Chapter 36: The Vanishing of Gods

When Jiang Yang and her two companions arrived at Lanzhou City, they happened to catch the two armies of Da Liang and Mengliang State locked in battle. Smoke and fire wreathed the land, weeds ran wild across the fields. In just a few short days, Lanzhou City had become nearly deserted—nine out of ten houses stood empty. An urgent letter arrived from the Saintess Palace, saying that the Grand Preceptor was requesting Lian return to the capital to take charge of affairs. Lian pulled the messenger into a room, and with just a few words, sent him packing. Afterward, the Saintess Palace deployed a great general who led the Da Liang army in a fierce counterattack, and the two armies now faced off at Lanzhou City. Separated by a single city wall, Mengliang could not break in, but Da Liang was equally unable to sweep through and reclaim Cangzhou in one decisive stroke.

When Lian did these things, she did not hide them from Jiang Yang. On the contrary, she deliberately displayed a decisive, commanding presence before her. To this, apart from raising an eyebrow in surprise at the very beginning, Jiang Yang’s face remained utterly expressionless throughout. Her heart was tied to Chuci, and she did not take these matters to heart at all. Feng Jun’s abnormal behavior had begun to make her uneasy. Aside from the King, she could think of no other reason that would make him break their prior agreement and act so aggressively.

Could it be that he had learned of the King’s whereabouts? Then had he discovered that she was the King’s subordinate? If he had, what should she do? If the King really was here, should she wait for orders before making a move, or strike first to gain the upper hand?

She was so anxious that several strands of her hair turned white. Lian’s mind was exquisitely perceptive; she naturally understood Jiang Yang’s misgivings. However, her cunning ran deep. Though she had feelings for Jiang Yang, at this moment she did not rush to act the understanding confidante. Instead, she silently lowered her gaze and followed the two of them to Bright White City.

Feng Jun assumed the anxiety Jiang Yang occasionally revealed was due to the flames of war among the common folk, and even offered a few words of comfort.

This group, each harboring their own private thoughts—by a strange combination of chance and fate—finally arrived at the place where Chuci was.

That day, Chuci and Kunlun had returned from the separate courtyard. First, they went back to the inn to continue intimidating Star Lord Du Heng, then had their evening meal and rested well for the night. Chuci’s anger had finally subsided, and she sought out Jing Mo, whose unfinished words she had cut off the day before.

Jing Mo, too, was magnanimous, bearing no grudge at all. What was more, who knew what he had mulled over and figured out overnight, but communicating with him now was far smoother than before—no small improvement. At last, he didn’t provoke Chuci into fuming like a bottled gourd again.

That line he had spoken—”Father is about to die”—he explained: ever since he was a youth, Gu had rarely appeared at Zhong Mountain. In the past, Gu would visit him regularly. Jing Mo had grown somewhat worried and wanted to go find his father. Gu’s children were scattered throughout the mountain from birth, completely unaware of one another. Jing Mo, barely more than a boy at the time—at that age when a newborn calf knows no fear of a tiger—had a stroke of incredible luck. Relying on instinct alone, he managed to find an already-adult brother, and together they went up the mountain to the dragon’s lair where their father resided.

Chuci made an “Mm” sound, inwardly thinking: No wonder Jing Mo asked me right off if I was his father’s daughter.

“When my brother and I saw Father, he was curled up inside his nest. His massive dragon body was coiled tight, all four claws drawn close against his chest in a defensive posture. But his expression was very wrong. His face at that moment…” Jing Mo scratched the back of his head and said, “I really don’t know how to describe it… as if he was waiting for something, resigned to his fate yet not quite willing to accept it at the same time.”

Chuci: “As if seeing death as a return home?”

Jing Mo shook his head emphatically: “No, not that.”

From the side, Kunlun blinked extremely slowly, then said in a deep voice, “Continue.”

Chuci cast her a surprised sidelong glance.

“My brother stopped me then, told me not to disturb Father. But I refused to listen. Stubbornly, I woke him up. No, wait—I didn’t wake him. He hadn’t been asleep to begin with; he’d merely closed his eyes. Father laboriously opened his eyes and said a few words to me. He said…”

Chuci held her breath and focused. But Jing Mo suddenly had no follow-up.

Chuci signaled with her eyes: “?”

Jing Mo fixed his gaze on her and stressed, “Then you must promise me you won’t run back alone to find Father. It’s very dangerous.”

Kunlun tugged at Chuci’s hand, and Chuci barely refrained from rolling her eyes at Jing Mo in public. She lifted her face, looked the young man straight in the eye, and with “sincere” perfunctoriness said, “Yes, yes, yes. I promise.”

Only then did Jing Mo say sternly: “Father said his days were numbered. The Three Realms would soon descend into chaos. Heaven and Earth would shift positions once more, and Zhong Mountain would be the first to bear the brunt. He told me to leave quickly and to search for my other brothers and sisters, tell them the same—not to return, to get as far away as possible. I didn’t care about the affairs of the Three Realms. I asked Father what was really wrong with him. Father said he had simply reached his appointed time. When the time comes, all living beings will go to the same place as him—even gods. I pressed him further, but he refused to say. He was unwilling—I know that—yet constrained by something, unable to speak his mind aloud.”

Kunlun quietly lowered her gaze.

—It was the Heavenly Mystery.

The Heavenly Mystery must not be spoken.

“Where exactly is Father going? For all these thousands of years, I’ve never understood what he meant. Since I left Zhong Mountain, over five thousand years have passed. I’ve traveled to many places, including Xiaoci Mountain and Buzhou Mountain, which Father mentioned. The same situation has occurred there. Devil Monarch Zhu Yan and Dragon Lord Moye of Buzhou Mountain have, for unknown reasons, also fallen into a state of deep slumber. Their state is even worse than Father’s. I asked the guardian beasts on the mountain—this has been happening since ten thousand years ago.”

Chuci suddenly had a powerful urge to take Kunlun’s hand. And she did exactly that.

Kunlun looked up, startled. In her eyes lingered a hidden worry she had not had time to conceal. Chuci squeezed her fingers gently and smiled at her.

Kunlun gazed at her steadily and squeezed back.

Jing Mo seemed to have sunk deep into his own world. The originally simple and honest young man now had a bright gleam in his eyes, radiating a clear, determined brightness. Firmly and with perfect clarity, he continued: “One after another, they all began their deep slumber. Why is that? So I have a bold theory. Either something is threatening them, and they are forced into deep sleep to avoid this calamity; or it’s a speculation I heard rumors about when I was very, very small, one that was never confirmed—the final destination of gods is to move toward extinction. Father wouldn’t say, because he could not say.”

Inside Chuci’s mind, it was as if a string had been gently plucked. Some chaotic threads were hooked together and pulled forth, but before she could grasp them, they slipped through her fingers like a slick fish.

She squeezed her eyes shut fiercely, then opened them again in defeat.

Kunlun let out a faint sigh. In this moment, she was not the young woman who, no different from a mortal maiden, would flush with embarrassment at a few teasing words from her beloved. She was the most ancient of gods, one who had witnessed the shifting of heaven and earth, seas turning into mulberry fields and back again. Her soft, clear voice finally carried the weight of ages and the passage of eons.

Kunlun said: “It is not entirely extinction. We call this the Vanishing of Gods. Gods are born of heaven and earth, and in the end, they will enter eternal slumber within heaven and earth. Sleep does not represent death; it represents fading away, a disappearance. Like winter giving way to spring, when all things grow again, there will always be a day of revival—it is merely a matter of time. Their sounds, their voices, their forms, their features—all traces of their existence in the world—only with the arrival of Chaos will they fade away one by one. That is the true extinction.”

Jing Mo: “Then will my father wake?”

“What your father meant by reaching his appointed time—he has merely reached the time when he must sleep. Chaos has not yet converged, so there will always be a chance for him to reawaken.”

“Then when will Chaos come again?”

Kunlun smiled. The corners of her eyes curved slightly—a very, very faint smile. She made her voice even softer, uncertain whether she was speaking to Jing Mo or to herself: “When the time comes, it will naturally arrive.”

She felt the young man’s features suddenly grow blurry before her eyes, as if there were double images. Wearily, she propped her eyelids open, no longer staring at one fixed point. She let her gaze drift outward, unfocused. Seeing her like this, it was no surprise when she heard Chuci tug at her sleeve and gently scold: “Didn’t I tell you not to just zone out like that?”

“Not at all,” Kunlun’s voice carried a faint, dazed nasal tone. “I’m just a little sleepy.”

“Then let me take you back to your room to rest.”

When it came to her, Pangu had, after all, treated her differently from his other descendants. Devil Monarch Zhu Yan, Dragon Lord Moye, and Gu had all sunk into slumber one after another. Only she could still drag along a body long past its prime, barely clinging to life.

But Pangu’s responsibility toward her was as immense as his favor. If she had a choice, Kunlun thought, leaning on Chuci’s arm and feeling that familiar warmth, a little wronged: I don’t want to be Lord Kunlun anymore.

Yes, she felt wronged.

It was like when a young child first learns to walk and falls down. If the adult doesn’t help her up, doesn’t hold her, she won’t think her fall is something deserving of comfort and sympathy, and thus won’t feel any sense of grievance. Over time, she will come to believe that falling is just part of walking—though it stings a little. For Kunlun, she had borne certain things for so long that they had become habit.

Just like forty thousand years ago, atop the peak of Kunlun Mountain. She had, without mercy, driven a longsword into Chuci’s heart. It could not be called anything but lamentable. Though many factors were involved, the crux was that what Pangu had left behind was more important to her than anything else. Sometimes she never even stopped to think about why it was so important.

Pangu wanted her to protect this world, so she had offered her heart in sacrifice to Nuwa. But what had she gained in return?

Back then, when she herself was about to sink into deep slumber, Chuci had endured untold hardships, journeyed to the Nine Nether Lands to retrieve Pangu’s Divine Marrow. Crawling, battered and scarred, up to the peak of Kunlun Mountain—only to be repaid with a sword through the heart by her own hand.

Chuci always sought vengeance for the smallest grievance—no one knew that better than Kunlun. Once she recovered her memories…

She felt wronged for herself, felt heartache and self-reproach for Chuci, and felt terror for the future.

Suddenly, a great force clamped onto Chuci’s arm, halting her steps. Then, without warning, a cool face buried itself into the crook of her neck. By her ear, there seemed to be a whisper, bitter and pained: “I don’t want to be Lord Kunlun anymore.”

Chuci was left bewildered by the sudden embrace. She hesitated for a moment, then finally placed her hand gently on top of Kunlun’s head and tenderly stroked twice.

“There, there. Pat-pat.”