Prologue – Descending the Mountain

The world is relative.

The Center Continent and the Great Western Continent face each other across the distance of the vast ocean. The lands of the east are relatively higher, and the sky there also seems to be higher. Rising up from the lands and the seas, the clouds and mist incessantly make their way to that place. Ultimately, they all converge and do not disperse for the entire year.

This place is the Cloud Grave, the grave of all the world's clouds.

In the deepest depths of the Cloud Grave is a solitary mountain, its peak piercing into void, the place it leads a mystery.

In the legends, the world consisted of five continents. Every continent possessed different sights and scenery, but only the powerful existences that had entered the Divine Domain would be able to see them all. To normal people, the legends were just legends. They did not know where the other continents were, did not know how to get there, did not know that the solitary mountain within the Cloud Grave was the path to the other continents.

Naturally, there was also no one that had seen the scenery high up above the clouds. Here, the cloud layer was like white down spreading off in every direction, seemingly without end. Above it, behind that void mirror, was an endless black abyss. Within this abyss were countless stars.

Suddenly, two stars began to glow, growing brighter and brighter. As it turned out, they were approaching the mirror at high speed. Only when those two stars arrived in front of the mirror did it become evident that they were actually two balls of sacred and pure flame.

A spider web of cracks appeared upon this mirror that separated the real world from the night, and then it was instantly repaired.

Those two balls of pure and sacred flame had, through some mystical method, appeared on the side of the mirror that faced the real world. The thin air was ignited and began to endlessly ripple and contort. Those were not sacred flames, but something's eyes.

The entire world was disturbed by its colossal descent. Rays of light shot out without end as a mountainous shadow cast itself over the surface of the clouds. Space began to twist as if it was about to crack.

A great Golden Dragon appeared between the void and the clouds.

That red sun in the distance was completely obscured by its massive body. The countless li that was the world above the clouds grew dim and the temperature rapidly dropped. Crystals of ice began to form within the clouds and reflect countless rays of light, transforming into strange flickering mirrors of crystal. The heavens and earth changed colors. This was the majesty of a supreme existence.

The great Golden Dragon surveyed the world, its eyes indifferent.

The scenery high up above the clouds had been seen by it many times.

The great Golden Dragon flew towards that solitary mountain at the horizon. As it got close, its massive and terrifying body sank into the clouds, submerging out of sight. The boundless mist was torn apart by its massive and terrifying body. The cliffs of the solitary mountain were craggy and rugged, barren of plants or even moss. A deathly stillness hung over it, similar to a grave.

Just like this, the dragon continued to fly down into the depths of the fog, passing through seemingly endless days and nights. How far it flew was a mystery, but from beginning to end, it was always amongst the fog, not encountering anything else. As it flew deeper, it could faintly make out moss growing on the cliffs, and the clouds and fog were also much thicker than the clouds up above. Perhaps because of the pressure it exuded, many crystals began to form in the clouds. They were water droplets, causing the air to also moisten.

The Golden Dragon displayed no interest in these changes and continued its flight downwards.

The plants on the solitary mountain gradually increased, the clouds gradually grew moister. The drops of water fell on the cliffs, gradually converging into countless tiny brooklets the thickness of a leaf. Innumerable slender brooklets of water gurgled down the cliff and descended into the clouds.

The Golden Dragon gazed at the countless slender brooklets streaming down the solitary mountain, the expression within its eyes growing much more solemn, the two balls of divine fire increasingly serene—this place was the grave of all clouds and also the source of all waters.

Countless streams of water descended from the mountain, but it had eyes for only one.

The Golden Dragon silently flew down through the fog, following this stream, experiencing countless days as if it would repeat this action forevermore, until at a certain moment…the fog in front of it dispersed.

Before the fog was the ground.

The lower fringe of the fog was very flat and smooth, completely in accordance with the contours of the earth and perfectly preserving the distance between the fog and the ground. It was five feet of space, precisely the height of a human, as if it had been planned by the Creator. The five feet of space between the ground and the fog extended far into the distance, where rays of light could faintly be seen, but no sun. The ground was covered in countless streams.

The fog was scattered by the dragon's massive head, revealing the ground and that one particular stream.

Clear, calm, and cold, the stream water originated from the condensed moisture of the solitary mountain. Within the stream floated a wooden basin, in the basin were several layers of cloth, and atop the cloth was an infant—the infant's complexion was tinged with blue and its eyes were closed. It was obvious that it had been born not too long ago.

The mist over the stream bloomed like flowers, bursting into numberless petals, crowding, surging, scattering. With a whoosh, the head of the Golden Dragon, larger even than a palace hall, slowly probed through fog and reached the surface of the stream.

The five feet of distance between the fog and the stream was very narrow to it. The Golden Dragon's body and part of its head were concealed in the fog. This only made it seem more august, enigmatic, monstrous.

The Golden Dragon quietly watched the stream.

The wooden basin bobbed up and down in the stream.

In the tiny wooden basin was a newly-born and abandoned infant, its eyes closed and its face tinged with blue.

...

...

The fog gradually dispersed and all returned to tranquility.

Yet this tranquility was temporary…deep within the fog, even up to the solitary mountain itself, countless shrill, panicky whistles and howls almost simultaneously rang out!

This world originally thought to be still and lifeless had actually concealed many birds and beasts. From within the fog could be heard the fluttering of wings, the panicked and haphazard charge of a Unicorn smashing through ancient and massive trees, and even the extremely clear cry of a Phoenix!

An intangible string of fire formed of divine intent spread from the stream bank towards the horizon. The moist grass instantly became incomparably dry. Even the grass within the water began to curl up at the edges!

The Golden Dragon's eyes remained emotionless, noble, apathetic, lord of all under heaven.

It did not care about the myriad beasts wildly rushing about in the world below the fog. It did not even care about that young Phoenix. It only stared at the small stream before it, stared at the wooden basin floating atop the stream. Tens of thousands of streams descended from the solitary mountain, but it only had eyes for this stream. After thirty-thousand years, it had finally returned to this world, all for the sake of the infant in the wooden basin; how could it move away its gaze?

An extremely thin thread of light descended. The surface of this thread of light was covered in gold while within was a sacred white that seemed like it could emit a light of its own. The forward portion of the thread was extremely thin, while it gradually grew thicker towards the end, ultimately reaching the thickness of a child's arm. The surface of this thread of light was extremely smooth and perfect, especially the luster that showed through from the very depths of the thread. This only added to its beauty.

This thread of light seemed to be made of gold or jade, giving off a sense of immense weight. In reality, it was very light, swaying back and forth in the slight breeze over the stream, as if it was dancing, wanting to gently approach that wooden basin but pulling away in the next second.

This was the Golden Dragon's whisker.

At this moment, the divine fire within the Golden Dragon's eyes was no longer eternally calm, indifference completely replaced by deep thought as if it was hesitating over something. The forward parts of its two whiskers were like gentle fingers, seeming to lightly graze against the edge of the wooden basin, as if caressing it. In reality, however, they did not really touch the basin.

This Golden Dragon had already lived through many endlessly long years and possessed unimaginable wisdom. Yet this wooden basin seemed to present to it an unsolvable problem. The emotions in its eyes grew increasingly complex. There was desire, wariness, hesitation, and finally, struggle. Perhaps accidentally, perhaps intentionally, the wind blowing over the stream slightly shifted, and the edge of the wooden basin which seemed like it would barely brush past the dragon whisker gently shook. At last, for the first time, the dragon whisker finally touched the wooden basin, and even brushed past the ear of the infant within!

This gentle touch produced an intense change—those two specks of divine fire in the depths of the Golden Dragon's eyes seemed to explode into tens of thousands of stars. Within this sea of stars was unvarnished desire, cruel and avaricious!

This desire was praise, was moving.

Praise for life, moved by life.

It was life's most primeval longing.

The Golden Dragon gazed at the wooden basin and opened its mouth, dragon breath like fragments of jade pouring out.

The infant in the basin still had its eyes shut, completely unaware of what would happen next.

A shadow shrouded the stream.

Dragon breath fell all around the wooden basin.

In the next moment, the wooden basin and the infant within would become the Golden Dragon's food.

Just then.

A hand grasped the edge of the wooden basin and pulled it to the stream bank!

This hand was covered in scars, thin and weak, and very small.

With the sloshing of water, the surface of the stream was broken as the hand pulled the wooden basin away and its owner ran for his life to the stream bank.

The owner of this hand was a small Daoist boy around three or four years old.

The Daoist boy pulled the wooden basin to the stream bank and hid it between his body and a rock. He then turned and pulled a sword from his waist, wielding it towards that terrifying, massive Golden Dragon head.

This was a very strange Daoist boy.

He was blind in one eye and missing one ear. When he had been running for his life in the stream just a moment ago, it was easy to see that his legs were somewhat lame. From his empty sleeve, it could be seen that he even had only one hand.

No wonder he needed to hide the wooden basin behind him first before pulling out his sword.

The Daoist boy's face paled at the sight of the massive dragon head over the stream. His teeth were chattering, not because of the frigid waters of the stream, but because of the fear in his heart.

This was his first time seeing a real dragon. He didn't even know what a dragon was, he only knew fear. Yet he did not escape, instead holding that thin wooden sword and tightly blocking the basin behind him.

The Golden Dragon looked upon the boy with indifference. Only supremely strong experts that had similarly broken into the Divine Domain would be able to see the anger and callousness in the depths of its eyes.

The Daoist boy seemed to yell something. His face was pale, his fear abnormal, yet he did not relinquish the basin in his possession.

Furious, the Golden Dragon's breath enveloped both sides of the stream and death was on the verge of arrival.

The wooden sword dropped from the boy's hand into the stream as he turned to hug the wooden basin to his chest.

The scales of the Golden Dragon chafed against the mist, their collision spurting out countless gouts of Celestial Fire and setting the stream aflame.

At this moment, a middle-aged Daoist appeared on the stream bank.

The middle-aged Daoist gazed up at the Golden Dragon, his expression serene.

The Celestial Fire over the stream was suddenly extinguished.

The Golden Dragon stared at the middle-aged Daoist and let loose a dragon cry!

This cry was extremely drawn out, almost as if it would never come to an end. It was an extremely complex syllable, sounding just like an extremely complex tune and also like the natural world's most terrifying hurricane, carrying with it an unimaginable might!

The middle-aged Daoist gazed back at the Golden Dragon and spoke a single word.

It was a single syllable, its pronunciation extremely strange and incomprehensible, seemingly bearing no similarities to the language of humans. This fragment seemed to contain endless information and overflowed with an aura of ancientness!

The Golden Dragon understood, but it did not agree.

Thus, the fog above the stream began to fiercely churn.

Dragon breath spurted everywhere, the moist grassland and trees by the stream instantly transformed into a terrifying field of fire.

The young Daoist boy had his back to the small stream, utterly unaware of what was happening. He fearfully lowered his head, closed his eyes, and tightly clasped the wooden basin to his chest.

...

...

After a seemingly interminable time had passed, the stream bank finally grew quiet once more.

The Daoist boy gathered up his courage and turned his head, but only saw the limpid waters of the stream. The fire on both sides of the stream had already been extinguished, and only the scorched trees and rocks ruptured from heat remained to recount just how terrifying the battle just now had been.

From deep within the fog came the roar of a dragon. This roar was filled with anguish, reluctance, and regret. It was telling all five continents of the world what bitter anguish and deep regret its previous hesitation had brought it.

The young Daoist boy was given a fright. His one hand holding the wooden basin, he hobbled ashore and walked to the middle-aged Daoist's side, timidly gazing up at the fog.

The middle-aged Daoist extended a hand and extinguished a flame on the boy's shoulder.

The Daoist boy thought of something and somewhat arduously raised up the wooden basin.

The middle-aged Daoist took the wooden basin and gently embraced the infant within. Separated by a cloth, the fingers of his right hand rested on the infant's body. Soon after, his brows creased.

"Your fate…is truly very bad," he said pitiably to the cloth-wrapped infant in his hands.

...

...

In the east of the Eastern Continent was a small village called Xining. Outside Xining was a small stream, by the stream was a mountain, and in the mountain was a temple. There were no monks in the temple, only a middle-aged Daoist with his two disciples who were cultivating and comprehending the Dao.

The mountain was a nameless green mountain, the temple an abandoned Buddhist temple. Of the two disciples, the older's Daoist name was Yu Ren, while the younger was called Chen Changsheng.

Xining Village lay within the borders of the Zhou Empire. Eight hundred years ago, the Great Zhou Dynasty established Daoism as the Orthodoxy. Even now, in the present Zhengtong era, the Orthodoxy united the world and was revered by all. Based on principle, this master and his disciples should have lived lives of silk clothes and jade rice. However, it couldn't be helped that Xining Village was too remote, and the run-down temple even more so. On normal days, it was rare to see the sight of people, so they could only live lives of plain tea and simple food.

Daoists naturally needed to cultivate the Dao. In the present world, there were countless cultivation methods, but the cultivation method taught by this middle-aged Daoist was completely different from those taught by any other sect. It did not put emphasis on cultivation and comprehension, did not care about Fated Stars and Meditative Introspection, was not concerned about refining the mind. Only a single word mattered: 'memorize'.

As a child, Yu Ren began to recite the scriptures of the Dao, and from the moment Chen Changsheng could open his eyes, he was forced to sit opposite and gaze blankly at those ancient books suffused with yellow. The first thing he knew of was a room filled with Daoist classics and scriptures. After learning how to speak, he began to learn how to recognize words, and then he began to recite and memorize the words within those Daoist classics and scriptures.

Memorizing and learning until they were so familiar with these books that they could recite them from back to front—this was the life these two Daoist boys lived out in this run-down temple.

When they awoke in the early morning, they would memorize books. Under the blazing sun, they would be memorizing books. When the hoarse ring of the bell rang out the coming of twilight, they were memorizing books. Springs flowers bloomed in warmth, summer thunders rumbled, autumn winds rustled, and the winter snow was cold and desolate, and they were sitting amongst the fields, at the stream bank, under the tree, by the plum blossoms. Holding up the Daoist scriptures, they would be constantly reading, memorizing, unaware of the gradual passing of time.

An entire room of the run-down temple was piled high with scrolls and books of Daoist scriptures. When he was seven, Yu Ren once counted them in a fit of boredom. There were no less than three thousand books, the three thousand scriptures of the Great Dao. Each book contained from several hundred to around a thousand words. The shortest was the "Classic of Gods" at three hundred and fourteen words, and the longest was the "Classic of Longevity", which contained at least twenty thousand words. These three thousand scriptures were the entirety of what they needed to memorize.

The brother disciples incessantly repeated and memorized, only seeking to remember, never seeking to understand. They had long since become aware that their master would never answer any sort of question they had with regards to the Daoist scriptures, only saying, "Remember, and understanding will naturally come."

To those children just beginning their studies that only desired to play, this sort of life would truly be difficult to imagine. Fortunately, this green mountain was out of the way and rarely visited by other people. Without external things distracting their minds, they could focus. These two Daoist boys had rather unique temperaments, not feeling this life to be in any way dull or tedious. Day after day repeated like this until, without their sensing it, several years had passed.

On a certain day, the sound of reading that had not ceased for several years finally came to a stop. Two children were seated on a mountain rock, side by side, a book resting on their two pairs of knees. They glanced at the book, then glanced at each other, both of them somewhat at a loss.

At this moment, they had memorized all the way until the final scripture, but they had no means of continuing. They could not understand the words on the book—the characters on this Daoist scripture were very unfamiliar. To be more precise, they were very strange. They clearly recognized all those radicals and strokes, but when put together, they transformed into completely eccentric objects. How should they read them? What did they mean?

The pair returned to the temple in search of the middle-aged Daoist.

The middle-aged Daoist said, "Of the three thousand scriptures of the Great Dao, the two of you are looking at the very last book. This book consists of sixteen hundred and one characters. According to legend, within these characters is the final meaning of the Heavenly Dao. There has never been anyone that can completely comprehend the meaning within, so how could you two?"

Chen Changsheng asked, "Master, you also don't understand it?"

The middle-aged Daoist shook his head, saying, "No one would dare say that they truly understood it, and neither can I."

The senior and junior brother looked each other in the eye, feeling somewhat regretful. Although they were still children, they had memorized the three thousand scriptures of the Daoist Canon all the way until today, only a single book away from completion. They were naturally not happy, but in the end, they were not ordinary children. From the time they were in ignorance, the Daoist scriptures were their companions. Their personalities were also rather mild. The two prepared to turn and leave.

At this moment, the middle-aged Daoist continued, "…but I can read it."

From that day onwards, the middle-aged Daoist began to lecture them on how to read the final book of the Daoist Canon. One by one, the pronunciation of each word was imparted to them. These pronunciations were exceptionally strange. They were very simple monosyllables, yet they required the use of a certain muscle in the throat and had special demands on the vocal cords. In brief, they were not sounds that an ordinary human could make.

Chen Changsheng was utterly confused. He could only act like a little duckling, obediently imitating the pronunciation of his master. On the other hand, Yu Ren would occasionally think of that word his master had said to that terrifying being by the stream all those many years ago.

After a very long time, Yu Ren and Chen Changsheng were finally able to grasp the pronunciations of those sixteen hundred and one words, but they still remained uncomprehending of their meaning, nor could they obtain an answer from the middle-aged Daoist. At this time, they had already spent an entire year on this final book. Then, they began to act as they did before, holding this final book and continuing to read it until they could memorize it.

When they finally believed that they had escaped this life of memorizing Daoist scriptures, the middle-aged Daoist required the two to read them all a second time. The helpless children were compelled to repeat this process, and perhaps precisely because of this repetition, they found this reading of the Daoist Canon much more exhausting, an almost unspeakable suffering.

It was also at this moment that they began to grow confused. Why did their master want them to read these Daoist scriptures? Why wasn't he teaching them how to cultivate? It was clearly written in these scriptures that Daoists should cultivate the Dao, that it was only right that they pursue longevity.

At this time, Yu Ren was ten while Chen Changsheng was six and a half. In the autumn of this year, a white crane broke through the clouds, carrying the greetings of a distant and old friend as well as a silk book. On this book was written a birth date, a marriage contract, and a token—some high official that had once been saved by the middle-aged Daoist wished to fulfill the promise made back then.

The middle-aged Daoist silently smiled at the marriage contract, then turned to his two disciples. Yu Ren waved his hand, pointing at his blind eyes as he refused with a smile. Chen Changsheng had a perplexed expression, not understanding what all this meant. In a haze, he took the marriage contract, and from that point on, he had a fiancée.

In the following several years, the white crane would break through the clouds, carrying the greetings of that noble person in the capital and also bringing some rather interesting small gifts for Chen Changsheng.

Chen Changsheng gradually came to understand these matters, to know what an engagement signified. Every night, he would gaze under the starlight at the marriage contract lying in his drawer and feel some sort of indescribable feeling. When he thought of that fiancée that was about the same age as him, he felt a serene joy, felt a little shy, but he also felt very perplexed.

When Chen Changsheng was ten years old, an accident occurred in this calm life of reading books. On a certain night, after his seventy-second repetition of the sixteen hundred and one words of the final book of the Daoist Canon, he suddenly felt his mind depart his body and drift about the forest in the green mountain. At this moment, he fell unconscious and his body began to exude a strange aroma.

Not the scent of flowers, nor of leaves or cosmetic powder. It could be described as faint, yet it lingered on and on in the night wind without dispersing. It could be described as dense, drifting into the nose, yet it was barely discernible. It did not seem like an aroma that could appear in the human world. It was impossible to grasp yet incredibly alluring.

The first to realize Chen Changsheng's situation was Yu Ren. Upon smelling that strange aroma, his expression immediately turned extremely grim.

In the gloomy green mountain overshadowed by tree leaves, there were lions roaring and tigers howling, cranes dancing and dragon snakes charging, and the thunderous croaks of frogs that should only have appeared on summer nights. In the depths of that mist to the east of the green mountain that no one dared step into, a gigantic shadow could be faintly seen, some sort of mysterious lifeform. Under the greedy and reverential gazes of countless beings, Chen Changsheng exuded this strange aroma, his eyes closed in deep sleep, a sleep that might last quite some time.

Yu Ren was fanning with all his might by the couch, wanting to blow that fragrance hanging over Chen Changsheng's body away. Because that fragrance had caused his mouth to water, had caused him to develop a very grotesque and frightening idea, he absolutely had to fan, fan until he had blown that idea away.

At some point, the middle-aged Daoist had appeared in the side room. Standing by the couch and gazing at the sleeping Chen Changsheng, he spoke a sentence, the meaning of which only he could understand: "Where is the cause?"

A night passed.

The moment the dawn light illuminated the green mountain, the strange scent instantly vanished from Chen Changsheng's body, not even a whiff of it remaining. He returned to his previous appearance and the myriad strange beasts and the terrifying silhouette in the mists also departed to parts unknown.

Seeing his soundly sleeping junior brother, Yu Ren finally stopped panicking and exhaled. Wanting to wipe the cold sweat off his forehead, he realized that, because he had been fanning his arms like his life depended on it for the entire night, his shoulder ached too much to move.

Chen Changsheng opened his eyes as he woke up. Although he had slept the entire night, he knew that something had occurred. Seeing the pained expression on his senior's face, his face also paled. He asked, "Master, what's wrong with me?"

The middle-aged Daoist gazed at him in silence for a very long time before finally saying, "You are sick."

According to the middle-aged Daoist's explanation, Chen Changsheng's illness was because his body was innately weak, the nine meridians in his body unable to connect. Last night's strange aroma was because his soul had no means of circulating and could only be forcefully discharged through his sweat. This sweat contained the essence of his soul that no human could go without, so naturally, it carried a strange scent. This was a very mysterious sort of illness.

"Then…can Master cure it?"

"I cannot, no person can."

"An illness that can't be cured…that's fate, isn't it?"

"Yes, that is just your fate."

...

...

From his tenth birthday onwards, the White Crane no longer came to the green mountain and communication with the other party in the capital was cut off, almost as if they had never appeared at all. Occasionally, when Chen Changsheng was standing by the stream and looking west, he would think of this matter.

Of course, what he thought about even more was his illness, his fate…he did not grow more feeble, and other than the fact that he was somewhat more prone to drowsiness, he was the picture of health. In no way did he seem like a person destined to die young, such that he even began to doubt his master's judgment. But if his master's judgment was correct, what then? Chen Changsheng decided to leave this run-down temple and take a look around the flourishing human world. Taking advantage of the fact that he still could see them, he wanted to go see the legendary Mausoleum of Books and also end that marriage engagement.

"Teacher, I'm going to go now."

"Where are you going?"

"To the capital."

"Why?"

"Because I still want to live."

"I said before that it's not an illness, it's fate."

"I want to change fate."

"In these past eight hundred years, only three people have succeeded in changing their fate."

"And those people were all extremely outstanding, right?"

"Yes."

"I am not, but I still want to try."

In the end, the capital was a place that Chen Changsheng would have to go to eventually. Even if he could not cure his illness, he would still have to go. It wasn't merely because he wanted to change his fate, but also because the other party of the marriage contract was in the capital.

He packed up his luggage, accepted the dagger handed over by Senior Yu Ren, turned, and then left.

The fourteen-year-old Daoist boy descended the mountain.