Outside of Time - Chapter 1329

Chapter 1307 The Unique State!

A cold wind blew in through the window, and as the candlelight flickered, the pages of this map of civilization’s cycle were turned.

The map recorded the rise and fall of all dynasties, which, under his arrangement, ultimately converged into a closed circle, like the moon’s trajectory in a long night.

Looking at this circle, he suddenly understood that every word and every reign title in history books was merely the mark left by a wheel, and the wheel itself never ceased turning.

So, despite his illness, he used the last moments of his life to carve his life’s insights onto twelve bronze slips.

Even though he knew that the truth he had pursued all his life, these twelve bronze slips that could withstand the power of time, were merely a small ripple in the long river of reincarnation,

he still did it.

Those overlapping times blurred by the power of dynastic historians, the truth of destruction concealed by myths, and the same prophecies packaged in different languages, all revealed their true nature under his carving knife.

As the final stroke etched the eight characters, “All things cycle, ultimately returning to silence,” a deafening clap of thunder suddenly echoed outside the window!

The booming sound shattered the heavens and earth, and raindrops began to fall, pounding the earth and the glazed tiles.

The rhythm, the melody, made Chen Mo feel somewhat disoriented. He vaguely felt that this seemed to share the same rhythm as the destructive rain recorded in the “Tribute of the States” a thousand years ago.

“I’m leaving…”

Chen Mo murmured, his life beginning to fade, the world before him blurring.

His life, like a boat adrift in the sea of history, was misunderstood by the world, yet he had left some traces.

“There are still some regrets…”

Chen Mo whispered.

And so, in these final moments awaiting death, he struggled to raise his head, looking at the thunder and rain outside the window.

Perhaps it was the regret in his heart that made him, for a fleeting moment, perhaps blurry, see his own shadow cast on the wall as lightning flashed, overlapping with the records on the bronze slips, the Nine Bright Hexagrams of the Empress, the engravings of ancient bone script, and the coiled dragon pattern on the gold-leaf edicts of the current dynasty, forming the same outline.

Chen Mo was startled, then his eyes shone brightly.

“Everyone who tries to grasp the trajectory of history will ultimately become the trajectory itself,”

Chen Mo smiled.

Letting the coolness of the rain wash over the wrinkles on his face, he suddenly felt that he was no longer a boatman trapped in the sea of history, but had become the lamp in the boatman’s hand.

This lamp may not be able to pierce through the eternal fog, but at least it will let those who come after know that in the gaps between countless destructions and rebirths, someone stubbornly held up the lamp, carving a faint but clear mark in the long river of time.

Perhaps in the next thousand years, another historian, on an autumn night, while sorting through ancient books, will suddenly see this mark and sense the light in time and space.

Finally, like himself, he realized that these were faint yet eternal signals passed between countless civilizations in their destruction and rebirth.

They would become another version of himself, spiritual companions to someone in the future.

“That’s enough!”

This realization wasn’t the ecstatic joy of sudden enlightenment, but a quietude like the melting of spring ice.

He understood that every word in history books was a scale of reincarnation, and the truth he had pursued throughout his life was never about forcing all civilizations to submit to the same answer. Rather,

it was about seeing all answers flowing on the same circle.

This was true unity.

At this moment, the candlelight in the post station flickered, as if the shadows of countless dynasties overlapped in the light and shadow, forming a silhouette of the same cycle.

Candlelight and starlight illuminated each other, and within their interplay, a jade cicada seemed to shimmer.

And Chen Mo, with a smile, closed his eyes.

…

The cicada’s song continued.

The cicada’s wings, too.

Scene after scene, bit by bit, piece by piece, each reflects the vibrant lives of individuals in different times and spaces, sharing the same origin yet evolving through various trajectories.

A kaleidoscope of colors blossoms, each giving rise to a unified thought.

These thoughts rise from time and space, returning to Xu Qing’s consciousness, constantly strengthening it, allowing him to experience various lives, and transforming his aura into an invisible hand, repeatedly plucking the strings of the law.

The notes played increase, eventually weaving a melody, aiming to create a resounding masterpiece called “Law.”

But… the brewing of this sound continues, yet the sound remains unseen.

Because…

“One is still missing.”

Xu Qing opens his eyes, gazing into the void.

That is himself in the last time and space, who has never formed a unified thought; even the guidance of the God of Pain cannot sway his thoughts.

He was a painter.

Once, he burned all his scrolls, leaving only a single sheet of Xuan paper to write the character “一” (one).

And now, five more strokes appear on the Xuan paper.

The character “一” became

the first stroke of the character “来”, which was originally the first stroke of the character “来”.

This was an invitation, transcending time and space.

So, after gazing at it, Xu Qing stood up and took a step towards the void.

This step entered time and space, entered a parallel universe, and appeared in the old painter’s study.

The moment he appeared, the old man, who had paused his brush on the rice paper, raised his head, his wrinkles blossoming, looked at Xu Qing, and smiled.

“I’ve waited a long time for this stroke.”

“And you must not speak, just listen to me.”

“In my youth I learned to paint, reaching the pinnacle, using painting as a boundary, and in my old age I gained an understanding of the workings of heaven and earth…”

“And in my paintings, I saw all living beings, I saw everything, like that Liu Xuanji, like that Chen Mo, and even, I saw you…”

“Then, I burned everything, and sat here, because I understand that I and the world I inhabit may never have existed in the first place; we exist because you need us.”

“As for what you need, I saw it in my paintings twenty years ago.”

Having said this, the old painter raised his hand, took out a new sheet of Xuan paper, took a deep breath, ground the ink, and finally picked up his brush, dipped it in ink on the Xuan paper, and suddenly drew a line.

It wasn’t a masterpiece, but a few simple strokes, outlining one small square after another.

Then he paused, then dipped his brush in fresh ink and drew a line!

This line connected all the small squares!

Each stroke seemed to have exhausted his remaining strength. As he finished, his breath began to dissipate, and he could barely hold the brush. Only his aged, hoarse voice echoed in the study.

“Unity is not just about space, but also time.”

“Time is a line; it has no present, no past, no future.”

“Space is a series of squares, originally static, but connected by a line of time, they come to life.”

“Like this painting, each of those small squares contains ourselves, encompassing beginning and end.”

“A timeline connects all the small squares; this is the complete parallel life of all timelines.”

“Therefore, our path is to extract and absorb this line of time, to become time itself.”

“Next, absorb all the static squares.”

“Having done this, you achieve parallel unity; you become unique.”

“This unique state, I would call… Dimension!”

“That is, our tenth pole!”

The old painter finished speaking the last word and closed his eyes.

Inside the study, Xu Qing stepped forward, gazing at the Xuan paper, while the world… began to crumble!