Ze Tian Ji

Chapter 640 – Stars Hang over Vast Open Plains

Translated by: Hypersheep325

Edited by: Michyrr

(TN: A reference to the poem '旅夜书怀' by the poet Du Fu. The full line is 'Stars hang over the vast open plains, the moon surges with the flow of the great river'.)

When the entire world believed Chen Changsheng's life to be very good, only he knew that there was not much left of his life.

When the entire world, including himself, believed that he would die without a doubt, he lived.

He had not died.

He was lying in the rainwater at the summit of the Mausoleum of Books, his face pale and his body extremely weak, but he did not die.

The entire world was quiet and still.

As the torrential rains had wreaked havoc in the darkness, as flashes of lightning cast their terrifying light over the Mausoleum of Books, the Tianhai Divine Empress had brought her palm down upon Chen Changsheng's head, not to kill him, but save him.

Now, the rain had grown extremely light, silently moistening all things.

The people of the capital were still asleep and unwaking.

Daoist Ji stood on the rainy street, gazing up at the Mausoleum of Books, thinking to himself, just who is the person that is truly awake?

He had not expected that the situation would change in such a manner.

Starting from six hundred years ago, two hundred years ago, twenty years ago, he had been preparing for this night, on guard against this night, scheming for this night.

For this night, he had laid down countless backup plans, carried out his preparations to perfection. Whether the Tianhai Divine Empress chose to kill Chen Changsheng or eat Chen Changsheng, it was all in his plan.

The true lethal stroke of this plan was still in the drenched forest of the Mausoleum of Books, its existence undiscovered.

The Tianhai Divine Empress was the current master of the Great Zhou Dynasty, so there was no problem whatsoever with her calling the Mausoleum of Books her stage.

But he was the successor to the legitimate line of the Orthodoxy, so the Mausoleum of Books was similarly his stage.

He had already made many preparations. After she killed Chen Changsheng, he would reveal the entire truth of the matter, shaking her soul and will. Then, using the limitless Sacred Light released with Chen Changsheng's death, he would incite a response from the Heavenly Dao, making a sacrifice to the starry sky to invite down a divine punishment and execute her right where she stood.

But…Tianhai did not kill Chen Changsheng, nor did she eat Chen Changsheng.

So even if he were to now reveal the truth, he could not make a crack in her Dao heart.

Chen Changsheng was still alive, so he was naturally unable to use the Sacred Light within his body to invite down a divine punishment.

There were many things that Daoist Ji did not understand. Why did she save Chen Changsheng?

In the end, was it still the principle that even a vicious tiger would not eat its cubs? No person believed that the Tianhai Divine Empress cared about this, at least he would not.

Could she really not be afraid of the backlash from the Heavenly Dao?

He calmly and silently gazed into the distance, understanding something: the choice had already been made, and its effects were just beginning to appear.

……

……

Chen Changsheng was clearest on the changes in his body and knew just what exactly had happened.

When the violent storms had been washing his body, the snaking bolts of lightning illuminating the pitch-black world, the Tianhai Divine Empress, without turning to look at him, had raised her right hand, carrying countless storms and the might of a mountain range, and brought it down on his head. Thus, the mighty power of the world and an ageless Qi poured into his body.

In an instant, truly only an instant, an instant so quick that there was not even time to think, his body completely shattered. Whether it was those internal organs that were already riddled with countless wounds, his already tattered and ruptured meridians, or his Qi openings, they were all shattered, blending into his blood and bones.

Everything happened within an extremely short span of time, but in Chen Changsheng's perspective, it was like a hundred years had passed. In this instant where there was not even time to think, he experienced far too much pain. This pain took on countless forms, countless flavors, all mixing together and transforming into countless little knives. Through innumerable angles and methods, they cut away at the deepest part of his soul.

This was not the end, but the beginning.

In an instant, truly only an instant, an instant so quick that there was not even time to despair, his body began to reform. Whether it was those internal organs that had been rendered into petal-like shards, the meridians that had been ground into sand, or those shapeless Qi openings that were already too terrible to behold, under the joint effort of the magnificent power and ageless Qi, they began to aggregate and then take form.

In the instant between the two aforementioned instants, of his entire body, only the surface remained intact. Within, he was already a sea of blood.

Gradually, white lotuses began to bloom from the sea of blood. These were bones. Then, coral began to bloom. This was flesh. Then branches and tendrils began to sprout, the meridians, and then leaves began to bud, the Qi openings.

The crushed internal organs, meridians, and Qi openings gradually regained their form, once more returning to his body.

If someone were there to witness this sight, they would certainly lose their voice from the shock of such a miracle.

To Chen Changsheng who had to endure all this, this was a most excruciatingly painful process.

When describing extreme pain, the phrase 'pain that cut to the marrow' was often used, but his bone marrows had all been shattered and then condensed back into small streams.

There was also another phrase, 'pain that thrust deep into the heart', but his heart had also been shattered and then gradually floated back up from the sea of blood.

This was destruction, also reincarnation, or rebirth. This was to change the heavens and reshape the earth, to put a new face on the sun and moon. Yet all of this occurred in one person's body.

Let alone him, even Zhexiu would find it impossible to endure this pain.

The stormy capital resounded with his cries of pain. Those were his attempts to resist this pain.

At the moment, his mind had long since grown numb to the pain, so much so that it was almost on the point of growing lax. If this occurred, then even if he awoke, he would be rendered an idiot.

A more likely possibility was that his sea of consciousness would shatter and he would noiselessly die in this process.

It was very obvious that the Tianhai Divine Empress did not care if he was able to endure all this. This was something she simply wished to do.

With an indifferent expression, she coldly gazed into the rainy night, her right hand lightly resting on his head, continuing to bestow upon him the most benevolent gift, the cruelest torture.

Fortunately, perhaps because of the honing of the sea of sword intent, or because of Zhexiu's example, or because of that night many days ago when the Tianhai Divine Empress dabbed his brow with a drop of tea in the autumn forest of the Hundred Herb Garden, or because of that tinge of unwillingness that had always resided in the deepest depths of Chen Changsheng's soul, he managed to hold on.

After many long and numberless nights, he woke up.

Of the magnificent power and ageless intent, some still coursed through his body. The process had concluded, but the pain persisted. Innumerable extremely cold and seemingly real knives were unsympathetically piercing through his body, continuing to scrape away at his bones and flesh, mind and will.

He was in extreme pain. These were the aches of the body.

He felt that every part of his body, from the hair of his head to the nail of his toe, was being gnawed on by countless ants.

He did not have a single speck of strength, not even to open his eyes. He could only perform Meditative Introspection.

With a tiny stimulation of his spiritual sense, he began to observe the changes in his body.

It was a somewhat familiar scene, but it had also undergone massive transformations.

The lake suspended in the sky was still clear, his spirit mountain still lonely and silent. The gate of his Ethereal Palace was still wide open, several yellowed fallen leaves on the steps in front of the gate as if no one had visited for a very long time.

A thin mantle of snow covered the wasteland. It was very loose, one puff of wind away from being swept clear. It was probably the star radiance that had just descended.

Where the snowy plain originally stood was icy water gradually accumulated from thawed snow, slowly flowing through the plains. Those thin trickles of icy water converged into streams, and then rivers, all proceeding forward.

In front…there were no fractured cliffs, no dried-up riverbeds, no endless abysses, only…a flat plain!