Jian Chou’s gaze moved downward, falling on the Nine-Section Bamboo, also noticing the tiny mayfly, but not paying it much attention.

“All living beings under heaven… whose life is not a life?”

This spontaneous sentiment made even Jian Chou herself pause for a moment.

On this enormous island, only Jian Chou remained alone, appearing solitary and forlorn.

The stars in the sky gradually became sparse, and the moon had hidden behind layers of clouds, leaving only a vague shadow.

The sound of waves striking the shore continued, as did the faint cries of seabirds.

But Jian Chou’s heart suddenly emptied.

In the past ten-plus days, so many, many things have happened.

Counting these events, it seemed like she had experienced more than in all her previous twenty-plus years.

Her husband’s betrayal, the loss of her unborn child, becoming a disciple to Fudao Shanren, leaving the mountain village, traveling all this way, even beginning cultivation and gaining abilities and cultivation different from ordinary people, though very modest.

She had even made some enemies, met some interesting people, and befriended some…

Friends.

From her perspective, ten-plus days ago, all of this would have been inconceivable.

And now, it had all truly happened to her.

Heaven and earth were so vast—something the former her could never have imagined.

Just like now, sitting beside this stone pool, on this isolated island, by the great sea, looking in all directions at the boundless vastness of the universe.

Were the sea and land everything?

Not necessarily.

Jian Chou raised her eyes, gazing at those slowly moving stars, her thoughts gradually settling and becoming pure.

She thought of Zhang Sui’s silence and steadiness, Zhou Kuang’s honesty and arrogance, Fudao Shanren’s absurd yet wise and powerful nature, Xu Lan’er, who had struck at Nie Xiaowan because of a momentary evil thought, and even…

She thought of Xie Buchen, who had killed her in pursuit of immortality and the Dao.

Seeking immortality and questioning the Dao?

That wasn’t the immortality she sought, nor the Dao she would question.

If immortality meant extinguishing human desires, being emotionless and selfless, then what Jian Chou sought wasn’t immortality, and what she would question wasn’t the Dao either.

She recalled how long, long ago she had copied Buddhist sutras and Daoist texts for Xie’s mother. She had thought that with time’s swift passage and so much elapsed, she should have forgotten them completely, but when the memories stirred in the depths of her mind, they all emerged again in their entirety.

“There was something complete and mysterious, existing before heaven and earth were born. Silent and empty! Independent and unchanging, moving cyclically without fail, it can be the mother of all under heaven. I do not know its name, so I call it Dao, and, forcing a name upon it, call it Great. Great means passing away, passing away means distant, distant means returning. The Dao is great, heaven is great, earth is great, and the king is also great. In the universe, there are four greats, and the king occupies one position. Humans follow the law of earth, earth follows the law of heaven, heaven follows the law of Dao, and Dao follows what is natural…”

Dao—what exactly was Dao?

According to the books, “The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao.”

Jian Chou thought while softly murmuring.

The mayfly resting on the Nine-Section Bamboo fluttered its wings, flew up, then settled back in place.

Jian Chou also recalled the origin of Xie Buchen’s name: “The Dao is eternally nameless. Though simple and small, none under heaven dares not submit.”

So Xie Buchen—surname Xie, given name Buchen, courtesy name Wuming.

For a moment, Jian Chou couldn’t distinguish which meaning his name actually held.

Was it that the Dao made all under heaven dare not refuse submission, or that he would not submit to the Dao?

Thinking of this, she inexplicably laughed.

In her heart, she felt unexpectedly calm.

In her sleeve was hidden that silver lock she had kept for so long. When Jian Chou took it out, the red cord’s color remained as vivid and striking as ever.

Her warm fingertips traced the patterns of the red cord bit by bit.

The character “Xie” on the silver lock still made her heart ache like twisted knives.

Hatred.

Only in this lonely, empty time could she hear that wildly growing voice from the depths of her heart, breaking through soil, rising from the ground, rushing into the clouds, entangling the entire heaven and earth.

Wind brushed her face.

Holding that silver lock, what floated up in Jian Chou’s mind was the image of red silk ribbons fluttering from that old tree in the center of the village.

Though only ten days had passed, recalling all those past events felt like a lifetime ago.

Jian Chou slowly breathed in the fishy, salty air of the sea island, then slowly exhaled.

She had finally completely calmed down.

Those patterns she had drawn on Zhanye Island during the day suddenly appeared in her memory.

Jian Chou finally remembered—she still had one thing to do.

She opened the small booklet she carried with her. The last few pages described how to use spirit stones. Jian Chou sat cross-legged, following the example, grasped one of the spirit stones Zhang Sui had left behind, and closed her eyes.

Visible wisps of white light began to glow faintly from the spirit stone in Jian Chou’s hand, flowing along the meridians in her palm into her arm, then circulating through all the apertures in her body.

At the same time, the battle disc beneath her also began to rotate, appearing and disappearing.

Perhaps because Jian Chou had expended too much energy in the day’s battle, the two Kunxian lines that had originally been lit on the battle disc were both somewhat dim.

However, as new spiritual power was injected, they gradually became full and bright again.

Wherever spiritual energy flowed in Jian Chou’s body, a corresponding place on the battle disc would become especially bright.

The battle disc was intimately connected to the meridians and apertures within a cultivator’s body. Each “Daozi” corresponded to an aperture, and each “Kunxian” corresponded to a meridian.

Gradually, that low-grade spirit stone turned a lifeless gray-white color. As the last wisp of spiritual energy was drawn away, it let out a mournful “crack,” finally crumbling to powder and flowing down through Jian Chou’s loosely held fingers.

Jian Chou opened her eyes.

Now she could see the rotating battle disc, each bright or dim Kunxian line on the disc, and those dim positions where “Daozi” should be placed.

Extending her right hand, Jian Chou leaned forward and used her index finger to draw several strokes on the ground covered with a thin layer of sand.

If any great cultivator were here, they would surely be shocked.

Because what Jian Chou drew was none other than the giant talisman that had appeared in the sky the day Qingfeng Nunnery had its incident.

Jian Chou tried controlling the battle disc to rotate slightly, then immediately stopped.

At that moment, she seemed to hear the sound of a key being inserted into a lock, fitting together perfectly with the mechanism’s engagement.

Perfectly aligned, the lines of the talisman Jian Chou had drawn coincided exactly with some of the Kunxian lines on the battle disc!

And those “points” where the talisman turned, when placed on the battle disc, happened to be exactly the positions of “Daozi” that had not yet been lit!

This mysterious talisman that had appeared from nowhere was a Dao Seal!

A Dao Seal was a method of cultivation!

Jian Chou still remembered what Fudao Shanren had said.

A cultivator’s apertures and meridians corresponded to the battle disc. Now that there was a Dao Seal on the battle disc, as long as Jian Chou could understand which positions on her body the Kunxian lines and Daozi on this Dao Seal corresponded to, she could learn the magical technique this Dao Seal represented!

In that instant, Jian Chou’s eyes brightened.

She knew she had obtained something others could only dream of.

Dao Seals…

And not just one—her mind still held the five-colored Dao Seals projected by that giant light sphere outside Qingfeng Nunnery’s hidden realm!

Six in total!

“…Is Heaven compensating me?”

Thinking about it, Jian Chou suddenly found it somewhat amusing.

She casually patted her hands, brushing away the powder left in her palms from the crumbled spirit stone, and withdrew from her cross-legged meditation posture. The battle disc beneath her gradually faded away.

However, the surroundings didn’t become dark.

Dots of rice-white firefly light suddenly entered Jian Chou’s field of vision.

She was slightly startled and turned her head to see a tranquil and beautiful scene.

At some point, a group of fireflies had come to the water pool, fluttering their tiny wings in the grass around the pool, flying back and forth with small lanterns on their tails, illuminating only the small patches of darkness around themselves.

They had no idea that not far away sat a human cultivator observing them.

In the deep darkness, they were stunningly beautiful.

Jian Chou found herself somewhat mesmerized watching them.

Not until the light from these fireflies’ tails began to gradually dim did she feel that between heaven and earth, an even stronger radiance was being cast forth.

The horizon was already gradually growing white.

One night was about to pass just like this.

Morning dew slid down from the leaves of the low grass around the stone pool.

Jian Chou blinked and laughed softly: “The light of fireflies truly cannot compete with the brilliance of sun and moon…”

“Do you think so too?”

An indescribable voice sounded from behind Jian Chou.

Speaking of youth, it seemed to contain vicissitudes; speaking of clarity, it carried a hint of hoarseness; speaking of frivolity, it was mixed with an ineffable heaviness…

Jian Chou immediately turned around and was startled.

She now sat at one end of that giant stone slab, while at the other end stood a youth with refined features.

The morning mist seemed to veil his brow and eyes with a kind of vague obscurity. He wore a pale mugwort-colored long robe embroidered with ancient and outdated patterns.

A youth, yet he gave Jian Chou the feeling of an aged, declining old man.

She hadn’t detected when this youth had arrived beside her.

Naturally reaching for the Nine-Section Bamboo at her side, the mayfly that had been resting on it was nowhere to be seen.

Jian Chou gripped it tightly while smiling: “Who are you?”

“Me?”

The youth seemed somewhat confused. He thought for a moment, shook his head, and said: “I don’t know who I am either.”

“You have no name?” Jian Chou was surprised.

The youth continued shaking his head, his eyes seemingly devoid of any emotion.

He still asked Jian Chou: “Do you also think that the light of fireflies cannot compare to the sun and moon?”

“Fireflies are brief, while sun and moon are eternal… Moreover, the light of a grain of rice… is far too different.”

Jian Chou spoke only facts. Though she loved fireflies in the darkness, she had to acknowledge the gap between them. But this mysteriously appearing youth seemed overly fixated on this question.

The youth stood at the end of that stone, moss seeming to have climbed onto his body as well.

“Fireflies are brief, while sun and moon are eternal. Do you know what this is called?”

“…I don’t know.”

Jian Chou didn’t quite understand what he was trying to say.

The youth smiled, actually giving one the feeling of a refreshing breeze.

He said, “This is Dao.”

Dao?

Jian Chou was startled.

She suddenly sensed the extraordinary nature of this youth before her.

“You know what Dao is?”

“I know.” The youth answered blandly. “I hear that everyone wants to know what Dao is, wanting to seek clear proof from Heaven above, to know whether their Dao is truly ‘Dao’—this is called ‘attaining Dao.’ Do you also want to attain Dao?”

Jian Chou dared assert that even Fudao Shanren wouldn’t dare speak so boldly about knowing what “Dao” was.

Throughout countless millennia, how many dared claim to know?

In Jian Chou’s view, those who knew “Dao” had probably all achieved immortality.

So regarding this youth’s words, she was half-believing, half-doubting.

Blinking, Jian Chou said: “I don’t want to attain Dao, I’m just somewhat curious what Dao looks like.”

“Dao?”

The youth remained motionless, his gaze directed toward the distant sea horizon.

A ray of red light was cast by the sun that had emerged partway above the horizon, reflecting in his eyes with a kind of bloody crimson.

“That’s something very ugly, very ugly. You wouldn’t want to see it…”

Jian Chou felt this child might have some mental issues.

But talking with him felt wonderfully strange—it made Jian Chou feel peaceful at heart.

She didn’t mind changing the topic: “I don’t understand this Dao business. I’m more curious how you came to appear here?”

“I was originally here. It was you who disturbed me, so I appeared.” The youth slowly curled up, sitting across from Jian Chou, yet not approaching at all. “Have you heard this saying? ‘Born at dawn, dead at dusk, neither drinking nor eating; a drop in the vast sea, mayflies in heaven and earth.'”

“Not completely, but I’ve heard it.” Jian Chou nodded. “Mayflies are born at dawn and die at dusk.”

That youth immediately showed a strange smile: “I am a mayfly, born this very morning.”

“…”

Jian Chou was immediately stunned.

Mayflies were very small insects, often living near water, with lifespans of merely one day. Jian Chou had seen them in many places, but this was her first time meeting a “person” who called himself a “mayfly.”

The youth suddenly laughed aloud, as if finding Jian Chou very interesting: “I was watching you from nearby for a while. You’re human, right? Are all humans as interesting as you?”

“I’m… not particularly interesting. Truly interesting people should be like my master…”

Jian Chou wanted to tell him what Fudao Shanren was like, but her mind suddenly recalled what she had just said.

Mayflies are born at dawn and die at dusk.

Her voice immediately stopped, and Jian Chou didn’t continue.

The youth said, “Why did you stop talking?”

“Nothing worth saying.” Jian Chou shook her head.

The youth asked again: “A mayfly is talking to you—aren’t you surprised?”

“…Yes, but it’s no longer very important.”

“I was born this morning. When the sunset sinks and twilight comes, I must die.” The youth’s voice seemed to begin changing. Jian Chou could sense this voice had become much more mature and much more weathered.

Born at dawn, dead at dusk.

This youth before her would have to—die—when evening came?

But the youth himself showed no excited emotion whatsoever, his voice as level as a straight line.

“Mayflies are born at dawn and die at dusk, living only one day. This too is Dao. But like you cultivators, I’ve only just been born—why must I die? I don’t want to die.”

He continued: “Tell me, could there be a mayfly in this world that lives longer than one day?”

Jian Chou couldn’t answer.

The youth’s gaze fell on Jian Chou’s face. He said, “You cultivators can gain longevity by comprehending Dao. I want that too. I don’t believe I can live past one day.”

“What if you can’t?”

In her heart was an ineffable heaviness, perhaps because this youth’s few words seemed to touch something?

Jian Chou wasn’t sure, only asking.

“Sun rises, I live; sun sets, I die. Comprehending Dao brings death—why should this be?”

That youth slowly stood up, gazing at that gradually rising red sun.

His voice grew from gentle and slow to increasingly soul-stirring.

“If Dao won’t let me live past one day, I will make the rising sun never set, the setting sun never rise; let there be no dawn or dusk under heaven, no day or night; make time never flow, all eternity as one day!”