Chapter Fifty-Two: Deep Within Mount Huang

Although Li Ruoyu could not become that prodigious child, nor the dragon among men, he wished that, when his parents looked back after a hundred years, their hearts would be filled with comfort, not disappointment or pain. He remembered that, according to the town’s customs, a man in his twenties was considered an adult—no longer at the age to cry or throw tantrums at will. Everyone has their own path, though the directions may differ; yet what remains unchanged is the independent spirit in each who walks their road.

Li Ruoyu once came upon a word—solitude. What is solitude? To him, it was perhaps walking alone through bustling streets, where children laughed and played, vendors shouted their wares, and bargaining echoed between customers and merchants—a scene of prosperity. Yet none of it touched him; it seemed as though he were cut off from the world, able to see but unable to reach, left only with himself. That, perhaps, was solitude.

On the road to greatness, solitude is inevitable. One must walk a path unlike that trodden by the masses; few take this way, and so it is lonely. The world may never understand you, your heart may be bitter, torn by contradictions of right and wrong, but what makes each peak-dwelling strongman unique is precisely this difference from all others. That is what sets them apart.

Li Ruoyu gripped his bone sword and ventured deep into Huangshan, traversing the wilderness alone. A feeling akin to “all birds have flown beyond the mountains” arose within him—the world was silent and still. Suddenly, an eerie air appeared ahead, sending chills down his spine. He stared forward: countless transparent souls drifted through the land. His pupils contracted as he glanced around; unknowingly, he had already entered among them.

Upon closer inspection of the ground, layers of pale dust covered the earth. His hair stood on end—for this was no ordinary dust, but ash from countless bones. One could only imagine how many had been laid to rest here throughout history.

In the distance, the immortal blood body remained pinned to Huangshan by a black spear, unmoving, yet the corpse remained uncorrupted through the ages—a testament to its extraordinary nature. Yet even here, it had met disaster, becoming a warning to the world. There was no need to gaze at the landmark atop Huangshan; Li Ruoyu dared not move, fearing to provoke the souls’ hostility.

After a while, Li Ruoyu realized the wandering spirits, though frightening, were in a state of unconsciousness. Their transparent forms could not be noticed unless one approached closely and paid careful attention. Staying alert, he avoided letting them near, constantly dodging as he pondered his next move.

“The Great Soul Banner,” he thought suddenly. He hurriedly retrieved this precious artifact from the World-Destroying Pearl. Sure enough, the Great Soul Banner affected the transparent spirits—it sucked them in as water fills a gourd. The surrounding souls were drawn into it, and after absorbing them, the banner’s surface changed: a vague character for “soul” appeared, flickering like a candle in the wind, ready to extinguish at any moment.

Observing this, Li Ruoyu understood: “Great” was symbolic, representing supreme power, but “Soul” was its essence. With souls, the Great Soul Banner truly lived up to its name.

Passing through this ancient land of ashes and bones, he pressed deeper into Huangshan. Along the way, the impaled immortal blood body grew clearer, and upon the earth lay various extraordinary remains—holy figures and heroes, slain in this place, now bones or corpses. Some skeletons still emitted faint light, crystalline in texture. Others, like the immortal blood body, remained uncorrupted after countless years, their features lifelike, as if still living, exuding a terrifying aura that forced Li Ruoyu to detour.

Most, however, had turned to dust, merging with Huangshan, becoming part of its endless desolation.

Li Ruoyu, sword case on his back and Great Soul Banner in hand, explored further. Ahead, he saw a monk seated in meditation, hands forming Buddhist mudras, smiling gently with closed eyes, as if deep in contemplation. Were it not for the inscription before him, one would have mistaken him for a living Buddha walking the world.

Li Ruoyu read the inscription: “Young monk Shi Siku, at Huangshan, battled the Wildlands Intruder for three hundred moves, matched in strength. Exhausted the Six Words of Buddhism; the intruder countered with ease. After eight hundred moves, self-realized the Seventh Word, and the intruder unleashed the ‘Immortal-Slaying Finger’. Defeated and perished—end of the Middle Ages.”

After reading, Li Ruoyu’s pupils contracted. To bear the name “Siku” (Four Emptiness) was remarkable; Buddhism teaches cause and effect, karma. In Buddhist doctrine, “Four Emptiness” means all things are empty, and Shi Siku’s name revealed his transcendence. Moreover, to self-realize the Seventh Word beyond the known Six Words, his insight and talent were extraordinary. The Six Words were renowned for their ancient power, but what power did the Seventh hold? Li Ruoyu did not know, but the mention of the end of the Middle Ages shocked him further—after such vast spans of time, the monk’s body remained uncorrupted in eternal meditation. Had he attained Buddhahood?

“Wildlands Intruder”—what did this mean? Was it a visitor from another realm? And what was the Wildlands? Could the rumors be true, that Huangshan held a teleportation array connecting to the outside world? Li Ruoyu murmured to himself.

Shi Siku’s corpse emitted no terrifying aura like the others, allowing Li Ruoyu to approach with the Great Soul Banner. Yet, when he came within three feet, the monk’s body radiated a glaze-like Buddhist light. Though unharmed, Li Ruoyu could go no further—the three feet around the corpse was pure Buddhist land; beyond, mundane dust.

Gazing at Shi Siku enveloped in Buddhist light, Li Ruoyu took out a string of gray prayer beads, acquired with Wang Bo in the Fallen Demon Valley from the Bone Wasteland. He had suspected they were connected to Buddhism, and now brought them forth.

With the gray beads in hand, Li Ruoyu was no longer repelled by the Buddhist light; it seemed to accept him. At last, he stood before Shi Siku, pondering whether to take the monk’s robe or the necklace of one hundred and eight relic beads.

Suddenly, a wave of Buddhist chanting filled his mind, and Li Ruoyu, as if transported through space and time, appeared in a Buddhist realm. There, Buddhas recited the Sanskrit phrase: “Om Mani Padme Hum.” Instantly, he realized this was a legacy—a gift from Shi Siku.

The Six Words of Buddhism—an ancient, untraceable inheritance, now lost and broken through the ages. Li Ruoyu quietly comprehended the legacy from Shi Siku and felt its terrifying power.