Chapter 165 — Dust of the Mortal World

That eerie moon, shimmering with uncanny radiance, still hung at the edge of the sky; through wind and rain alike, it forever shed its faint light.

And the people struggling in this world seemed all to have scattered, leaving only a solitary figure, alone and bewildered.

"Who am I?"

He asked softly, lifting his head to the moon. "For what am I alive?"

He asked thus, faintly and quietly—whether of the distant moon or of the depths of his own heart, it was impossible to say.

In this half lifetime of storms and surging tides, of perilous, vicious waves, scene after scene of the past flooded his heart. The faces he had once known, the people he had once truly cared for—one by one they flitted through his mind, yet not one left the slightest trace; thus quietly, they receded.

Unreconciled, it seemed, he reached out without thinking, wanting to grasp something—but his hand in the air closed, in the end, on emptiness.

Nothing at all!

Only the moonlight at the edge of the sky, having passed through countless winds and rains, still fell upon him, illuminating the front of his robe.

He collapsed in defeat, as though every outward disguise had been torn away. In this lonely world he had no need of any fortitude. The wind and rain gradually ceased, the dust quietly fell still; that body, too, seemed about to sink into this desolate world and pass into silence.

Dead, then. By the old legends, once dead there is no more suffering or yearning, no more attachments. Even in the Nine Hells, before the court of Yama—who knows what that sight is like? The bustling mortal world, perhaps, is emptiness after all!

Yet that silent body suddenly shuddered once more. The moonlight at the edge of the sky seemed to tremble faintly with it, and then a pillar of light descended, spilling over that body.

He seemed, after all, to be struggling!

He seemed, after all, still unwilling!

He struggled to crawl up, each movement seeming to drain his whole strength. The earth beneath his feet plainly held an endless temptation—tempting him to lie down and be free of all troubles, to escape the world's suffering.

Yet he would not retreat; stubbornly he strove to straighten himself. His hands were cut and bleeding, his lips split into a deep gash—and still, in this bleak and desolate world, he refused to give up.

The moonlight was faint and soft, as if pouring out, as if telling—falling upon him like a whispered murmur: "Why must you persist? Let go. Let go, and you will be free..."

He struggled, like a tiny ant in a boundless heaven and earth; yet no matter what, facing a heaven and earth that seemed infinite, he lifted his head in the end and looked at the sky!

Slowly, he stood up.

Familiar faces drifted quietly through his heart. So even between life and death, in the end, one cannot let go. In this life, there are always those one is attached to, after all!

Zhang Qingyue—or perhaps Ming Li. This ant of heaven and earth was now quietly gazing at the sky, staring at the eerie moon at its edge.

The moonlight was uncanny and cold.

Suddenly he gave a great shout and leaped up, leaving that boundless land behind, soaring straight into the sky. Before him, rays of gold, azure, and crimson blazed forth, and together with his body they rushed straight at that eerie moon.

The moon was cold and silent—but just before him, the moonlight suddenly dimmed, and there appeared the figures of a husband and wife, gazing at him with compassion and joy, as on that rainy night long ago when he had first come into the world and they had rejoiced.

His heart felt as if slashed by a blade in an instant; his whole body shook—yet he was like an arrow loosed from the string, with not the slightest thought of shrinking back. The three-colored rays, swift as lightning, in the gaze of his eyes, stabbed hard into the husband and wife and passed straight through.

It was as if blood splattered, or as if wind and rain hissed, striking his face, cold as ice. The figures vanished, and he seemed somewhat numb. Only his gaze remained resolute as he charged at that eerie moon.

Suddenly the moonlight dimmed again, and the figures of Tian Buhui and Su Wan appeared. Su Wan smiled at him, while Tian Buhui—just as in his memory—gave a humph and shot him a glare. And between the two of them stood Tian Lingsu, her smile like a flower, in red garments, just as she had looked at sixteen or seventeen, laughing and calling loudly, "Little junior brother, let's go up the mountain to cut bamboo..."

In that instant he seemed to suffocate. Those three figures were right before his eyes, vivid and alive, barring his way. What a shuddering sensation it was, like lightning coursing through his whole body; the cold rays drew ever nearer to their figures, and his heart seemed to be torn entirely apart.

At last the three-colored rays passed through—passed straight through those figures. A chill poured down from head to foot, and there in midair, his face white as paper, he suddenly opened his mouth and with a "wa" spat out a great mouthful of blood, dyeing the front of his robe red. Not a trace of color remained in his face.

Then he lifted his head once more, like an arrow loosed from the string that cannot be turned back, that will not rest until death, and charged at that eerie moon.

The moonlight was icy cold; heaven and earth suddenly dimmed, as though a bleak desolation were quietly spreading.

And in that flash of lightning and spark of flint, just as he seemed about to rush close before the moonlight, swirling mist came surging in—and suddenly, a figure faintly appeared within it.

What a figure it was—one carved deep into his heart!

He froze abruptly; all his resolve seemed about to scatter on the wind. That blurred figure whirled and tangled in the mist—now seeming a figure in green, now seeming one in white robes dancing with a sword!

In his hand he gripped the Soul-Devouring Blade, radiating a cold chill. His heart had once ached so for that figure—but now, at this very moment, how was he to advance or retreat?

In the deep night, under the cold moonlight, from the distant edge of the sky there suddenly came a heart-rending howl, like a dying beast baying long at the moon, filled with the anguish of despair.

That radiant light, flickering with three strange halos, soared into the sky, straight into the clouds, pierced through the mist, and stabbed into that blurred figure!

And then, as if something had suddenly shattered...

The wind and rain filling the sky quietly ceased. There were tears in his eyes as he gazed at that figure. Perhaps she was close enough to touch—yet still he could not make out her face. Only, somewhere in the distant, unseen depths, there seemed to be a faint sigh.

The wind faded, the rain scattered!

The moonlight fell like drifting clouds!

Heaven and earth, the vault of sky—all was like water!

His body fell from the sky, as if plunging into an abyss of ten thousand fathoms; yet in his heart there was no fear, only a measure of reluctance, as he gazed at that figure slowly fading away. The next moment he had struck the ground, and the illusions all around him vanished utterly.

Beneath his feet lay an ancient, simple, and brightly polished mirror, shattered into several pieces, fallen from the wall and scattered across the floor. And around him were the sturdy rocks of the ancient, plain cave wall—barely ten paces from where he had stepped into that wondrous cave mouth.

Those short ten paces, yet he seemed to have lived through a whole lifetime; all the painful memories had gone through their cycle once more.

Then, his breathing somewhat steadied, he gathered himself and was just about to continue deeper into the Illusory Moon Grotto-Heaven when suddenly his body went rigid, as though he had sensed something, and he slowly turned around.