occurred.

Perhaps because the Heavenly Master's mansion has opened wide the immortal affinities, now the Dao order practitioners cultivating in this grotto far outnumber those when the Eternal Bliss Palace was in charge.

Before every Daoist temple came and went a bustling crowd, lively and thriving.

These Dao order practitioners seemed unable to see Fú Lí walking ahead, only noticing Shéntú behind him; they curiously scrutinized the rare female Daoist priest among them. Shéntú, unfazed, returned their gaze with a smiling nod.

Fú Lí slowed his steps, his gaze lingering and wandering among the orderly rows of Daoist temples on either side.

Behind each temple lay a different dream-world, its background, plot, local customs, capacity for inhabitants, cycles of rebirth, trials set, and hidden immortal affinities—all clear to him, some even of his own making.

The Eternal Bliss Palace, once called the Great Pure Yang Hall of Longevity. Its history far surpasses the mandate of the Great Ming Empire.

And these worlds are the accumulated heritage of countless generations of the Eternal Bliss Palace.

Yet now they lie utterly exposed, open to any passerby, free to enter and leave at will.

Fú Lí clenched his fists, producing a sharp crack; the surrounding space twisted and shuddered.

Some passing Daoists seemed to sense the strangeness here, casting doubtful glances.

Master Fuli, a small forbearance spoils great plans; these people will sooner or later pay for their sacrilege—why must you flare up now?

Fuli answered with a cold snort to Shentu's veiled warning, tarrying no longer, he strode straight toward the Hall of the Three Purities atop the mountain.

Few Daoists could gain entry to the mountaintop observatory, and besides, the Hall of the Three Purities was vast indeed, so the appearance of Fuli and Shentu went unnoticed, attracting no special attention.

This is the very foundation of the Yongle Bliss‑Cavern, the Chart of Primordial Origin!

Shentu gazed at the exquisite mural covering the entire wall before him, unable to suppress a gasp of awe.

Within it were the Four Sovereigns, the Celestial Bureaucracy, divine officials, heavenly infantry, mighty warriors, stellar constellations and more—altogether three hundred ninety‑four deities, each corresponding to a perfectly constructed cycle‑dream. From this one can see the immense expanse of the Yongle Bliss‑Cavern and the profound depth of the Yongle Dao lineage.

Even Shentu, as the Three‑Dream Master of the Yin‑Yang Sequence, could not, in a single eternal cavern, overlay so many branching dreams.

And at the center of this vast, intricate fresco stood the Primordial Heavenly Venerable, one of the chief deities of Daoism, left hand holding a flower and seal, right hand posed in a lifting gesture—yet empty.

Precisely because of this void, the fine brows and eyes of the statue lost their original spiritual grace, and the entire Primordial Origin mural grew stiff and lifeless.

As for what is missing, it is naturally the object of their quest.

Fuli spoke of the 'Bing‑character Celestial Immortal,' while Shentu referred to the 'Yellow Millet Authority.'

I have done what I must; whether we can reclaim the seat snatched by Zhang Jiji now depends on your ability.

Fuli spoke in a cold, hard tone.

Rest assured, Master; it will not be long before this Chart of Primordial Origin is restored whole and returned to your sect’s hands.

Shentu spoke with a smiling countenance, and as he raised his hand a fierce gale burst in from outside the hall, stirring the banners and incense.

Fuli felt a sudden surge of inspiration, turned, and stepped out of the hall, gazing afar.

He saw the lush mountainside turn pallid at visible speed, withered leaves drifting down, piling in decay, while amid the foul miasma green shoots sprang forth, unfurled leaves, then withered again, in endless cycle.

Upon the great river at the mountain’s base, one moment it lay locked in harsh frost, the next it was opened by warm spring breezes—birds alighted then took flight, fish grew fat then waned.

Amid shifting clouds and winds, the seasons turned without cease.

The very time of the cavern flowed backward without cease.

‘The Dream‑Lord’s Rule: Time flies like a shuttle.’

Fuli muttered to himself, his distant gaze falling upon the mountain‑side observatory.

He saw the walls, archways, stone tablets, and courtyards—these relics of a thousand years—standing unmoved amidst the turning ages.

Yet those Daoists linked to the cavern could not escape this sudden calamity.

Those in the midst of rebirth were forcibly yanked from their dream‑world; before their consciousness could awaken from the agony, they were utterly erased.

Those still choosing their desired dreams sensed the startling change around them, yet no matter how they struggled, they could not sever their bond with the cavern.

They could only watch as helpless spectators, horrified and despairing, as their bodies, like puppets on strings, reenacted every experience within the cavern from near to far, finally bursting into a puddle of foam.

‘Master… is that you?’

Fuli heard the delighted cry behind him, yet he pretended not to hear, his eyes locked on the eerie figures that had abruptly appeared in the observatory.

‘They’ rose stiff‑straight from the ground, the blood at their feet flowing backward into their wounds.

‘They’ stepped backward over the high threshold, their pallid faces flushed with color.

‘They’ stowed their ritual implements within their sleeves, the hatred in their eyes replaced by joy.

‘Their’ faces were so familiar, so kindly—indeed, they were his own former disciples.

Yet what rose in Fuli’s mind at that moment was the scene of their miserable deaths before his very eyes.

‘Disciples of Yongle, we pay our respects to the Master!’

The shout thundered, yet Fuli painfully shut his eyes.

He knew well that the figures before him were not his disciples, but a host of Yellow Millet ghosts.

This place was no longer the former Yongle Bliss‑Cavern, but a netherworld den that swallowed and spewed Yellow Millet demons.

‘Yongle’s Fuli, I am ashamed before my ancestors, yet my disciples truly have no other choice.’

Fuli’s inner voice fell desolate and bleak, yet his resolve hardened beyond measure.

‘Only thus can I avenge myself upon Dragon‑Tiger Mountain and upon Zhang Jiji; if the venerable ancestors wish to mete out punishment, I, Fuli, shall accept it willingly, even to endure eternal rebirth and cease to be human!’

Each word rang sharp, each syllable echoed.

Suddenly, Fuli’s eyes snapped open, a cold light flashing, and he turned his head to look behind him into the hall.

There, at the center of the Primordial Origin chart, the assembled deities venerating the Primordial Heavenly Venerable now held a radiant jewel, bursting with golden‑yellow brilliance.

Its light made the figures upon the wall come alive, as if they might burst free from the plaster.

‘The foundation of Yongle, the Bing‑character Immortal Rank.’

At this moment, Fuli could no longer restrain the surge of emotion within his heart; his brows and eyes trembled.

Without this seat, Yongle Palace would never have drawn the covetous gaze of Zhang Jiji.

Yet likewise, Yongle Palace would never have possessed the glorious past of ranking among the ‘Four Mountains and One Palace.’

‘Fortune leans on misfortune, misfortune leans on fortune.’

Pfft!

The sound of a blade piercing flesh cut short his murmuring.

He lowered his gaze to see a sword‑tip thrust through his chest.

Such a wound would not be fatal in the dream, yet Fuli clearly felt his mortal body wasting away, its vitality severed.

‘Thank you, Dao‑friend, for seeing this through. If ever I have the chance, I will surely spread your deeds across the world. As for the Yongle Dao lineage, I shall also carry it on in your stead.’

Fuli strained with all his might to turn his neck, and just before his strength gave out, he caught a glimpse of the figure behind him in the corner of his eye.

‘So… it’s you.’

A flicker of utter contempt curled at the corner of Fuli’s mouth.

‘Dragon‑Tiger Mountain, truly laughable to the extreme!’