“Miaoyi fell into the Underworld and used her power of vows to leave me a parting message, saying… ‘may we meet in the next life.'”
Ye Fan wandered alone through the cosmos, gazing up at the boundless starry sky, his heart shattered with grief. He needed power — a transcendent divine might capable of matching a Supreme Being — for without it, how could he ever break into the Underworld?
The divine pagoda had lost several of its tiers. Five hundred years had long since settled dust upon it, and dust had settled upon old memories too. The Western Desolate could no longer show him the Ayur Lake he once knew, nor that graceful silhouette.
Ye Fan descended to the earth and walked step by step, searching desperately. In those days, the two of them had strolled around the lake together, listening to the distant tolling of ancient temple bells — even now it felt as though those moments were still before his eyes.
Ahead lay only rubble. The great bell had been shattered for hundreds of years, its rust half-buried in the soil. The Ayur Lake had dried up completely, becoming a stretch of barren wilderness, nothing left but sand and gravel.
The matchless brilliance of those days, that silhouette as pure and white as a lotus — she was no longer of this world. Everything had become the past. Only the wind remained, stirring the tattered scriptures with a rustling sound, spinning the damaged prayer wheels with discordant chiming, yet somehow still echoing the meditative chants of the Buddhist tradition.
He remembered: at a dusk when evening clouds blazed across the sky and the setting sun dyed the sacred temple crimson, they had parted. He had set off down his own path; she had seen him off with a smile — a brilliant smile — yet crystalline teardrops had slid down her cheeks.
“Ahh—!”
Ye Fan stood at the shore of the Ayur Lake in the Western Desolate and roared to the heavens. His hair flew wildly in every direction, like countless dragons and serpents dancing in the air, as the most powerful aura he possessed erupted outward.
Sand and stones flew in all directions, the rolling dust surging like ocean waves, crashing against the shores and splitting the plateau, sweeping outward like a surging floodtide, startling the entire vast expanse of land.
A single grief-laden laugh escaped him — a helpless glance back.
One after another, springs cracked open across the dried lakebed, water gurgling upward, clear and crystalline. After two days and two nights, the Ayur Lake filled again; seen from the heavens above, it looked like a single teardrop.
The dust of the Ahan Temple had vanished, but the dim and weathered rubble still lay scattered there — crumbling walls and broken ruins, unchanged. Ye Fan had no desire to rebuild it.
“A miracle!”
“The waters of the Ayu Lake have returned! Heaven has shown its grace!”
On the plateau, many herdsmen came running, spreading the news to one another, flocking toward the Ayu Lake, many weeping with joy.
This land had once been fertile, rich with fish and grain. But since the dark upheaval, the spiritual veins here had collapsed and shattered, leaving the plateau barren and desolate.
“The Ayur Lake has reappeared — Heaven has once again bestowed its blessing upon us. This is the radiant jewel of our plateau; our most precious sacred lake will bring us abundance once more!”
Many people cheered. Quite a few elders were so moved that tears streamed down their faces. They came forward step by step, prostrating themselves with each step as though on a pilgrimage, and many others followed their example, offering prayers at the lake’s edge.
“Look — that person… he looks so familiar. He is exactly like the one in the painting. He must be the immortal from all those years ago!”
Suddenly, a wizened old man whose eyes were clouded with age revealed an expression of astonishment. He shuffled forward trembling, and caught sight of Ye Fan.
By the lake, Ye Fan stood quietly, lost in his own world, gazing at the Ayur Lake and thinking of past moments, one by one.
“May I ask — are you the immortal from those years ago?” The old man’s voice trembled.
Ye Fan turned around, saw them all, and let out a soft sigh. He said nothing.
“It is him — the one from the painting!”
“Our ancestors once laid eyes upon him. He and a female Bodhisattva walked here together, scattering divine light, helping many people.”
“Yes — that female Bodhisattva once cultivated here, saving many people. Many households still keep a portrait of her.”
Their ancestors had lived here for generations. Their forebears had spoken of a female Bodhisattva who had cultivated on this land and shown great kindness to everyone across the entire plateau — healing the gravely ill, bathing newborn infants in divine light, helping the herdsmen open fertile pastures, and guiding rivers to irrigate the fields.
Some had witnessed this female Bodhisattva walking alongside Ye Fan. The two of them had appeared like a pair of immortal companions, leaving a deep impression upon the herdsmen’s ancestors.
“Is the female Bodhisattva still with us?” An elderly man pushed aside the support of his grandchildren, knelt down to give thanks, and asked the question.
Ye Fan’s heart ached deeply. Now only he remained — how could he answer? He raised his hand and scattered a shower of light, covering everyone with it. The wizened elders found their spirits restored and vigorous; the middle-aged were rid of all their ailments; the children became bright-eyed and healthier than before.
“It truly is the divine figure from those years — the one who walked beside the female Bodhisattva. Can you tell us where the female Bodhisattva has gone? We have kept her portrait enshrined and have been grateful for generations.”
From behind, a herdsman, gathering his courage, called out loudly.
Ye Fan remained silent. His hands moved slowly in sweeping gestures, and the earth rumbled beneath, the entire plateau trembling. Now his techniques of origin had reached their supreme peak; he could transform heaven and earth. Before long, he had reconnected the underground dragon veins beneath, and spiritual energy came gurgling upward.
Then he rose into the air, extended two fingers like a blade, and plowed through the earth below, carving out waterway after waterway. Before long, water flowed along the channels he had carved, nourishing the barren land until it bloomed with life again.
“The immortal has shown his power — we give thanks for Heaven’s blessing!”
Many herdsmen witnessed this, fell to their knees, and called out like the roar of mountains and the surge of seas.
“This is not the grace of Heaven, and it is not the compassion of the earth. Do not bow to me either. All of this is what the female Bodhisattva in your hearts once did. I believe that if she were still alive, she would do the same still. If you wish to offer tribute, if you wish to pay reverence — please honor her. Remember her name: An Miaoyi!”
High in the sky, Ye Fan’s silhouette faded away.
In an age when Mount Sumeru had been shattered to pieces, when the Great Thunder Sound Temple had fallen, when Buddhism had declined and faith had faltered, the living beings on the Ayur Plateau had never ceased to hold this female Bodhisattva in their hearts — testament to how deeply she had once touched the souls of the people.
From that day forward, the collapsed Ahan Ancient Temple — its crumbling walls and broken ruins — was rebuilt. The ancient temple rose again and was bathed in sacred radiance under the setting sun. The scattered rubble was washed clean by the herdsmen and laid back into place, just as it had always been, using the original ancient materials.
Within the temple, no ancient Buddhas of the heavens were enshrined. There was only a single woman: An Miaoyi. Every day, people came to pray. The incense and offerings grew more plentiful with each passing day. Even the clay-sculpted divine image began to take on a life and radiance of its own.
Ye Fan then went to the Lanta Temple, but could find nothing there anymore — not even the faintest trace remained. He ascended Mount Sumeru, which was no longer in its former glory but had grown somewhat quiet and desolate. Though a fair number of powerful figures and missionaries had arrived from the Amitabha Ancient Star Domain, none of it could compare with the grand and magnificent air of what had once been the number one sacred ground of the Buddhist tradition.
Bodhi trees stretched as far as the eye could see, covering every slope and valley.
Ye Fan wandered without purpose, leaving his footprints across Mount Sumeru, and then traveled east, crossing Central Province and heading toward the Eastern Desolate to search for traces of the past.
But it was all like bubbles and shadows in a dream — swift as lightning, all buried in what had passed.
“Miaoyi is gone…” Ye Fan walked alone through the mountains and rivers, roaming through the vast wilderness, like a lone wolf — solitary beneath the blood-red remnants of the setting sun.
He had to grow stronger. He had to reach the point where he could stand against a Supreme Being. Looking back across five hundred years, every last fragment of those memories moved his heart and set it surging; his blood began to race and flow.
“The Underworld — I will break my way in!”
With a single long, resounding cry, ten thousand valleys and mountains thundered in response. Like a comet streaking across the sky, he left traces of his presence across many places that day.
When he found the ruins of the Divine City in the Northern Domain and held a memorial there, it caused a great commotion. Some recognized him, and the news spread across the Eastern Desolate like a hurricane.
“The Sacred Physique Ye Fan, who vanished for so many years, has returned!”
“My heavens — he has come. The peerless expert of this age, who has slain six or seven Ancient Emperor bloodline scions — who can rival him?”
The Eastern Desolate trembled. Countless powerful figures rushed over, especially many later-generation cultivators and young powerhouses who had risen over the past few decades — all of them overwhelmed with excitement.
“Senior — is it really you?”
“Senior Ye, please accept me as your disciple!”
A crowd surrounded him. Some prostrated themselves in deep reverence, trembling with emotion; some walked forward on their knees, hoping to become his disciples.
Hundreds of years had passed. The enemies Ye Fan had once faced had either been reduced to ash and smoke or had been beaten into submission by his disciples. His renown resounded across the star rivers, and naturally many people admired and yearned to follow him.
And the achievements of that battle more than three hundred years ago could not be erased. He had given his life for the Dao, his blood splashing across the starry sky. He had fallen for hundreds of years — and his miraculous return had naturally made him a legend.
Ye Fan looked at these young and inexperienced faces and thought of many things. He too had once been so full of vigor, with ambitions great enough to swallow mountains and rivers whole — but by now he found that all his past pursuits had slowly transformed into something else.
Only five hundred years had passed along the path of cultivation, and his life already carried irreparable regrets. One could only imagine what those Great Emperors who had survived a hundred battles and aged alone in solitude had faced. The mere thought of it felt desolate beyond words.
Ye Fan helped those still somewhat youthful figures to their feet, said nothing, and passed through the crowd, heading into the distance. He had no heart for taking on disciples now.
Outside the crowd, some old acquaintances caught sight of him. The Wanchu and Dayan Sacred Grounds had suffered catastrophic collapse during the dark age, with only a handful of survivors. Seeing Ye Fan as he was now, their expressions were incomparably complex.
A man with snow-white hair but the face of a middle-aged man wore a blank expression. He was the Sacred Son of Wanchu who had been chosen later — though he had taken the position of Sacred Master, they had ultimately declined into obscurity and withdrawn into mundane life. Looking at Ye Fan, who had once stood as his equal in fame but now had long since become a legend known throughout the entire cosmos, he could only manage a bitter smile. Time — so merciless, it had buried too much.
Among the crowd, a woman with clear and bright eyes stood quietly watching, as serene and tranquil as she had always been. Ye Fan felt something stir in his heart, glanced back, and gave her a nod. He recognized her as the Sacred Lady of the Dao Yi Sect — they had met a few times in the past, and he held a favorable impression of her.
“Brother Ye — you’ve truly left all of us able only to watch from afar. What you once said about the Sacred Physique reaching Great Perfection and becoming unrivaled under heaven — it is about to come true.” By the roadside, another powerfully built man with a full head of jet-black hair spoke.
He was the later Sacred Master of the Dayan Sacred Ground. As the years had made him stronger, he found that he could no longer keep pace with the man he once knew — that person had left him far behind.
Ye Fan glanced back, nodded in acknowledgment as well, and vanished from that place entirely.
The Wind Clan had not been destroyed. A phoenix-drawn solar carriage waited at a distance; someone within watched from inside, and could only let out a helpless sigh. Ye Fan had become a figure who gave even the Ancient Emperor bloodlines headaches. Very few could compare to him now.
The Northern Dipper still had many ancient clans, and quite a few had come to watch. One by one, their expressions were complex. Facing Ye Fan, they had no choice but to lower their heads and step aside.
Ye Fan’s appearance shook the Northern Dipper. Many — both familiar and unfamiliar — came rushing in hopes of meeting him, including remnants of the Great Xia Dynasty that had never been destroyed, as well as cultivators and sect masters from the Heavenly Demon Palace, the Jade Pool, and other places.
He did not linger. He departed alone, venturing deep into the wilderness. Three words echoed in his ears: “…may we meet in the next life…”
His heart felt as though it were being cut by a blade. Others believed his pace of cultivation was already fast enough. Yet he felt it was still insufficient. He still could not sweep across all directions without rival — there were still Supreme Being enemies in this world!
He began to assault his breakthrough. The blood within his body surged and boiled. He observed the sun, the moon, the mountains, and the rivers; he followed the natural course of the Dao, letting it enter his eyes, his heart, and his very spirit. He read the Imperial Scriptures of those who had come before. One by one, the scripture texts took shape, like towering ancient emperors, encircling him.
Ye Fan sat in meditation. With the sun, moon, mountains, and rivers as his teachers, and the Imperial Scriptures as his companions, he sought to surge toward the heavens — to face every enemy in this world head-on.