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墨書 Inktalez
At the summit of Heavenly Mechanism Mountain, Zhao Yang and his three companions, having recovered from their injuries, set off once more. They traversed rugged terrain, cutting through dense thickets until they arrived at a desolate area, where the remnants of destruction lay before them. Scattered in the distance were the lifeless bodies of many cultivators, all appearing withered and dry.
Suddenly, a chilling sensation washed over Zhao Yang. He leaped into the air, and the other three quickly followed suit. In the spot they had just vacated, waves of intense heat surged forth, crashing against the ground in powerful bursts.
As Zhao Yang surveyed the scene below, he recalled a phenomenon he had read about in One Hundred Thousand Volumes of Books—something known as the Drought Array. This natural formation ensnared any living being caught within it; once activated, it would evaporate the moisture from their bodies with extreme heat. Ordinary cultivators had no means to escape it, and it offered no warning signs, making it nearly impossible to defend against.
The four of them flew in the direction of the mountain's peak, but due to overwhelming resistance, they were forced to land and walk. The gravitational pull of Heavenly Mechanism Mountain was immense; even ordinary cultivators found it difficult to walk, let alone fly. Just as they descended halfway, several arrows suddenly shot up from the ground—thick as an arm and packed with formidable destructive power.
They easily dodged the arrows and landed safely on the ground, only to find themselves quickly surrounded by a group of people.
"Who are you?" demanded an elderly man at the forefront, his expression unfriendly.
"Just travelers," Zhao Yang replied.
"What sect do you belong to?" the elder pressed on.
"Xuanfo Temple," Zhao Yang answered, though his expression clearly showed displeasure. "Considering you don't know who we are, I can spare your lives—now get lost."
Upon hearing Zhao Yang's words, the group erupted into laughter. The elder couldn't help but smile as he responded, "I've truly never heard of Xuanfo Temple."
"Xuanfo Temple is one of the Five Major Sects in the cultivation world. How could you not have heard of it?" Zhao Yang knew that the elder was deliberately feigning ignorance, yet he insisted on asking.
"In this tiny place, not having heard of something is just that—never heard of it. What Five Major Sects? It's nothing but a joke. How many from the Five Major Sects have actually made it up Heavenly Mechanism Mountain?" the elder countered.
"The number of people from the Five Major Sects may not exceed that of Loose Cultivators, but their overall strength is significantly greater. For one thing, regarding disciple qualifications: aside from my Xuanfo Temple, all disciples from the other four major sects possess Single Spiritual Roots. Their cultivation methods are superior to those of Loose Cultivators and they practice more diligently with access to better resources. Consequently, their talents tend to be more impressive. The reason so few from the Five Major Sects come up here is that they are all waiting in line at the base of Heavenly Mechanism Mountain for a few higher-level cultivators from their sects to ascend and compete for opportunities. Ultimately, these opportunities will always fall into the hands of major sects; do you really think any spots will go to Loose Cultivators?" Zhao Yang patiently explained in an attempt to persuade the elder.
"So, you all are the ones with a bit more cultivation from the Great Sect Xuanfo Temple?" The old man's face darkened, clearly embarrassed by Zhao Yang's rebuttal. Who in the world had not heard of Xuanfo Temple? Just the name Datong alone was enough to silence countless sects across the land. His words were merely a formality, a prelude to the confrontation, but he never expected the other party to lay bare such well-known truths.
It was like how officials accepted bribes; everyone knew it was common practice to give gifts when asking someone to do a favor, yet no one would openly admit it.
This world operated on such unspoken rules—everyone knew certain things, but few dared to speak them aloud. To do so would invite targeting.
At that moment, the old man's murderous intent was palpable as he glared at Zhao Yang, wishing he could tear him apart.
"Why waste words with him? Just kill them all!" Song Baliang was not someone to be trifled with. Seeing the old man's unfriendly expression, he immediately shouted and charged into the crowd. Heads flew as he fought his way through, almost killing one with each punch. After feeling humiliated during the Ghost Path battle, he could no longer hold back against these Loose Cultivators who dared to act arrogantly toward them.
Some of these people had indeed reached the Divine Transformation Stage, but they were utterly powerless against Nangong Wuxin. Even Scholar Xiu found it easy to deal with those Core Formation Stage Loose Cultivators. This only fueled his excitement; as the saying goes, "One becomes red by staying close to vermilion." Being around geniuses for an extended period naturally made one stronger.
Years ago, his grandfather Huang Long Laodao had foretold that his life would become extraordinary because of one person.
With mediocre talent, he still believed he could become a top master in the cultivation world.
Moments later, like a hungry tiger pouncing on its prey, the Loose Cultivators were annihilated, leaving only the old man standing before Zhao Yang.
The old man stared in disbelief. He wanted to flee but found himself immobilized by a powerful binding force—Zhao Yang's Divine Sense Power.
Zhao Yang casually asked, "Do you have anything else to say?"
The old man felt tears welling up in his eyes and replied, "To the victor belong the spoils."
Zhao Yang said, "That's not what I meant. What I’m asking is whether you think Xuanfo Temple is a major sect now, and whether you believe we are indeed more skilled practitioners."
The old man seemed surprised, but more so confused. After all, in front of these so-called higher-level practitioners, a large number of people had just died. Anger surged within him, causing him to tremble slightly as he replied, "Do you not think it trivial to ask such questions in the face of so many lost lives?"
Zhao Yang shook his head. "The questions I ask are never trivial, for it is these seemingly insignificant inquiries that have led to your deaths. I often ponder a question: why do we consider our own lives and those of our loved ones so important, while the lives of others seem insignificant? This question could very well guide the future direction of the Cultivation world. Can you help me answer it?"
The old man stared at Zhao Yang, trembling slightly. In the end, he could only utter one word: "Madman."
Indeed, in the face of death, Zhao Yang posed questions that appeared unrelated. He claimed that this inquiry might lead to the future development of the Cultivation world—a statement that no one else could comprehend, including Nangong Wuxin, Song Baliang, and Scholar Xiu standing behind him.
Years later, when Scholar Xiu faced mountains of corpses and seas of blood, he finally understood Zhao Yang's words.
Why is it that people consider their own lives and those close to them important while viewing others' lives as mere weeds? The act of slaughtering thousands with a mere gesture or annihilating a nation with a single punch seems simple enough, yet it encompasses countless unspeakable complexities. How does one transform from an innocent child into a being that regards human life as insignificant?
In the end, the old man could not answer Zhao Yang's question nor comprehend it. Each of them lived within their own understanding; no one knew how Zhao Yang truly thought.
Thus, those who do not wish to kill are forced into murder. Although no one holds a knife to their throat, Zhao Yang still felt compelled to kill him—simply because of ideology. Disasters arise from words spoken due to differing thoughts; varying perceptions and viewpoints lead to all sorts of hatred and conflict.
Therefore, great philosophers throughout history have proposed an idea known as Datong—a vision of an ideal world free from disputes and disasters.
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