On the quiet long street, at first only footsteps could be heard. If one emptied their mind, they could hear the distant wailing of ghosts, the sounds of slaughter, and the whistling of sword qi piercing the wind.

Chen Weichen asked, "Monk, did you hear that?"

This white-robed monk, who had been guarding this place for over a hundred years, possessed great power and divine abilities in Buddhist terms.

The monk's voice was as gentle as water: "I heard it."

He then slowly said, "Those two people are using the energy of weapons and slaughter to confront the resentful energy of the dead spirits. They want to force their way into the inner city."

"Listen again."

The monk closed his eyes as instructed and listened intently.

After a long while, he opened his eyes. "I have been confined within this city for a hundred years without leaving. I didn't expect such individuals to emerge in the world. It's probably that young man from the immortal path who was just starting to make a name for himself before I entered the city."

But then he shook his head to himself, "No, he walks the path of supreme detachment, and although this one is very similar, their origins are different. If it were really him, he would have already reached the third level of the heavenly realm by now - this one is still at the peak of the second heavenly realm."

Chen Weichen smiled, his eyes curving into crescents. "Each generation produces its own talents. Monk, you've grown old."

The monk didn't mind and simply said, "Indeed, I have grown old."

"Monk, I am of mortal flesh and cannot discern his heartless sword intent. Can you take a look for me?"

However, the monk slowly shook his head, "Buddhism and immortality can still communicate, but when it comes to the way of the sword, it is beyond this poor monk's abilities."

Chen Weichen actually slightly furrowed his brows for once, which was rare. "You mean, he truly entered the cultivation path through the sword, completely unrelated to the immortal way, and his realm is entirely based on heartless sword intent?"

"That is indeed the case," the monk's eyes were filled with tranquility. "All things in the world can become the Way. You need not be so concerned."

Chen Weichen's gaze fell upon the fine silk fan in his hand.

Written in pine smoke ink were the words: Who among those seated is without worries?

"In this vast world," a fleeting hint of helpless amusement flashed through his eyes, "it turns out everyone is lost in delusion, unwilling to awaken."

He said no more and his footsteps receded into the distance along the long street.

Passing through a city gate, he entered the inner city.

The ghostly energy was at its peak, murmuring in low voices.

The compassionate monk said to the brocade-clad young master in front, "Ahead lies the ruins of splendor, where obsessions gather, forming myriad illusory realms. One misstep leads into the demonic path. Be careful."

With just one step, the surrounding scenery seemed to change drastically.

On the far northern mountains, snow was falling, the vast earth still and quiet.

On the mountain, someone was practicing swords. Clad in pure white, surpassing the snow, their sword dance was like the wind, as startling as a swan.

In the distant snowy plains, the young master from the mortal world closed his eyes and continued forward, his footprints seeming to stretch to the horizon, gradually covered by the falling fresh snow.

Who knows how long he walked. When the piercing cold wind no longer assaulted his face, he opened his eyes and saw a cold moon at the edge of the sky. The tops of the pine trees were covered in old snow, and beneath the trees was a stone table with wine atop it.

It was Mid-Autumn Festival, a time for reunion in the human realm, a time to drink together.

Just a moment, only a moment, he knew he could not keep looking.

If he looked, he would fall into the demonic path with one step.

Closing his eyes in the illusion was actually rejecting delusions.

But he knew, in this life, what he could not let go of the most were greed, ignorance, and anger.

The pain that constantly twisted in his heart now became a good thing, keeping a thread of clarity, coupled with the faint chanting of Buddhist scriptures, solemn and dignified. When he finally closed his eyes, the myriad splendors fell like snow, returning to a vast emptiness and silence, until he reached out and touched the cold door.

The door to the treasury was half open in the wind, the carvings rusted, the bronze rings covered in dust.

When the imperial capital was breached, there was a panicked southward retreat.

The countless splendid gold and silver accumulated during prosperous times would dazzle one's eyes upon opening the door back then.

The previous emperor personally ordered a raging fire to be set, burning the national treasury to ashes.

Some commoners who were lucky enough to escape the chaos said that the fire was red, burning for days and nights, a vivid red like blood. At times there were other colors - the glow emitted by jadeite, red jade, and precious materials when thoroughly burned to ashes.

The imperial city became a ghost city, the living not permitted to enter. The new dynasty established its capital in the northwest. However, firstly, the energy of weapons and slaughter was too heavy, and secondly, there were only generals to expand territory but no great scholars to bring stability to the country. Surrounded by packs of wolves, it ultimately failed to thrive and had now declined into a small nation.

The emperor of the previous dynasty was crowned emperor in the Grand Dragon Court, receiving the dragon qi from above and connecting to the earth veins below. Overnight, the imperial capital became a river of blood, the dynasty went from prosperity to decline, and the orthodox lineage was exterminated. That destiny was then attached to the remnant ashes in the treasury. The energy of that calamity could be compared to the Annihilation Incense formed from the deaths of countless flood dragons and sea monsters in their prime, even slightly surpassing it.

The young master's hands, hands that had never touched the water of sunny springs, hands that only turned pages, played the zither, and handled fine silks and satins, were undoubtedly beautiful, undoubtedly delicate, with a fairness from being coddled, and a faint elegant fragrance that lingered.

Those hands touched the pitch-black ashes, the fingertips gathering some and placing it into the brocade pouch at his side, together with the Annihilation Incense.

Disrupting the destiny, unacceptable to the heavenly way, karma arising, calamity befalling the body.

The cold wind blew through the bronze doors, the wailing of ghosts suddenly intensifying.

A trace of blood seeped from the corner of the young master's always smiling lips.

As if struck by an invisible force, his face turned pale. For a moment, his vision blurred and he almost couldn't stand steady.

Illusions appeared before his eyes again, sinking into a boundless sea of suffering, struggling but unable to break free.

The pain of a blade carving into bone.