Chapter Fifty-Five: The Ancient Shu Immortal Dynasty and the Solitary Peak

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"Did that woman in white go against the flow of time to annihilate the master behind the black hand?" Li Ruoyu was shaken by the thought. To kill someone by reversing the years—what kind of cultivation was that? Was it traveling to the future, or returning to the past? Either possibility was extraordinary beyond measure.

The master of the black hand clearly existed in a different era from the divine woman in white, yet why ambush her? Had he glimpsed a future where she posed a threat? Or did he traverse the river of time from the future, aiming to end her at this node? Whatever the speculation, if any proved true, Li Ruoyu could not fathom it; it surpassed the limits of his understanding.

The images in his mind faded like water drying from rice paper, leaving no trace. Just as with previous doubts, there were no answers, and Li Ruoyu felt a suffocating frustration with nowhere to vent.

No matter what, the path must be walked. Resolutely, Li Ruoyu took a step forward. Ahead, the immortal blood body pinned by the black spear served as a marker. Further on, a stone stele appeared, scarred by the passage of ancient years, engraved with two archaic characters. Li Ruoyu studied them closely and guessed their meaning.

"Sichuan Path."

What was the Sichuan Path? Li Ruoyu did not know—was it a mighty Dao, or a literal road? He moved past the stele and continued forward.

Another undying corpse appeared ahead, clad in a robe of black and white, sitting cross-legged on the ground. Two fingers held a white chess piece, poised above a stone board the size of a table before him. Staring at the lifeless body, Li Ruoyu pondered—had this person died playing chess? He tried approaching and, to his surprise, encountered no oppressive force, no barrier. He came easily to the corpse’s side, astonished by the absence of danger in the deadly Yellow Mountain.

Looking at the body, Li Ruoyu sensed something was amiss, something he had overlooked.

"The eyes."

The corpse’s eyes were open—lifeless, unfocused, yet gazing into the distance.

Seeing how close he was, and still sensing no peril, Li Ruoyu boldly sat upon the stone chessboard, following the corpse’s gaze. Yet, he saw nothing.

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Suddenly, cold sweat streamed down Li Ruoyu’s forehead, his hair bristling like a startled cat. He felt a hand appear on his shoulder. Turning, he saw the corpse’s hand gripping the white chess piece resting upon him, and even glimpsed a faint, "kind" smile on its face. The sight sent his heart racing, a chill of terror rising unbidden.

"Look forward."

An unnamed voice echoed in Li Ruoyu’s heart, and like a puppet on strings, he obeyed, looking ahead. This time, he saw a completely different scene.

As if his soul had left his body, Li Ruoyu found himself in a strange land. On a path stood a lone figure, holding a three-foot green sword, a wine flask hanging at his waist. Behind him lay pavilions and palaces, an immortal realm. Before him, an endless army stretched across the stars, innumerable and vast.

From the ranks stepped an old Daoist in blue, declaring, "After countless ages, today I will usurp the heavens and alter its Dao. Let the sky collapse, let your ancient Sichuan Immortal Dynasty perish, let its eternal glory fall."

No sooner had he spoken than another leading figure in black raised a finger, pointing forward. That gesture became a pillar piercing the starry sky, crushing toward the celestial pavilions and palaces ahead. At the same time, the man in black proclaimed, "With the calculation of heaven, I break the fortune of your ancient Sichuan Dynasty, sever the Sichuan Path, end its legacy!"

Seeing the impending strike, the man with the green sword took a deep draught from his flask, then lightly swung his blade and shouted,

"Yellow River waters descend from the heavens!"

With his shout, rivers surged across the starry sky. On closer inspection, the water was no ordinary stream—it was the soul-consuming, bone-corroding water of the Yellow Springs.

"With a single sword, I shall slay those who seek to destroy my ancient Sichuan Dynasty, cut off your path, break your future."

With those words, the water of the Yellow River swelled upon his sword’s tip, sweeping toward the army in the stars.

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As this mighty blow approached, a figure wielding a halberd stepped from the army’s vanguard, striking at the surging Yellow Springs water. With a cry of "Slash," his halberd unleashed a devastating strike, covering the starry sky.

Where the Yellow Springs water met this peerless blow, they clashed like red-hot iron on frozen earth, grinding against each other.

As battle commenced, another figure emerged from the immortal palaces behind the swordsman—walking slowly, yet a chilling aura spread through the starry sea. The sun and moon ceased to move, time itself halted. The newcomer wore black robes, his face obscured, yet each step seemed to tread upon the hearts of all present. Though he did not strike, no one in the starry sea dared move.

"Time is ancient—how do you still live?" The blue-robed Daoist’s eyes filled with terror, abandoning his usual serenity, as if witnessing an unbelievable legend.

Of course, it was legend. The man standing on the path was a summit unto himself, living from the primordial era to now, traversing the wilds of antiquity, chasing time’s flow to the present day.

"If we retreat, will you let us go?" asked the halberd wielder, his tone submissive.

The black-robed figure said nothing, indifferent to all, walking quietly into the sea of stars and armies. He was like Death, silent as he passed through the world—when mortals saw him, it was the moment of harvest.

A mountain gradually appeared in the starry sea, its peak capped with snow, the flakes dancing in the wind. The sharp summit pierced into the endless depths, changing the color of the starry sea, altering sky and day.

"Lone Peak."

Li Ruoyu’s heart trembled—this was a god of the primordial era, undefeated in life, advancing boldly to the ultimate summit. "Think not there is any road ahead; at the peak of solitude stands a single mountain," became the requiem of that age. He came from the unknown, walked toward the mysterious. He was unbearably lonely, severing an entire era alone. Even in the most glorious ancient times, Lone Peak was just one man standing there, blocking the prodigies and monsters of the primordial era at the end of a road that could not be seen, where despair led only to a deeper abyss.