Chapter 41: Primordial Unity
The Soul-devouring Flood Serpent had transformed into an old man clad in black, standing quietly to the side.
His face bore a faint resemblance to Lin Qingcang’s, yet his narrow eyes and a few strands of black hair hanging beside his ears gave him an inexplicable air of sinister coldness and indifference.
Generally, a demonic beast could only assume human form after reaching the Third Rank, but there were always those of special bloodlines that could transform far earlier.
Shen Yanzhou looked at the Soul-devouring Flood Serpent, whose very presence exuded a chilling aura, and the thought of coaxing this creature into becoming his lackey grew ever stronger in his heart.
Rather than wasting its years in this cold pool beneath Hidden Moon Mountain, it might as well follow him into the world...
“Let’s go. It’s time to verify our wager.”
Lin Qingcang did not linger in reminiscence.
The past was already gone; no amount of sorrow could change that.
Shen Yanzhou nodded and followed Lin Qingcang forward.
They passed through the ruined structures overrun with vines and wild grass, then ascended along moss-covered stone steps that still bore faint traces of their former shape, heading ever upward toward higher ground.
There stood a small mountain that seemed to have been moved there by some unimaginable power.
Though the marks of time had worn away its original appearance, the outlines of once-orderly constructions could still be faintly discerned.
On both sides of the mountain path grew low shrubs and dangling vines; brambles sprawled across the ground, adding to the desolation.
The peak was even more dilapidated.
The houses once built there had long since collapsed, leaving only rubble scattered across the earth.
The sole structure still intact was a stone chamber carved into the cliff face.
Compared to the surroundings, the area was slightly more open.
A withered peach tree stood beside a stone table and stone stools covered with fallen leaves and dust.
When Lin Qingcang arrived here, he froze once more, countless memories flashing through his mind.
Several of his disciples had once gathered beneath that peach tree, exchanging insights on martial arts, their laughter echoing as he stood stern-faced beside them—unsmiling, yet the gentleness at the corners of his brows had always betrayed him.
His youngest disciple had loved to laugh, lively and cheerful, deeply adored by all her senior brothers.
His most talented eldest disciple had fulfilled his duty as senior brother, guiding the others in their movements.
All of them had laughed and sparred here.
At night, that eldest disciple and the youngest one would hide beneath the peach tree, whispering softly and vowing to stay together for life...
But soon, those images blurred, as if stained red with blood, until they faded away entirely.
“If only I hadn’t obtained that technique… so many tragedies would never have happened...”
He sighed faintly.
Seas turned to mulberry fields, stars shifted in the heavens—even a Martial God could not live forever.
His former disciples had likely long since returned to the earth, becoming but a handful of spring soil.
Shen Yanzhou said nothing, silently waiting for Lin Qingcang to finish his reminiscence.
When one reached a certain age, it was easy to dwell on the past.
Even one who once stood at the absolute summit of the mortal world—a Martial God—was no exception.
“Follow me.”
A moment later, Lin Qingcang spoke again.
This time, he led Shen Yanzhou directly toward the cave dwelling carved into the cliff.
The furnishings within were no different from what Shen Yanzhou had seen in the underground palace—simple and pure.
There were only a meditation mat, a stone table, a stone bed, and a three-tiered shelf that held jade slips and scrolls.
Not a speck of dust covered them, as if an invisible formation kept the chamber spotless and eternally pristine.
Compared to the cave abodes of Daoist cultivators, however, this place could only be described as crude.
There were no weapons, furnaces, or bottles and jars in sight.
Upon the meditation mat sat a tall corpse faintly glowing with a golden radiance, head lowered, holding an open scroll in its arms—as if it had been reading even at the moment of its death.
“The technique you seek lies here.”
Lin Qingcang stepped before the mat, his gaze complex.
Then, with a gentle wave of his hand, that golden-glowing corpse seemed to weather away instantly, crumbling into dust that scattered through the air.
Only the scroll held within its arms floated down amid the ashes, finally landing softly upon the ground.
Shen Yanzhou reached out to catch it.
Its texture was light and supple—like beast hide—yet it exuded an almost metallic, divine luster.
Though he had restrained his emotions, he could not suppress the surge of exhilaration that welled within him.
He had finally obtained it.
That legendary technique from the original work—so transcendent, its very concepts exceeded the limits of this world’s setting.
“The True Explanation of Primordial Unity.”
According to Shen Yanzhou’s understanding from his past life, the worldview of this realm could be classified as mid-level martial, leaning toward high martial.
Even a Martial God—the pinnacle of all beings—could not traverse starfields or shatter planets with a single strike.
As for single-universe-level power...
that was beyond imagining.
Yet The True Explanation of Primordial Unity contained insights and expositions on cultivation that belonged to an entirely different, far more intricate and profound system.
First of all, the prerequisite for practicing this technique required one to cultivate both the martial and Daoist paths—and to reach the First Rank in at least one of them.
After achieving First Rank, the practitioner must dissolve their cultivation, retaining only the purest strand of their origin as a seed to merge with either Martial True Qi or Daoist Spiritual Qi, thereby giving birth to the Primordial Unity Qi.
Only then could one be considered to have taken the first step.
The subsequent stages of cultivation were equally arduous.
Each strand of Primordial Unity Qi represented one’s comprehension of the Primordial—an insight into the cosmos, the heavens, and all things.
From within the void, one would draw upon the primal chaotic energy to reconstruct the body, step by step, until forging a Body of Primordial Unity.
Eventually, such a being would transcend the bounds of matter itself—invulnerable to all laws.
Any form of energy-based attack would instead be absorbed and converted into power, becoming part of one’s own essence.
In the original plot, when Lin Qingcang obtained this manual, he too had doubted its authenticity.
At that time, he was at his peak.
Though the contents were profound beyond measure and vast beyond imagination, he had never considered destroying his Martial God foundation to begin anew.
Instead, out of arrogance, he used its principles as a prototype to deduce and create his own Martial God’s Secret Scripture.
In today’s world, even Second Rank experts were exceedingly rare, let alone First Rank.
To have finally reached that height, who would dare to abandon everything for the sake of cultivating such an abstruse and enigmatic technique?
Even Lin Qingcang, a Martial God himself, had once deemed it a “heretical art” born of a madman’s delusion—something meant to bring chaos to the world.
Anyone foolish enough to believe its doctrines, he had said, might as well have lived as a dog.
And yet, what was strange was that even with his Martial God power, Lin Qingcang had been unable to damage this page in the slightest—not even with his full strength...
“I’d like to see how you intend to begin cultivation.”
Lin Qingcang’s gaze turned cold as he looked upon Shen Yanzhou.
He did not believe for a moment that such a technique could be practiced by any human.
After all, to meet its entry requirement, one needed to have reached First Rank in either the martial or Daoist path.
But Shen Yanzhou?
He was utterly empty—devoid of True Qi, inner strength, or even the faintest trace of Daoist Spiritual Qi.
“Senior need only remember our wager.”
Shen Yanzhou clasped the scroll in his hand.
A faint chill seeped into his palm, spreading into his mind, leaving his spiritual sea clear and tranquil.