In those days, Jian Chou was still a newly admitted “eldest senior sister” who didn’t deserve her title. Qu Zhengfeng hadn’t yet betrayed Yashan and was Jian Chou’s “second junior brother.” After witnessing the mayfly riding the kun away from the Western Sea’s Dameng Reef and returning to Yashan, Jian Chou received a thunder message from Fu Chaosheng. When she was reading the message, Qu Zhengfeng happened to be nearby.

Their relationship wasn’t very harmonious at that time.

So there was the conversation Jian Chou mentioned just now.

Qu Zhengfeng didn’t know where that message came from then, nor did he know who the great demon riding the kun was, much less what relationship he had with Jian Chou.

Now that she brought up old matters, he suddenly understood.

So early on, his “little junior sister” had already befriended that unfathomable great demon whom even Hengxu Zhenren feared somewhat!

“You’ve been thinking about this question since then.” Qu Zhengfeng poured himself another cup of wine and also poured one for Jian Chou. “But why only now do you suddenly find yourself trapped within it, to the point where demonic obstacles suddenly arise in your heart?”

“Back then, I was no different from foolish ordinary people—thinking casually, asking casually, never imagining this matter would have any particularly personal relevance to me, not to mention that my understanding then couldn’t compare with my understanding now.”

Jian Chou watched the wine being poured drop by drop, also seeing Qu Zhengfeng’s slender fingers with slight calluses gripping the wine pot—these must have been left from long years of sword practice.

“Moreover, in the past, I never thought I would become his close friend.”

Qu Zhengfeng heard it—the front was objective reasons, the back was subjective reasons. He lowered his eyes slightly and said flatly: “So what do you think now?”

“If thinking according to common sense, naturally he and I are not of the same kind. I’m constrained by human nature, while he has innate demon nature. Fish and bear’s paw cannot both be obtained—if one wants something, one must give up something else. But I hesitate and waver, finding it difficult to decide.” Jian Chou usually gave people a decisive impression, yet now she frankly admitted her hesitation and wavering, even smiling. “His Majesty the Sword Emperor just asked if I truly know myself. I dare say I know eight parts, but I don’t dare claim to understand this world at all. Yet His Majesty the Sword Emperor seems to be quite the opposite.”

He said he didn’t understand himself, but claimed to understand this world.

To Jian Chou, this was an extremely profound statement.

Because she suspected that even Kunwu Hengxu Zhenren, who had “realm-level” cultivation, wouldn’t dare say he understood the world.

That mass of shadow remained very deep.

Qu Zhengfeng’s entire being seemed covered by this shadow, with only the golden threads woven into his black robe able to reflect the dim lamplight lit in the building’s corner.

Between his brows and eyes, he was finally tinged with indescribable mockery.

He asked Jian Chou once again: “Since ancient times, the word ‘Heaven’ has different meanings in different people’s eyes. There is natural heaven, primordial heaven, and sovereign heaven. One gives rise to the relationship between nature and humans, one gives rise to the relationship between humans and rules, one gives rise to the relationship between humans and divine beings. Which kind of ‘Heaven’ do you think is the true ‘Heaven’?”

The question was somewhat obscure, but to put it more clearly, it was simply asking: Do you believe there are divine beings in the world? Do you believe there are rules in the world? Do you believe heaven is just everything in the natural universe?

This time, Jian Chou had no hesitation.

For these questions, she had her own answers in her heart: “The wise command ghosts and spirits, while the foolish believe in them. The world has legends of Pangu creating heaven and earth, honoring him as ‘Great Pangu,’ seemingly no different from divine beings, but this is only from our cultivators’ perspective. Great Pangu is divine in our eyes; we are also divine in the eyes of mortals on isolated islands. All divine beings are relative. If speaking in absolute terms, there should be no divine beings in the world.”

Qu Zhengfeng laughed: “But there are deities in the world.”

Deities?

Jian Chou’s heart jumped, extremely sensitive to these two words. She almost immediately raised her head to look at him, about to ask further.

But unexpectedly, Qu Zhengfeng had no intention of going deeper into this topic. He passed over it lightly and asked instead: “What about the other two?”

“Nature exists, rules exist. I only believe that humans come from heaven and earth and have always been part of nature. All matters of heaven and earth are natural. Heaven and earth are mysterious and yellow, the universe vast and ancient, sun and moon wax and wane, stars are arrayed. Divine beings may not exist, but the universe operates according to its patterns. According to what His Majesty the Sword Emperor said earlier, humans, and indeed all sentient beings between heaven and earth, all crave life and fear death. So cultivators absorb the floating power between heaven and earth, explore the patterns of heaven and earth, seeking to approach the universe and achieve eternity.”

Speaking to this point, her brow suddenly furrowed.

What rose from the depths of her heart at this moment was actually a kind of seemingly endless bewilderment, and even her remaining words dissolved in such bewilderment.

Seeing her like this, Qu Zhengfeng knew she had already thought of where the contradiction lay.

The sages of isolated islands and the great powers of Shijiu Zhou all explored the ultimate principles between heaven and earth, but from the moment they were born—even while still in their mother’s belly—they were already deeply marked with human imprints, influenced by the rules of human society, like someone born with only one eye seeing the world through that single eye.

But was the world really as seen through one eye?

Not necessarily.

This was a contradictory cognition taken to extremes, even thinking about it could make one’s hair stand on end, so much so that ordinary people dared not think deeply about it, because it was almost rebellious, pessimistic, fruitless, and meaningless.

But Qu Zhengfeng dared.

He had already put down the wine pot, picked up the wine cup but didn’t drink, just looking at the flickering lamplight reflection in the cup, saying calmly: “The rules of cosmic operation that humans acknowledge are merely spoken of in terms of the universe’s influence on humans. In human eyes, the passage of time is a rule, spatial transformation is a rule, the growth and death of all things is a rule. To humans, these rules seem to possess extraordinary meaning, but to the universe itself, meaning itself is meaningless.”

So divine beings don’t exist, rules don’t exist, leaving only nature that can encompass humans but has no deeper meaning.

For humans, this was a terrifying thing.

Humans always need to assign “meaning” to everything they do, but in this vast universe, “meaning” as a concept doesn’t exist. Life and death, mediocrity or transcendence—in the universe’s operation, they make no difference at all.

Life has no meaning.

Death has no meaning.

Even human existence itself has no meaning.

Countless people between heaven and earth have had such thoughts, but how many dare boldly speak them aloud? It’s like a paper window—once punctured, some terrifying monster would crawl out. Once someone says something like “meaning has no meaning,” so-called learned individuals stand up to condemn and scold those who speak such words as negative and nihilistic.

Because humans must assign meaning to their existence.

Craving life and fearing death is the most primal instinct of all sentient beings at birth. Once the thought “survival has no meaning” emerges in a human mind, the instinctual consciousness lurking in the depths begins to reject such thoughts, making people casually pass over such notions and instinctively attack others who speak such words.

Jian Chou raised her head to look at Qu Zhengfeng.

Qu Zhengfeng didn’t avoid her gaze at all, even continuing to watch her: “To heaven, heaven has no rules. If one must assign it rules, and only one rule is allowed, then it would probably be ‘destruction.’ But this ‘destruction’ is only ‘destruction’ in our eyes. To heaven, it might mean life, but more likely it’s meaningless.”

From one perspective, humans are very powerful, but from another perspective, humans are too insignificant. Even knowing themselves is so difficult—how much more so knowing the world?

Meaning is mutual.

But when enlarged to a complete whole, meaning indeed has no meaning.

When Jian Chou stopped earlier, she had already understood this principle, but she wouldn’t develop any suicidal or world-weary emotions, because like countless mediocre people in this world, in the deepest unknown parts of her consciousness, she feared death. So she acknowledged her mediocrity, acknowledged her limitations, then lived on with peace of mind.

She would even tell herself this wasn’t bad at all.

By now she understood much, but her original most pressing doubt still hadn’t been resolved: “Meaning itself has no meaning. According to what you say, regarding current distinctions of righteous and evil, good and bad, one should seemingly stand aside and ignore them.”

“It’s nothing more than righteousness and evil, good and bad.” Qu Zhengfeng suddenly didn’t want to continue, his voice carrying some indifference. “Whether they exist or not isn’t that important.”

Jian Chou fell silent.

Qu Zhengfeng then asked: “If one day your close demon friend slaughtered cultivators, even slaughtered fellow disciples from Yashan, could you coldly stand by and watch?”

Jian Chou shook her head: “I couldn’t.”

Qu Zhengfeng asked again: “If one day cultivators throughout the world, even fellow disciples from Yashan, drew swords against your close friend, could you act as if you saw nothing?”

Jian Chou still shook her head: “I couldn’t.”

Qu Zhengfeng then laughed: “What about the Heavenly Dao?”

Jian Chou was stunned, as if struck by a sudden enlightenment, suddenly awakening and instantly clearing away layers of confusion.

Yes.

How does the Heavenly Dao handle these disputes arising from righteousness and evil, good and bad in the world?

The Heavenly Dao never interferes.

And she—what she couldn’t do, she simply couldn’t do.

What she cultivated was the “Human Dao” and “My Dao” that befriended heaven, always carried along in worldly currents. Humans can use their standards to measure all things, but all things don’t measure themselves by the same standards. Human cognition can never transcend the entire world.

The more one cultivates, the more one knows one’s own insignificance.

Jian Chou and Qu Zhengfeng weren’t the same type of people. She focused more on examining her own heart, first knowing herself, then knowing the world. He seemed to first understand the world, then see himself clearly. But different paths in this world always lead to the same destination—these two approaches don’t contradict each other and even promote each other.

It’s just that some see the big from the small, while others see the small from the big.

She didn’t cultivate the Heavenly Dao, so naturally shouldn’t pursue acting like the Heavenly Dao. The Heavenly Dao manages nothing, but she must manage everything.

At this moment, countless thoughts surged in her mind, interweaving together, finally converging into a voice as loud as a great bell—

Look up three feet and there are no divine beings; between heaven and earth there are originally no ultimate principles!

So all demonic obstacles vanished like smoke, and the dao that had already appeared hazily in her heart after the Heart-Questioning began to become clear.

Jian Chou sat quietly for a long time. When all thoughts had dispersed and she rose again, she actually gave Qu Zhengfeng a deep bow: “Having crossed the bewildering ford, Jian Chou has been taught.”

Been taught?

Qu Zhengfeng slightly raised an eyebrow: “Interesting. I don’t know what you’ve been taught?”

“The world originally has no righteousness or evil—they’re divided by humans. The world originally has no good or bad—they’re created by humans. The world originally has no ultimate principles—rather than seeking ultimate principles, better to seek within one’s own heart.” Jian Chou smiled. “I’m originally a mortal. When I first entered this dao, I didn’t come seeking immortality and asking about the dao, so I needn’t use this to constrain myself. Among all things in heaven and earth, each has its category. In the endless universe, in human eyes, there seems to be injustice, but actually there’s equality. My actions don’t admire the ancient or preserve the present, but change with time and transform with custom. I myself am the changing standard used to measure all things.”

“Equality?”

Hearing these two words, Qu Zhengfeng couldn’t help but laugh once. His gaze was utterly unfathomable as it flowed, his words faintly revealing a strange sharpness, though his voice was somewhat light.

“Do you think the Six Paths of Reincarnation are also very equal?”

Six Paths of Reincarnation?

His voice was too light, like a sigh of unclear meaning. Jian Chou almost thought she had misheard. Stunned for a moment, she couldn’t help but frown, wanting to ask clearly.

“His Majesty the Sword Emperor means—”

His Majesty the Sword Emperor…

He had found these four words unpleasant before, but seeing that there was nothing more to say at this moment, he found them even more grating.

In this instant, he was too lazy even to hear her finish speaking. He casually threw the wine cup originally in his hand onto the long table between them, making a sharp “clang” in the silent night—extremely abrupt, smashing all of Jian Chou’s unspoken words back.

Drip, drip, drop.

Unfinished wine trickled down the table’s edge to the floor.

Jian Chou couldn’t quite react, raising her head to look at him.

But Qu Zhengfeng’s face showed no expression at all, as if he had done nothing just now. He only lowered his eyes, saying wearily and blandly: “Get lost.”

“…”

A “get lost” is always very rude, but at this moment, looking at him, Jian Chou vaguely understood where she had said something wrong.

But…

Everything in the world was just like this—vast and mighty like a flood that no one could change.

She looked at Qu Zhengfeng for a while, finally withdrawing her gaze. Neither getting angry nor saying more, she just bowed slightly, said “farewell,” then turned and left, going downstairs.

But standing on the street again, she couldn’t help but look back and linger.

The building top with scattered lights remained somewhat dim. At this hour, Xinghai had developed some mist, making it look even more obscure and unclear. Naturally, she couldn’t see Qu Zhengfeng’s figure either.

Jian Chou felt that this night’s Qu Zhengfeng had many things he wanted to say, but in the end, he hadn’t said them.

He was no longer a disciple of Yashan, but the new Sword Emperor of Mingri Xinghai.

After looking for quite a while, she always felt that statement about “Six Paths of Reincarnation” held deep meaning, but she couldn’t ask anymore. She finally withdrew her gaze and followed the old path she had taken here, walking back.