Twenty years passed in tumult. The Dao Palace was established, bringing stability to one part of the cosmos. During this time there had been campaigns and bloody battles, yet the Dao Palace suffered no great damage.

Over those twenty years, the divine organization and the Underworld had gone to war — and that conflict showed the world just how fearsome two great inherited powers could be when unleashed. Had enmity not existed between the two sides, either one of them alone could have imposed its dominion over the entire cosmos.

The Underworld had mobilized several vast armies — hundreds of thousands strong — that appeared throughout the various regions, sweeping away all resistance and destroying no small number of divine statues, erupting into fierce battles with the divine organization.

What struck terror in people’s hearts was this: among the powerful cultivators the Underworld had deployed, many were famous figures from ancient times — some of them recorded in historical chronicles, still remembered to this day.

These were their bodies — corpses that, after tens of thousands of years, had given birth to their own consciousness, manifesting new signs of life and becoming new living entities.

And all of this was the achievement of the Underworld — a legacy that inspired dread. Throughout the entire history of cultivation, they had occupied a position of great importance, keeping watch over each generation’s most outstanding figures and spiriting away their bodies after death. The sheer scale of this undertaking — this monumental enterprise — made the skin crawl.

During that war, a stone idol of the divine organization had also made its presence felt in the mortal realm. It was said that one important ancient-corpse commander of the Underworld had cried out in recognition, naming it as a Divine General from the era of the Heavenly Court.

A stone figure — given consciousness by millions of years of worship from the faithful, born of accumulated prayer — was genuinely astounding to the mortal world.

In truth, it was not a Divine General from the era of the Supreme Emperor. It was only an artificial sacred spirit — its interior inscribed with all manner of great Dao runes, originally fashioned in commemoration of one of the Heavenly Court’s Divine Generals. Over the course of vast ages of evolution, the accumulated devotion of worshippers had formed within it a divine sense, the power of prayer crystallizing into a god.

Twenty years of warfare. Two colossal forces fought until entire star systems were shattered, both suffering grievous losses. The full extent of their power and the hidden means they deployed left people shuddering.

Chaos and turmoil. Rivers of blood.

The Dao Palace was growing. The Undying Empress’s dynasty was also in a period of quiet consolidation — no bloody wars had erupted — but everyone knew a confrontation between the two was inevitable.

In the cosmos, four great powers had by now drawn clear boundaries. None dared act rashly, and no great war could break out again for the foreseeable future.

During this period, many five-colored altars and ancient emperor platforms throughout the various regions had been repaired. Star gates rose again. Travel between the different parts of the cosmos was no longer so arduous.

The Heavenly Court, though powerful — having absorbed much of the Spirit Court’s territory — was still insufficient when compared to the four colossal powers. Whether measured by the strength of its foremost individual cultivators or its overall might, it could not be placed in the same breath.

It had the potential to become the fifth great power, but had not yet achieved that status.

The organization harbored many gifted cultivators of tremendous promise, and its future was bright — yet it could not yet truly stand sovereign over all, with too many variables and uncertainties. No one had ranked it among the same tier as those colossal powers.

Of course, no one would dare underestimate them, either. Just how formidable had the Lord Emperor been in his time? And yet he had once fled from the Heavenly Court in complete rout. This was a place that even beings on the threshold of the Dao treated with wariness.

The Northern Dipper had once been devastated — reduced to ruin, its appearance utterly destroyed, corpses piled everywhere and blood flowing like rivers.

Later, someone had fused its scattered and fragmented stars into one body, then brought in new suns, moons, and constellations to fill the star-space that had been reduced to void — equivalent to reforging an entire river of stars, reopening heaven and earth.

Several hundred years had passed. Whether the rifts in the mountains and the earth or the wounds in people’s hearts — all had been nearly smoothed over and healed. The common people had already cycled through one generation after another.

Though tales of that era’s blood and chaos still circulated in this world, all that was beautiful and at peace endured as well — never extinguishing the longing in people’s hearts.

The Eastern Desolation — vast and expansive. Here were seven great Forbidden Life Zones, the birthplace of the dark chaos.

Mountains of bones had long since ceased to exist, dissolved into the yellow earth.

Even so, this place remained beautiful — just as it had been in those days. Magnificent mountains and rivers. Miracles of the mortal world. Legends of undying medicine that drew people from across the world.

And now, with the star gates revived, five-colored altars, ancient emperor platforms, and all manner of the most complex teleportation formations had gradually come back to light — dug from among the ruins by human hands. Works left behind by descendants of later eras of antiquity had also been put to use.

This star region was no longer the exclusive realm of Northern Dipper inhabitants. Cultivators from every part of the cosmos appeared here, coming with complex emotions to look upon what was known as the Star That Buries Emperors.

Some came on pilgrimage — bowing at every three steps, making their way toward the secluded cultivation sites and Dao grounds where the ancient great emperors had once resided.

Some came out of enmity and hatred — gazing from a distance toward the several great Forbidden Life Zones, not daring to approach, hovering outside, silently cursing. It was from those places that supreme beings had emerged to kill their forebears — causing the deaths of so many.

“So this is the ruins of the Ji Family — what a magnificent stretch of mountain ranges, what grand and sweeping terrain.” Someone exclaimed in admiration.

“Those mountains were once divine islands floating in the sky. They came crashing down later, struck by the aftershocks of battles between supreme beings. Otherwise they would be many times more magnificent than this.”

Before one ancient ruin in the Southern Region, many had gathered in somber reflection. Many voices spoke in lament — imagining those days of old, when the Void Emperor had sacrificed himself in battle, and in the end half a bronze mirror was stained with blood and buried in the void, enough to move people to tears.

Many traveled south to look upon the Primordial Forbidden Ground — perhaps the only forbidden zone that no one bore hatred toward. According to legend, the dark chaos had been brought to an end by the existence within that place. Whether the nine sacred mountains had long since been destroyed, the divine medicine had vanished without a trace — only the ruins remained below the abyss. No one knew whether the Female Emperor was still there, and none dared enter.

For the aura that stripped away the years still lingered — as if foretelling something yet unseen.

“I’ve heard it was here that the human cultivator Ye Fan first rose to prominence. I don’t know if it’s true.” A powerful cultivator from the Heavenly Horse Clan said.

“Of course it’s true. He entered and left several times, taking away the Undying Sacred Fruit — and it was that which dissolved his Bitter Sea and set him on the cultivation path.” Someone sighed softly.

“Such is fate and fortune. If not for the great opportunity encountered here, perhaps there would be no would-be emperor of this generation — no killer of Ancient Emperor children.”

Many lamented being born in the wrong era. Had they lived in those times, perhaps they too might have taken someone’s place and claimed those great opportunities for themselves.

Some people are always like this — forever filled with regret and longing for the past — while the true opportunity lies ahead of them, yet they never manage to grasp it.

“Master — you are still well. Your disciple is relieved.” At the edge of the crowd, a lone figure stood motionless, gazing silently toward the horizon, lost in many thoughts.

“Hm? Isn’t that Long Yuxuan? He’s one of the foremost powerhouses among the demon clan of the Northern Dipper today.” Someone noticed him, a look of surprise on their face.

Long Yuxuan said nothing and walked away toward the distance.

“I’ve heard he’s a disciple of the Holy Body Ye Fan. I wonder if it’s true?”

“In those days, the old Roc King took him in as his adopted son and gave everything he had — opening the Heavenly Gate of the Heavenly Roc lineage and passing on its secret techniques. Unfortunately the old Roc King’s own closed-door seclusion ultimately failed. Otherwise the demon clan would surely have produced another Great Sage.”

People sighed and lamented. Long Yuxuan heard every word, a look of sorrow crossing his face, as he walked away without looking back.

“It’s time to reunite with my martial brother,” he murmured softly with a quiet sigh.

A Daoist was walking through the mortal world — earnestly attending to every faithful adherent who came to him. His name was Zhang Qingyang. He had returned from beyond the outer region after the dark chaos ended, and like a wandering ascetic he moved through the mortal world — using no magical arts, invoking no divine techniques — transmitting the Dao among common people.

Over these years, his study of the power of faith had reached a level that shook the heavens and moved the earth. It must be said — his gift in this domain was extraordinarily rare throughout all of history.

Several hundred years of time. Beyond Long Yuxuan, no one knew — that somewhere in the mortal world, there was such a person of supreme genius, whose achievements were enough to shake the ancient and illuminate the present.

These achievements were not reflected in combat power — but in his analysis and understanding of the power of faith, which had surpassed every sage of every generation.

“Martial brother — have you made new discoveries?” Long Yuxuan asked.

“Astonishing discoveries. We must go tell Master immediately. I have found — the power of faith can cause a person to live on in the hearts of all living beings. It truly is a direction toward eternal life.” Zhang Qingyang had taken his leave of the mortal world and emerged from deep within his research — he was tremendously agitated, quite unlike the serene, sacred preacher manner he carried day to day.

“Is it truly possible?” Long Yuxuan was skeptical.

“It is possible. Ancient supreme beings studied the power of faith — and they had their reasons. It is tremendously useful. What is spoken of as the ‘afterlife’ is connected to precisely this.” Zhang Qingyang grew more and more animated as he spoke, and finally put forward a world-shattering conjecture: “I suspect Amitabha Buddha is still alive to this day, awaiting reincarnation. The Undying Celestial Emperor may also not have died — and will one day appear again. Throughout all of history, these two walked furthest down this path!”

Long Yuxuan was shaken. Just what kind of extraordinary being was his martial brother — what had he managed to uncover?

“My conjecture may be true. Amitabha has been seated in the hearts of Buddhist faithful without ever fading — and what is spoken of as ‘reincarnation,’ as the ‘afterlife’ — it holds genuine possibility.” Zhang Qingyang pumped his fist vigorously, deeply elated.

As the two passed through a certain area of the Southern Region, both paused, looking toward it. Rays of auspicious light surged in cascading splendor, with ten thousand streams of colorful radiance — this was the sacred ground of Yao Guang.

The current sect leader was a woman named Weiwei. She was not famed within Yao Guang alone — she had vaguely begun to show signs of becoming the foremost powerhouse of the entire Northern Dipper, her depth unfathomable.

“This woman is extraordinary — quietly and without fanfare, she is said to have already become a would-be emperor.”

“Mm — oh, right, the people from Zhuo Peak have long since returned as well. Let’s bring that martial uncle along to see Master.” Long Yuxuan’s expression turned strange as he mentioned that particular martial uncle.

Zhuo Peak had long since been destroyed and no longer existed. What stood now was a newly established mountain peak. Zhang Wenchang was at peace these days — no longer grieving over the past, having truly committed himself to the path of cultivation.

Yet his cultivation level was something that simply left people without words. After several hundred years, he had at last stepped onto the second tier of the Immortal Platform — and even within an age of tremendous upheaval in the heavens and earth, with cultivation far easier than before, within Ye Fan’s company of outstanding prodigies, he could only be called a curiosity unto himself.

“Martial uncle — how much longer until Immortal Three Cuts and the achievement of kingship?” Zhang Qingyang asked.

“About five hundred more years, I’d think,” Zhang Wenchang replied after genuinely thinking it over.

Zhang Qingyang and Long Yuxuan both stumbled at the same time. This martial uncle was beyond help — and yet he cultivated with such sincerity and earnestness. This level of solemn dedication to the Dao left two people each called a prodigy genius in their respective fields completely and truly speechless, with nothing to say.

“Let’s go take one more look at the divine embryo in Jade Lake. When Ye Fan left, he was deeply worried about it. Jade Lake returned several decades ago — the divine embryo must have been brought back with it.” Zhang Wenchang said.

“Agreed — we were planning to make our way around anyway.” Long Yuxuan nodded.

Jade Lake had been restored, its scenery as lovely and vibrant as ever, auspicious mist rising in abundance. Beneath the ancient Flat Peach tree they found the Nine-Aperture Divine Stone — the divine embryo within had not yet come into the world.

“Your timing is perfect. I have something to give to Ye Fan — you may pass it along to the Ji Family.” The saintess of Jade Lake had long since become the leader of the sect. Her bearing was of supreme elegance and radiance — among the most beautiful women in all the current world.

Her figure was slender and graceful, and the expression on her flawlessly fair face was one of grave solemnity as she carefully presented a stone box, handing it to Zhang Wenchang and the others.

When they opened the stone box, they found half a piece of broken copper — mottled with rust, nearly crumbling to pieces.

Looking more carefully, they realized it was half of a bronze mirror — riddled with damage, covered in what one could call not rust, but more accurately dried and darkened bloodstains.

“This is…” All three were deeply shaken.

The three departed from Jade Lake with complex emotions, their thoughts unsettled. They headed for their next destination — the Western Desert.

In those days, Mount Sumeru had smashed into the road toward immortality and shattered into fragments. Now it stood here in pieces — and for a long period afterward, this area had been a kind of ghost land.

In the deathly stillness, ghost-fires flickered, and occasionally the sound of sutras would rise.

Several hundred years had passed. Now bodhi trees grew everywhere. Mount Sumeru was no longer without life — certain halls and shrines shone with light, and the great sound of chanted sutras rang out from time to time.

“We have no other intention. We only wish to know whether the Bodhisattva An Miaoyi still lives. This is the seventeenth time we have come to ask — please tell us truly.”