Chapter 165 — Dust of the Mortal World
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 3 of 5
And at the very moment he appeared, all the beast-demons suddenly halted and raised their heads to the sky, howling long and loud toward that figure!
Ten thousand beasts howling at heaven, the black clouds retreating—as if a baleful aura were surging skyward, seeking to reach the ninth heaven.
Every face among the righteous path changed. Dao Yan Zhenren stood outside the Yuheng Hall, brows tightly knit, and murmured in a low voice, "So this is the Beast Sovereign?"
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The Illusory Moon Grotto-Heaven.
That dreamlike, illusory realm 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.