Unseen Immortal of Three Hundred Years - Chap 53
Wu Xingxue once stood under the divine tree like this, and it had been far too long since the last time.
That year, the divine tree was at its most magnificent, deeply and intricately entwined with the realm of mortals.
There had always been people who attempted to use the power of the divine tree to “resurrect the dead” or “return to the past to start anew.” These rumors had been circulating sparsely, becoming a half-true, half-false legend.
Legends are like fire covered by paper: initially vague and blurred. Then, one day, the fire suddenly catches onto the paper, instantly igniting in a blaze.
Thus, in that year, this rumor spread far and wide overnight.
Many came, using other matters as a front or fabricating noble excuses, employing various grandiose methods to leverage the divine tree’s power to fulfill their wishes, aiming to achieve certain goals.
And yet, people’s desires can sometimes be completely contradictory.
Within the same capital, some wished for its prosperity, while others hoped for its downfall. Regarding the same person, some despised him unto death, while others wished him alive. In the same matter, the thoughts and feelings of those involved often clashed.
When these collided, chaos ensued, and the cunning attempts backfired, leaving no one better off.
Consequently, many among them began to regret and sought every means to return to the past, attempting to sever troublesome ties or to alter their fate.
This only made things worse.
From one cause sprouted more, and beyond the realm of mortals lay another realm of mortals.
It was like a straight, clean branch suddenly sprouting numerous twigs, which, if left to grow well, would be fine. Instead, they crisscrossed and entangled with each other.
The tale of the “Ghost Children” once circulated in the area of the Ji Mi wilderness.
It was said that a pair of brothers, orphaned and destitute, depended on each other for survival. Later, they wandered into a small kingdom’s capital in the south, struggling to survive while picking up discarded pages to learn to read. By chance, they were taken in by someone. As adults, they both entered the service of the royal court, and after a lifetime of turmoil, they finally settled down, never again subjected to hardships until their deaths.
This should have been a mundane yet stable story, not worth spreading.
But then, an unforeseen disaster struck.
A monk, led astray and unwilling to die in vain, gambled everything to set up an array, using the power of the divine tree to return to decades earlier and start over.
This act, like a stone cast into a calm lake, disturbed the waters, causing several lines of chaos to emerge in the otherwise orderly world.
As a result, innocent people suffered calamities, and their destinies were completely altered, including the brothers.
They never made it alive to the gates of that city, dying less than a mile away.
They died young, emaciated from hunger, dressed in thin clothes, shoeless, behind a broken wall, perhaps too exhausted to go any further, seeking to sleep sheltered from the wind by the crumbling wall overnight. The elder brother even protected his younger sibling on the inside.
But once they lay down, they never woke up again.
Thus, the small kingdom lost two young foreign visitors, and the story of their joining the royal court would never be told again.
Instead, that wilderness gained two confused spirits.
The elder, carrying the younger, wandered back and forth on the same path, unable to enter the city.
Some who encountered these two spirits fled in terror. Yet, a kind soul, seeing their plight, attempted to help them pass on but failed.
Because their deaths were not meant to be.
There were many like that monk, and just as many like those “Ghost Children.”
The refusal of one person to accept their fate and start over could cause so many lines of chaos. Imagine then the chaos caused by hundreds, thousands.
The longer the divine tree existed, the more chaotic the mortal realm became, and the more tangled those chaotic lines grew.
Thus, at the peak of its magnificence, it reached its end.
Legend had it that the divine tree connected heaven and earth, symbolizing the cycle of life and death. Over time, after hearing too many mortal sorrows and wishes, it gradually developed a human aspect.
So, in that year, the cycle of life and death…
…separated from the divine tree and returned to the heavenly dao. The part that became human was bestowed with the character “Zhao” and became one of the earliest immortals.
The last thing he did before becoming the Spirit King was to seal off the divine tree.
So, the Feng family was not wrong; that forbidden area was indeed initially established by his own hands.
That day, he stood on the Falling Flower Platform, leaning against a branch and looking down at the mortals coming and going on the mountain path, just as he used to. He listened to the vendors and innkeepers dragging out their calls in various tones, their voices weaving through the air like the songs of the marketplace.
The warm, bustling life of the world below rose and mingled with the mist, forming a dense fog that enveloped the mountains.
He watched, as the towering tree stood quietly behind him, casting a long shadow over him.
Until the mist thickened around the mountains, obscuring the paths and everything beyond. He finally murmured, “The liveliness of the mortal world is indeed a sight to behold, but what a pity.”
A pity that he could no longer watch it as often.
He turned, looking up at the divine tree’s canopy that spread out like clouds above him. Standing amidst the scattered blossoms covering the mountain, he could sense the divine tree continuously blooming and shedding, in an endless cycle.
And with that, the tales of the small kingdom lost two more characters to its history, and the story of their joining the royal court would never be recounted.
Instead, the wilderness gained two more lost souls.
The elder, always carrying the younger, traversed the same path back and forth, yet they could never make their way into the city.
Some who stumbled upon these wandering spirits fled in terror, while a kind-hearted soul, moved by their plight, attempted to guide them to peace but to no avail.
Because their time was not meant to end then.
Many shared the monk’s discontent and desire for a second chance, and just as many ended up like the “Ghost Children.”
The actions of one, unwilling to accept their fate and seeking a redo, could unravel so many threads of chaos. And when hundreds, thousands more do the same…
The divine tree’s existence only added to the mortal realm’s turmoil, weaving an ever more complex tapestry of chaos.
Thus, at its peak of glory, it reached its end.
Legends say the divine tree connected the heavens and the earth, symbolizing the cycle of life and death. Over time, after absorbing the countless sorrows and desires of mortals, it began to adopt human traits.
And so, in that year, the cycle of life and death…
…separated from the divine tree, returning to the Tao of Heaven. The part that took on human form was bestowed the name “Zhao,” becoming one of the earliest immortals.
His final act before ascending as the Spirit King was to seal the divine tree.
The Feng family’s accounts were accurate; that forbidden area was indeed marked by his hand from the beginning.
That day, as he stood on the platform amidst falling blossoms, leaning casually against a branch as he used to, he watched over the mortal procession below.
He heard the chants and calls of the market, each word twisting and turning in the air like a local tune.
The steaming, lively essence of humanity rose, blending into the fog that enveloped the mountains.
He watched until the paths and people were shrouded in mist, finally whispering, “The hustle and bustle of the human world is captivating, but alas.”
Alas, he would no longer be a frequent spectator.
Turning around, he gazed up at the divine tree, whose canopy sprawled like clouds above. Surrounded by the fallen blossoms that carpeted the mountain, he felt the ceaseless cycle of the tree’s blooming and withering.
Every branch, every bloom, each cycle of life and death, he could sense it all, which is why a tinge of regret sprouted within him.
He snapped a long branch and drew on the ground, enclosing both the divine tree and the temple dedicated to it, then began laying down arrays one after another.
Wind and frost, thunder and fire, swords and spears.
With each array set, the divine tree shuddered as if invisible, massive chains were binding its limbs. It began to show signs of withering from its branches, turning grey and white.
And with every wound inflicted upon the divine tree, with every chain added, Wu Xingxue could sense it, just as he could the blooming and fading of flowers. When the divine tree withered, he reacted similarly.
This reaction in humans would be called the decline of all senses.
He couldn’t see clearly, couldn’t hear, couldn’t perceive, as if enveloped in endless solitude.
The sealing took longer than he had anticipated, because whenever the divine tree showed signs of withering, the ground’s white jade essence would wrap around the trunk.
At those moments, Wu Xingxue would regain some clarity, barely making out the pure white of the jade. And within that hue, he could faintly hear the voice of that young general, a vague phrase asking him, “Does it hurt?”
Wu Xingxue heard it but remained silent.
Because he knew that it wasn’t truly heard, but remembered upon seeing the white jade essence, a question the young general had asked under the tree years ago.
An old phrase, yet it became the only clarity within the boundless darkness.
He heard it over and over again until, at one point, the other’s voice emerged again, asking, “Does it hurt?”
He remained silent for a long time, finally responding, “It’s bearable, far less than a heavenly calamity, just like an insect scratching.”
After all, with the decline of senses, true pain was imperceptible to him; it was merely a subconscious discomfort, an illusion.
By the time he set the final seal, truly concealing the divine tree, it was the third day.
When the divine tree was fully withered, the white jade essence had wrapped around the branches, even extending to the long branch Wu Xingxue had snapped off in his hand.
Unfortunately, Wu Xingxue did not witness this scene.
After the sealing was complete, the blood connection between Wu Xingxue and the divine tree was severed. He no longer shared sensations with the divine tree, but the sealing’s effects lingered on him.
For a very long time, he was in a state of lost all senses.
He was the earliest immortal of Xian Du.
Because he emerged from the divine tree, experienced the cycle of life and death, and bore the spirit of heaven, he was crowned as the Spirit King.
And because he once overlooked a century of the mortal realm from the Falling Flower Platform, he favored bustling places by nature.
The Spirit King, who loved liveliness, sat alone in the vast silence for three years, through three full seasons.
On the day his senses were restored, it happened to be March in the mortal realm, with apricot flowers in full bloom and a warm breeze carrying the clouds to Xian Du.
When Wu Xingxue opened his eyes, he saw petals gently falling, accumulating in a small pile by the window sill, and his mood suddenly lifted.
He glanced at the empty doorframe, contemplating naming this place. But with the spring light just right outside the window, he leaned back, too lazy to move from his bed.
He looked around the room for something handy and spotted a long branch by the bed.
He remembered snapping it off for the divine tree, but the branch had changed, now covered in a layer of cold, white jade color.
Wu Xingxue was stunned for a while before realizing what had happened.
He chuckled to himself and picked it up.
The jade-colored branch in his hand formed a beautiful arc, transforming into a long sword with flowing spiritual light.
That day, passing immortals witnessed the scene.
The windows of the Yu Yao Palace were wide, with mist-like gauze curtains fluttering. The Spirit King stepped on the petals piled by the window sill, lifted the curtain, and leaped onto the eaves.
He landed firmly on the corner of the eaves, his sword spinning in hand, a smile brimming as he inscribed three characters above the palace door:
“Sitting in the Spring Breeze.”
As he sheathed his sword, a gust of spring wind swept up the petals by the window, showering him completely.
Later on, when the immortals spoke of it, they would say it was a fleeting glimpse of grace.
During the three years the Spirit King sat in silence, Xian Du had flourished. The Heavenly Dao birthed the Spirit Platform, and mortal cultivators ascended one after another, with five of the twelve immortals of the Spirit Platform already in their positions.
The prayers and offerings once directed at the divine tree gradually faded as the tree was sealed, and now they fell upon the immortals of the Spirit Platform.
Each immortal of the Spirit Platform held different responsibilities and duties. And once those myriad prayers were distributed among them, they somehow took on an air of orderliness.
But that was only true for the immortals of the Spirit Platform. For Wu Xingxue, the world had never been orderly.
Later, the people of Xian Du would become curious. The Heavenly Constellation handled punishment and pardon, and the other immortals each had their roles, bestowing blessings upon the mortal realm. Only the Spirit King’s responsibilities remained unknown to all.
Some, driven by curiosity and a hint of admiration, tried to stealthily follow the Spirit King to the mortal realm, wanting to see what exactly he did when he wasn’t in Xian Du.
But they never discovered anything, for every time they followed him to the mortal realm, they would watch helplessly as the Spirit King suddenly vanished without a trace or warning.
It wasn’t the usual art of concealment. Being immortals themselves, they would have noticed if concealment techniques were used. But aside from such techniques, they couldn’t think of any other explanation.
It remained a mystery, one that was destined to stay unsolved.
Because the heavenly decrees always went directly to the Spirit King, and the workings of heaven were never to be disclosed. So the only one who knew the truth was the Spirit King himself.
Only Wu Xingxue knew what he was doing each time he descended to the mortal realm after receiving a heavenly decree.
He was there to sever those threads.
Those threads belonged to people who, in their desire to “start over,” forcefully pulled everything back to the past, attempting to change their fates, causing chaos like a branch suddenly sprouting several offshoots that intertwined with each other.
This resulted in the death of those who shouldn’t die and the survival of those who shouldn’t live, disorder in life and death, and inversion of time.
And the Spirit King was the one who cut off those offshoots.
He restored the disordered lives and deaths to their rightful places, corrected the inverted times. He brought back those who shouldn’t have died and killed those who shouldn’t have lived.
Among the numerous immortals in heaven, most were of a compassionate and gentle nature, their actions either bestowing blessings or offering protection. Even the Heavenly Constellation, under whose sword fell demons and evil beings.
Only the Spirit King had killed people.
