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墨書 Inktalez
In a daze, Zhao Yang wandered through the darkness for a long time. He felt as if he did not exist, unable to see himself, yet he was acutely aware that he was moving, as if drawn by an immensely powerful gravitational force.
He suspected this might be a dream, but he couldn't be sure. He recalled that he had seemingly died at the hands of the Central Sovereign. Strangely, though, he could clearly hear the voices of those around him.
He heard Liu Rou's soft sobs and the gentle sound of a kiss on his face. He heard the comforting voices of Song Baliang, Nangong Wuxin, and Scholar Xiu. At one point, he even heard Yu Qingsnow calling his name.
The most frequent sound he heard was the whimpering of Little Beast and the smacking sounds made by Chirping while it slept in his arms at night.
For a long time afterward, he heard no more voices. He wanted to speak but found that he couldn't open his mouth at all.
Zhao Yang had no idea where he was. Perhaps this was merely a fragment of consciousness or what people referred to as a soul.
He felt as if he had flown far and wide without stopping until one day when he sensed that he was surrounded by tunnels and some almost tangible entities; he could distinctly feel their presence.
Yet, he could not touch them. To be precise, he was not tangible himself and could not grasp anything; he lacked any form.
Zhao Yang felt somewhat lost. He wanted to shout loudly, but without a mouth, it seemed impossible. Here, it felt as if he had entered the Time-Space Tunnel, racing and weaving through it. He could not see the stars or any figures; there were no past or future sights—only endless repetitions of tunnels.
He couldn't even use his Divine Sense to observe his surroundings. Perhaps it was because his speed was so great that his thoughts couldn't keep up, or maybe he had lost his Divine Sense altogether. In any case, this passive state felt very unsettling.
Zhao Yang flew through the Time-Space Tunnel for what felt like an eternity. He had no idea where he was headed or what his current state truly was—was he going to be reincarnated, heading to the underworld, or perhaps returning to Earth?
All of this remained unclear to Zhao Yang, but his sense of time was strong. He felt that this journey must have taken quite a while—at least over a year.
He did not know the outcome of the battle, but Zhao Yang believed they must have won; otherwise, he wouldn't be able to hear everyone's voices so clearly.
It seemed that only he had perished.
A sense of reluctance filled Zhao Yang's heart. Although he wasn't afraid of death, he didn't want to die because there were so many things left unsaid and unfinished with everyone.
In quiet contemplation during this time, Zhao Yang reflected on many things; gradually, some of his confusion and doubts began to clear up.
From Liu Rou's whispers, he learned about the chaos in the Central Continent and the large-scale invasion of human territories by the demon army.
However, there remained one thing Zhao Yang could not understand: why did his master Sun Wukong not appear at the moment before his death?
Faced with the tens of thousands of royal family members with combat power above the Nascent Soul Stage, everyone around him had a higher cultivation level. No matter how powerful he was, he could not defy the heavens. In such a situation, he had been certain that Sun Wukong would come to rescue him, but he did not appear.
Could it be that something went wrong with his Monkey Hair? Was it because he accidentally burned some of it last time? Or perhaps after Sun Wukong returned to his original world, something happened, causing the remaining Monkey Hair to lose its magical power? Maybe these Monkey Hairs had an expiration date, and after all these years, the magic left on them had expired?
Zhao Yang pondered these trivial thoughts, exhausting nearly all possibilities.
One day, a strange voice echoed in his ear—a woman's voice. Shortly after, a man's voice followed, filled with a sense of weariness and strength. Their voices were low, almost inaudible, but he vaguely caught the words "summon soul."
In a haze, Zhao Yang felt his flight slow down until it came to a stop, and then he began to fly backward.
Time passed in this manner for quite a while. Zhao Yang faintly heard many ritualistic voices around him—ancient and long, filled with rhythm. This sound seemed to increase his flying speed significantly. He had no idea how long it lasted; it felt like an eternity.
Until one day, he heard the strong beating of his own heart, the chirping of birds, and the fragrance of flowers.
He felt himself returning to his body. He could look inward and see his vast Qi Sea, the Perfect Foundation Cauldron floating above it, and the enormous and magnificent blue Haotian Pill resting on the Foundation Cauldron. His Qi Sea was sealed by some peaceful yet powerful force that outsiders could not perceive. Zhao Yang thought of the existence at Xuanfo Temple.
In his dazed state, he once heard a child's voice—accentuated yet reminiscent of an elder's. He was called Mystic Warrior; some referred to him as Buddha.
This puzzled Zhao Yang. Buddha?
He had never heard of a Buddha named Mystic Warrior before. Even after reading through forty thousand scriptures, he found no record of any deeds related to Mystic Warrior; it seemed as if this person had appeared out of nowhere without any identity or background.
But why would someone call him Buddha? Surely he must be someone famous; otherwise, how could an Old God General directly invoke his name?
Moreover, Mystic Warrior's appearance clearly did not resemble that of a typical cultivator; he likely possessed some technique for rejuvenation; otherwise, how could he maintain a childlike form?
Zhao Yang struggled to open his eyes and catch a glimpse of this world. He had been silent in solitude for far too long and had not seen daylight in ages. He longed to say, "I miss you so much, world."
Thus, Zhao Yang opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a beautiful woman. He thought to himself that this was indeed fortunate—waking up to see a beauty right away.
And this beauty was someone he recognized—the woman in the Goose Yellow Dress who had saved him and Little Beast before; she was a demon.
Zhao Yang glanced at her briefly before quickly shifting his gaze elsewhere. He noticed many people kneeling at his feet; they were bizarre in shape and exuded overwhelming demonic energy but had transformed into human forms because humans were considered the most advanced species with the perfect physique, highest intelligence, and most advanced civilization.
Zhao Yang's gaze soon moved away from these individuals and turned toward some elderly figures on the platform behind him who were leaning on canes.
"Human brat, how are you feeling?" asked an Old Demon with horns on his head.
Zhao Yang nodded but did not speak. Instead, he shifted his gaze away from them and looked around at the stone platforms, the Stump, the Star Platform, the Ritual Robe, the torches, and various other items, examining each one closely.
He looked up at the sky, which was a brilliant blue, and felt the wind blowing through the forest, along with the small birds flying overhead.
Zhao Yang smiled happily; it had been so long since he had seen these things, so long since he had witnessed this beautiful world.
Then he reached out to touch the stone platform beside him and slowly made his way up the stone steps, feeling the Jade Railing as he said, "It feels so good."
What Zhao Yang meant was that it felt wonderful to experience this world once again.
However, the demons around him did not understand Zhao Yang's meaning. One Old Demon remarked, "This kid must have been hit in the head; his reactions are really slow."
Zhao Yang was not angry; he was in a good mood and filled with curiosity, like a child who was delighted and eager to explore the world.
As Zhao Yang walked up the stone steps, he saw a majestic man dressed in a Crimson Sky Robe standing silently beside a throne, exuding an imposing presence.
In front of everyone, Zhao Yang circled around this man and sat down on the throne behind him.
"Bold human brat! How dare you be so disrespectful!" shouted a Demon Cultivator because Zhao Yang had taken a seat that belonged to the Demon Empress, and the person before him was indeed the Demon Empress herself.
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