The Forbidden Path to Immortality - Chapter 205

Journey Part 2 Episode 19 The Dust Settles Chapter 8 Finale

It was the depths of winter, the mountains chilly and cold, the trees withered and withered, coating Lianxia Mountain in a blue-gray hue that paled in comparison to the other three seasons.

Fortunately, the occasional flash of blazing sword light amid the peaks and cliffs brought a touch of color to the otherwise monotonous backdrop.

As the sky darkened, the monks on the mountain began their evening prayers. The occasional patrolling monks flew by, but their presence was but a fleeting glimpse amid the vast mountains, devoid of any real significance. A sect so powerful and influential, what evil heretic would dare to taunt them?

As the sun gradually set, the mountain’s shadow cast a shadow, obscuring the path leading to Zhiguan Peak. The neatly paved bluestone steps, usually sparsely trodden, were even more deserted now. A single figure, clad in a green robe, ascended step by step, leisurely, seemingly unfazed by the deepening darkness.

A chill wind swept across the mountain, ruffling thin clothing and bringing a faint chill. Li Xun looked up at the pink-tinged sky, his brow furrowed slightly before relaxing. “The snow arrived so late this year!”

With a single sigh, he slowly resumed his ascent.

Slowly, the pink in the sky faded, replaced by a pale gray, a shadow of the mountains below. Finally, the towering cliffs obscured the last ray of daylight, and both sky and mountain sank into a silent darkness.

Zhiguan Peak towered thousands of feet high. Each step took its own effort. By the time Li Xun reached the summit, it was already midnight, the stars ablaze in the sky, casting a brilliant, clear light.

Under the eaves of the houses, the occasional monk passed by, mostly in a leisurely manner, oblivious to the figures at the mountain entrance.

Li Xun raised his head slightly, feeling the mountain breeze against his face. The flow of vital energy at the summit of Zhiguan Peak instantly came to mind, as clear and vivid as the lines on the palm of your hand.

He smiled faintly, his steps still unmoved, and he slowly turned west, following his old memory.

After walking a few miles, Li Xun became aware of the unkempt vegetation and an unusual silence. This place was already remote, uncultivated, like a wasteland. In the starlight, across from him, he could see the outline of a small wooden building, devoid of lights. Dark as a giant beast poised to collapse at any moment, it nestled among the shadows of the trees.

The building had been uninhabited for many years. The mountain monks hadn’t destroyed it, but they had left it unused.

Perhaps in time, the building would decay and collapse, leaving it and the relics of history it carried, forever buried among the barren vegetation.

Gently pushing open the door, a mountain breeze swept in through the gaps and then bounced back, carrying a surprisingly fresh scent. Of course, Li Xun didn’t think anyone would regularly clean it; it must be the effect of the dust-repelling orbs stored within.

Li Xun stepped inside and scanned the hall’s furnishings. Relying on his memory, he found a ledge on the wall and removed the cloth covering it. The pearl’s radiance instantly filled the room. He removed the night-shining pearl and, with a slight movement of his fingers, the light echoed, illuminating the surrounding area for several feet, preventing even a trace of residual light from escaping.

With this little light, he moved like a ghost, upstairs and then downstairs, wandering through the rooms. After several rounds, he suddenly felt his mind stagnate in the endless flow of time, dragging his body along, as if another step would plunge him into distant memories.

In a daze, he once again reached the study, where most of the previous owner’s collection was displayed. Before the dazzling array of treasures on the shelves, a few crude stone planks lay piled together beneath the desk.

Li Xun walked over, bent down and knocked on it. The stone slabs on the Zuowang Peak made a crisp sound, and the patterns carved on them became clearer. As the sound waves vibrated, the gold, jade and vulgar objects in the room suddenly came alive.

A breeze came in through the crack of the door, stirring the yellowed papers on the desk. The ink on the papers had withstood the erosion of time and was still neatly arranged and clearly visible.

The secret of the forbidden method is pointed out!

Li Xun’s eyes moved over and then smiled. He walked forward and sat upright behind the desk as he had done countless times before. He picked up these familiar manuscripts, flipped through them one by one, and savored them word by word.

Amid the slight sound of paper rubbing against each other, the long river of time finally roared back.

His former arrogance, his past shifts in thought, his brilliant yet often flawed structure of thought, all lay exposed on the page, undisguised. The tangled web of emotions flowed across the vast distances of time, like a winding stream, feeding into his vast and majestic state of mind. He

vaguely recalled years ago, pen in hand, under the lamp, thinking his greatest work would begin here…

A gentle pearly light cast his shadow gently across the paper and tabletop, a trance-like interplay of light and shadow. Unconsciously, he had reached the last word, and the long-held emotions, carrying the unfinished meaning of the work, poured forth like a torrent.

He inadvertently reached for the small, soft-bristled brush, which lay just within his reach.

“If we use the dynamics of yin and yang, then…”

His thoughts faltered as the sensation in his hand suddenly stopped. He looked up in shock to see his soft-bristled brush resting in the inkstone, its tip as stiff as a rock. Against the pristine inkstone, how could it possibly hold ink?

His brow furrowed, and he called out, “Go…”

His voice trailed off, though its echo lingered around the desk. He paused for a moment, then turned his head slightly. The pearly light illuminated the figure at the desk, her hands grinding ink, her sleeves thick with fragrance, gone. In

an instant, the most unstoppable force in the universe shattered that small confinement, and with a rumbling sound, things returned to their usual course.

The tip of his pen paused in the inkstone, and Li Xun smiled. A thought flashed through his mind, and he siphoned a small amount of water from the mountain spring behind the house. It moved from thin air, forming a mist above his desk. With a gentle touch, the remaining ink streak in the inkstone dissolved into a pool of ink, and the soft brush regained its flexibility. Even the yellowing of the paper on the desk faded considerably.

He placed the night pearl on the candlestick, still gathering its light. He pulled up his sleeve, found a blank sheet of paper, and spread it out. He dipped his pen in ink, pausing only briefly before his pen began to flow, still in neat small characters, slowly unfolding.

Through the half-open window, the sky shifted from white to black, black to white, as if countless days and nights had passed.

Another evening, a strong north wind blew outside, gradually becoming a constant rustling sound. Li Xun paused his writing and peered through the window, watching a fine, white, powdery snow drift down outside. Soon, the rain intensified.

Amid the rustling of falling snow, the window lattice creaked, as if rustled by the wind. Li Xun paused in thought for a moment, but ultimately smiled and returned to writing.

The first snow in the mountains had begun to fall overnight, and it hadn’t stopped, fluttering and scattering until morning, like goose feathers swirling in the wind. The boy opened the door, only to see the trees sprouting branches, blanketing the mountain in a blanket of jade. The world seemed as vast as a veil of silk, its edge indistinct. He couldn’t help but let out a low cry, and without even closing the door, he rushed out.

With the crunching sound of snow beneath his feet, he ran all the way to the high cliff edge. Not satisfied with this, he simply jumped onto the pine tree behind and gazed out into the distance.

The once magnificent Lianxia Peaks were now completely veiled in snowy mist and clouds. Even the towering Zuowang Peak was only visible in its outline. Zhiguan Peak, Bijia Ridge, and Guantian Peak were nothing more than gray, shrouded shadows. Truly, the clouds gathered like mountains, the mountains like a sea, a majestic and unfathomable sight.

The child was stunned for a moment by this magnificent scene. Although he didn’t necessarily feel any emotion, he felt that his own jump had been too frivolous.

Turning his head to see no one around, the boy quickly jumped down from the tree again. Straightening his clothes slightly at the edge of the cliff,

he faced the howling snow and wind, chest held high, a look of contempt for all. He stood there for a moment, still feeling inadequate. His mind wandered to the manners of his teachers. He unconsciously clasped his hands behind his back, swaying his head. He took two steps, feeling perfectly poised and elegant. He chuckled, coughed twice, and then slowly recited: “A chill north wind blew overnight, a thousand miles of dark clouds thick. Snow drifted wildly across the sky, all changed…”

He drew out the “all” sound, and just as he was building the atmosphere, he felt a sudden pain on the back of his head. The following “old rivers and mountains” was immediately captured by him. He uttered a sigh, stared back, and then froze.

Behind him, a star-crowned feathered monk stood smiling. It was snowing heavily, yet not a speck of snow dust stained his body. His features were ordinary, but even there, standing there, he exuded a sense of pure and unrestrained grace. More importantly…

Tong’er recognized him!

“Master Ling-Lingji?”

Lingji gently stroked his short beard and said with a smile, “You’re so young, yet you’re boasting so much. What will become of you in the future?”

Tong’er was stunned for a moment before finally realizing who stood before him. His face flushed with excitement, and he swayed as he saluted. After a long pause, he finally remembered to reply, “Yes, Master, you’re right, disciple…”

Lingji laughed heartily and waved his hand to stop him from feeling any more upset. Then, imitating him, he stepped forward with his hands behind his back, stood at the edge of the cliff, and gazed out at the snow-capped mountains. It was the same movement, but Lingji’s every gesture was effortless and relaxed, far superior to Tong’er’s.

The boy stood by, his hands hanging low, his heart still brimming with excitement. Though he had only been on the mountain for a short time, he had heard much about the illustrious reputation of the immortal master before him. He was only a junior among the “founding disciples,” still some time away from establishing the Qiyuan Hall

. But today, with the privilege of meeting the immortal master, who knew… His mind was full of wild thoughts, his face unable to conceal them. Lingji saw clearly what was happening, but he simply smiled and said, “That’s a wonderful phrase. It’s better for this country and this world to remain unchanged. What do you think?”

The boy seemed to understand, but he could only nod vigorously, accepting the advice.

Lingji was merely talking, but seeing his naiveté, his mind brightened. He immediately considered testing the boy’s mental aptitude. If they were compatible, he might even accept him as a disciple.

Turning around, Lingji was about to speak when the void behind him suddenly lit up. He turned sharply, and as his neck twisted, a powerful, resonant sound rolled in from the distant sky, sweeping across Lianxia Zhuyi in an instant.

“Is it thundering?”

The child looked up blankly, then stood there with his mouth and eyes wide open.

At this moment, he witnessed the most incredible sight of his life. Even in the long years that followed, wandering the world and gaining a wide range of knowledge, he had never seen anything comparable to this moment!

In the vast snow and fog, a long purple-black line stretched from the northwest, stretching across the sky, tearing through the snow clouds and haze in an instant, extending to the southeast sky. The “long line” cut through the sky like a deep scar, and a wave of lighter light spread out like a stream of blood.

The child was frightened and instinctively tugged at the clothes of the elder beside him: “Master, this is…”

He couldn’t even hear what was said after that. Amidst the roaring roar of the atmosphere, millions of streaks of lightning shot forth from the “long line,” instantly shredding the entire sky. The grayish-white clouds vanished like waves of ink, and darkness descended upon the horizon!

The next moment, purple lightning and fire erupted again!

Dazzling flashes of lightning flashed in unison, followed closely by thunder, echoing throughout the valley. In that instant, tens of thousands of thunderclaps accumulated, shaking the seventy-two peaks of Lianxia. Especially the towering Zuowang Peak, soaring high above the Heavenly Palace, seemed poised to collapse at any moment.

The child’s mind was shaken, and he could no longer stand. He clutched at Lingji’s robe and screamed. Before his screams had ceased, another “crack” sounded in his ears, and behind him, the flames flickered. The tree he had just climbed was split in two by the lightning, blazing fiercely.

In a flash of lightning, Lingji’s face darkened as he stretched out his arms to protect the child, letting the thunder and lightning cascade down. Standing on the precipice, his body remained unmoved, his body protected by a pure sword energy.

He stood in silence for a few breaths, waiting for his mind to clear. He

then looked up at the sky, a golden light swirling in his pupils, using the technique of “Flowing Fire Red Gold Pupils” to perceive the source of the unpredictable changes in the world. At the same time, countless cultivators throughout the Tongxuan Realm, like Lingji, cast their gazes heavenward.

At this moment, Li Xun paused, drawing his brush to a halt, concluding his writing. He seemed oblivious to the changes unfolding outside. He simply blew away the ink, then drew water from a mountain spring to clean the inkstone and the remaining ink from the brush. He then absorbed the remaining water and hung it on the pen holder.

He did this slowly and unhurriedly. The deafening thunderstorm outside, which rattled the window frames, did not affect him in the slightest.

Once these steps were complete, he meticulously organized the past few days’ worth of work, arranging the hundreds of manuscripts in order, revising them neatly, and finally placing them on his desk, weighted down with a paperweight.

With all this done, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief, lean back in his chair, and stretch. The rumble of thunder outside the window finally became clearer. He turned to look out, just as lightning flashed. The shadow of the large tree outside the house was reflected on the window paper, eerie and sinister.

He gazed at the swaying shadow and suddenly smiled: “Standing in the snow by the window, I dream of my beloved. I truly appreciate the affection of Master Mingji.”

The response from outside the window to his frivolous attitude was also muted: “Even at the brink of death, you still refuse to repent.”

With that, the window shattered, and a howling wind blew snowflakes into the room. But half a foot behind the window, the wind died away and the snow melted, leaving not even a trace.

Li Xun laughed heartily and walked to the window. A thousand years had passed without diminishing Mingji’s beauty. Instead, it made her aura seem more tranquil and distant. Only her sharp and clear eyes vaguely showed the spirit of the past. Li Xun stared deeply for a moment, then smiled and said, “I don’t care about a mere thunderbolt. It’s Uncle Mingji’s concern that really surprises me.”

Mingji’s eyes were sharper than before, but they couldn’t shake the man’s deep state of mind at all. Li Xun eliminated the frivolousness in his words and said softly, “Over the years, everyone should have… Those who should ascend have ascended, those who should be liberated have been liberated, and those who should live have lived. All have finally found their destinations. Only you, Uncle Master, have delayed your path to immortality because of me. I feel deeply ashamed. However, even Heaven cannot take my life, let alone the lives of others under heaven… Excuse me!

In an instant, the void shifted. Li Xun, employing some unknown method, leaped through the window before Ming Ji’s eyes and landed behind him. Finally, he smiled brilliantly: “When I left here, it was Uncle Master who invited me to a sword fight. Today, I, a humble man, ask Uncle Master to watch me overcome my tribulation!”

As the word “tribulation” was uttered, seven or eight thunderbolts exploded in the sky above. Crimson and purple lightning, like a sword splitting the sky, descended.

The seventy-two peaks of Lianxia groaned, as if on the verge of collapsing under the lash of long ropes of lightning and fire. However, these blazing lightning and fire paled before the sudden surge of blood-red rainbow light.

A rainbow of light rose from the summit of Zhiguan Peak, radiating nearly ten feet and stretching a hundred miles. It was like a rainbow bridge built between heaven and earth. Its blood-red hue and shadows shifted, and even with the cascading thunder and fire, its proud presence remained undimmed.

“Master Lingji, that, that…”

The child, fortunate enough to witness this miraculous scene, was so excited that he could hardly speak. He tugged at the hem of Lingji’s sword and stretched out his hand, pointing to the sky.

Unfortunately, even he couldn’t hear his own voice clearly. Across the inky sky, thunder erupted, a roar that threatened to crush everything around him. The moment the words left his mouth, the boy’s shrill voice shattered and shattered.

Of course, Lingji understood what was happening better than the boy. He stared at the rainbow light shifting through the sky for a long moment, then smiled. “In the future, you must cultivate diligently.”

His words, piercing through the rumbling thunder, reached the boy’s ears clearly. “When your cultivation truly reaches the point where you can ‘improve the old ways,’ you can meet this person in the sky. Remember, this rainbow light is the Blood God Dharma, and the one who wields it is the Supreme Demon of Tongxuan…”

“Nine Tribulations Blood Demon!”

the boy cried out, his excitement melting into an icy chill that filled his chest.

Was this the great master who had roamed the world for three thousand years, survived nine heavenly tribulations unscathed, and was known as the Resident Heavenly Demon?

Meeting him?

The child was speechless, unable to utter a single word.

“This is already the tenth time…”

Lingji looked up at the sky, which made no distinction between day and night. Reflected in his pupils was the moment when a piercing, blood-red light transformed into a vast rainbow and leaped into the air.

Heaven was furious!

Never before had a demon possessed the qualifications for broadday ascension, yet continued to run rampant across the world for three thousand years, imbued with supreme demonic power, yet somehow survived the ninefold calamity, defying the laws of nature and heavenly punishment.

Heaven had lost its patience, no longer waiting for the forty-ninefold calamity five hundred years from now. Instead, on this bitterly cold winter day, amidst the piercing cold wind and falling snow, it unleashed the Nine Heavens Tribulation, tearing the entire Tongxuan Realm apart.

From Yama Heaven in the north to the southeastern forest sea in the south, a vast diagonal line stretched tens of millions of miles. Raging winds danced, earthly evil roiled, transforming into thunder and crisscrossing winds. Amidst the turbulent winds and thunder, a thousand thunderbolts cascaded, dense as a torrential rain, stirring the murderous intent of heaven and earth, all converging upon the blood-red rainbow that soared across the sky.

Wherever the rainbow’s light reached, nearly all cultivators above the True Person realm were on high alert, burying themselves deep within forbidden areas, concealing their presence to avoid being caught in the crossfire. Even so, countless cultivators were affected by the aftermath, their millennia of cultivation annihilated in a single day. Countless

cultivators gnashed their teeth beneath the earth: “This demon, who should be slain, who should be annihilated, who should be played with, why does he still cling on? Will he not rest until he has turned this Tongxuan Realm upside down?”

It seemed as if the heavens truly sensed the people’s resentment, and a murderous thunderstorm stretched tens of millions of miles, raging for three full days.

Near the Southeast Forest, where the lightning finally faded, many people witnessed the blood-red rainbow representing the Nine Tribulations Blood Demon, completely obliterated by the mighty blows of the Thunder Gods, leaving not even a trace.

Some cheered, but many sneered.

How many times has this happened? Is this annoying?

The rain has stopped, the sky clears, the clouds part, and the sun rises.

After the thunderstorm, the fog in the Southeast Forest seemed to have dissipated considerably, revealing a rare, clear day in a decade. However, water droplets still clung to the grass and petals, and a moist scent permeated the forest.

In a spacious clearing, among an unnoticeable flower, a beautiful young butterfly struggled to flutter its wings. The torrential rain the previous night had caused the little creature some trouble, but it didn’t matter; it had already emerged from its ugly cocoon. It was letting its blood flow to every corner of its body, hoping to soar into the pure sky.

Sunlight filtered through the sparse branches and leaves, a moment of vibrant life.

Finally, flapping its wings, the young butterfly slowly took flight, launching itself into the world with a newfound grace.

It glided through the trees, flowers, and grasses with grace and ease, yet also with pride, disdaining the ordinary morning dew and nectar. After circling several times, it finally landed, finding its alluring food.

It was a drop of ruby-red blood.

Oozing from the pale knuckles of a finger, the drop held an enchanting allure. The young butterfly was drawn to it, landing on the finger, leaning slightly forward, its thin wings delicately fluttering, creating a shimmering veil of blue light.

The finger moved, and the young butterfly ceased sucking, but it didn’t fly away from this unique anchor.

A warm breeze blew by, and the young butterfly, unperceived by any danger, continued sucking, letting the drop of blood merge into its body.

The finger moved again, this time lifting the entire arm above the peak.

The young butterfly sucked the drop of blood clean, then gracefully soared back up, dancing around the raised arm.

The sunlight streamed down, juxtaposing with the surrounding blue veil. Its beauty surpassed the rainbow gradually emerging in the distant sky.

A rainbow represents a bridge to immortality.

The man in the bush narrowed his eyes, observing the beautiful scene of butterflies dancing on the rainbow bridge, and smiled faintly: “I said, this is just the beginning, just the beginning!”

Although it’s three thousand years late… are you ready, those above?

(The Complete Book of “The Journey to the Netherworld”)

Postscript :

The moment my hands left the keyboard, it felt incredibly blurry.

I completed “The Journey to the Netherworld” twice, both before and after the manuscript revisions, with nearly two months between them, and the plot remained virtually unchanged.

When I first finished the draft, I told Ah Qian, “I’ve climbed out of hell… I breathe the air of a human being.”

It was like discarding a red-hot charcoal basin before my skin and flesh scorched to ashes. A sense of relief, of escaping death, of being reborn… Any number of similar descriptions would be appropriate.

I never imagined a novel would push me to this point.

For over a year, I’d fled the reception room, the 99 groups, and the friends who had encouraged and supported me. Like a homeless dog, I huddled in a corner, squeezing out details and words bit by bit until it was complete.

For two months, I didn’t look at the manuscript of Youming again, not even once.

Then, while discussing the new draft with my editor, driven by a compulsion for perfection—or perhaps a delusion of glossing it over—I suggested some revisions and began writing.

These revisions were merely a matter of straightening out sentences and adding paragraphs that might or might not have been useful, and I completed them sporadically over the course of several days. The changes, amounting to just a thousand words, probably didn’t bring any qualitative improvement, but the feeling was completely different.

The burning sensation faded. I no longer dwelled on flaws in the plot or the writing, nor on commercial success. I simply looked at the densely packed documents in my folders and the neatly arranged sample books on my bookshelf. What was that feeling?

Perhaps this was how my parents felt when they looked at their now-adult son?

For more than half of my twenty-seven years, I’ve been bound to novels.

It was a fateful one.

It made my mother sick with anger, it aged my father, and I nearly lost myself. But, miraculously, thanks to my novels, I’ve been able to earn a living and establish myself.

Though insignificant, it easily made my parents forget the pain of those years, bringing them satisfaction and pride.

Because I am their son, imperfect, untalented, yet still the product of their blood and sweat, the embodiment of all their hopes and aspirations.

The conception of “Netherworld Immortal Journey” began in ’05, and I began writing in ’06. Five years have passed since then… If I had devoted that time to the very thing my parents had longed for, I would probably be the father of a lovely child.

Sadly, to this day, there’s no child in this world who bears the flesh and blood I gave them. All that exists is a set of twenty-seven volumes of “Netherworld Immortal Journey.”

If it has flesh and blood, it’s from me; if it has a soul, it’s also from me. Even if it has nothing else, I know that within it lies the crystallization of nearly everything I’ve given myself over the past four years.

Besides my parents, I love it most!

Yes! Now, dear readers, I can lay the completed “Netherworld Immortal Journey” before you and proclaim it loudly.

“Look! This is my son!”

This is the sudden thought of an unmarried homebody. This is

nonsense, incoherent.

Written in the year of Geng Yin, the month of Gui Wei, the day of Xin Si, and the night

of 69, first published in Chinese.