Desolate Devouring Art - Chapter 1181 - Mortal, Immortal, and Dao
Chapter 1181 – Mortal, Immortal, and Dao
The rewards stirred the crowd into a frenzy but also cast a shadow over the next stage of the competition. The Nine Heavenly Dragon Forms in particular made hearts pound with greed. Cultivators could buy spiritual pills with enough resources, but a supreme martial technique that promised evolution into a mythical art was priceless.
Not every technique could ascend into a mythical art. Only formidable sects held such legacies, and cultivators like Mu Heng and Shen Yue had likely chosen the Heavenly Dragon Sect for those arts.
Astral stones were hard to come by for ordinary cultivators, but those two lacked no resources. Their families owned private mines, supplying them with a constant flow of wealth for cultivation.
Fifteen minutes of rest vanished in an instant. Liu Wuxie, having barely consumed any true essence in the previous fight, saw no need to meditate. Around him, anticipation simmered among the remaining candidates.
The valley was emptier now, its open space echoing with expectation. By tradition, the assessment consisted of three stages, but no one ever knew what each year would bring.
“Now, let us begin the first trial—writing!” Elder Ding’s voice resounded across the sky.
A ripple of shock ran through the crowd. Some faces brightened with relief, others paled in dismay. Writing was a test of comprehension, and for those without a deep understanding, it was a nightmare.
Liu Wuxie and He Yingwu, however, remained unshaken. For them, such a trial was far easier than combat. He Yingwu himself was proof of talent, and reaching the Heaven Profound Realm in the True Martial Continent was no small feat.
With a wave of Elder Ding’s hand, a light screen materialized above the valley, transforming into a resplendent phoenix.
“It’s a phoenix!” Gasps echoed as the divine bird circled overhead, its radiant aura forcing heads to bow.
Even Liu Wuxie paused, awe flickering in his eyes. He recognized it not as a true phoenix but as the phantom of an ancient one. This meant an ancient phoenix had once appeared in the Heavenly Dragon Sect, and its will still lingered within the sect.
He Yingwu gaped, his heart trembling. Divine beasts had long vanished from the True Martial Continent. If any remained, they dwelled in places forever hidden from mortal reach. Yet here was one, its will enduring centuries, millennia, perhaps even millions of years.
“Wuxie… what does it mean?” he asked nervously, rubbing his palms together. He didn’t know what the phoenix’s appearance meant.
“To communicate with the heavens,” Liu Wuxie replied gravely. Only divine beasts could commune with heaven, earth, and even the Fleeting Cloud Celestial Realm.
He Yingwu’s eyes widened. Reaching the heavens felt impossibly distant for them.
The phoenix’s phantom soared once more before dissolving into a column of radiant light that shot into the clouds, piercing the sky. None knew its destination—perhaps the Celestial Realm, possibly somewhere even higher.
Cultivators often spoke of “ascending and shattering the void,” a phrase describing immortality’s final threshold—the path to the Celestial Realm.
The light column shimmered with endless runes. The three elders raised their hands, weaving seals that merged into glowing marks. The marks sank into the pillar of light, and moments later, three words formed in the air—mortal, immortal, dao.
The words silenced the valley.
What was a mortal? What was an immortal? What was dao? Even among those present, few dared believe they had the answer. Many frowned, scratching their heads in frustration.
Liu Wuxie recalled the Ten Grand Ceremony, when Lu Hongzhi asked him about immortality. He had stunned the assembly then, distinguishing mortals from gods with clarity.
Now, the trial demanded that every participant inscribe their understanding of those same concepts. The first two were relatively easy to define, but even those at the Primal Origin Realm couldn’t grasp the word “dao” entirely.
“Each of you will inscribe your writing into the light column,” Elder Ding declared. “We will not grade them—the heavens will. If your words achieve resonance, you pass. If not, you fail.”
Simple as the rules sounded, the task was profound. Cultivation itself was a struggle with heaven and earth. Only those whom heaven and earth recognized could ascend further.
“You have two hours,” Elder Ding added, his tone decisive. “Begin.”
Immediately, the valley stirred. Some cultivators bent down at once, writing with hurried strokes as they drew on every scrap of insight.
“Look—Mu Heng and Shen Yue have already started! But why? They don’t even need to participate!” Mu Heng and Shen Yue’s participation puzzled many, since they could skip the assessment.
“Isn’t it obvious?” another youth scoffed. “Liu Wuxie stole all their glory. Unless they prove themselves, they’ll be forgotten.”
The crowd murmured in agreement. Their humiliation had been public; only by shining brighter than Liu Wuxie could they erase it.
“But if they fail, won’t that shame them even more?” someone whispered. “Imagine losing to someone at the Heaven Profound Realm.”
“That’s their problem, not ours.” Shrugs followed, and soon the valley quieted as everyone focused on the task at hand.
He Yingwu scratched his head, frowning as he pondered the three words. Liu Wuxie, however, kept his eyes on the sky, his thoughts elsewhere, far beyond mere definitions.
One by one, participants pressed their writing into the light column. When heaven recognized them, the pillar would ripple and change.
“Passed!” shouted one cultivator, leaping in joy as the light acknowledged him.
Those who failed had no such luck. Their words dissolved into the column without a trace, leaving them to shuffle out of the valley in shame.
“Quick, Mu Heng has finished!” All eyes swung toward him.
No one could copy another’s work. The column itself would reject repetition.
“A mortal is mortal, and there is no need to force oneself. The world is the world, and there is no need to bend to it…” Exclamations filled the air. No one had expected Mu Heng’s writing to be so elegant, his phrasing profound.
When his writing fused into the column, the pillar shook violently, glowing with greater resonance than anyone else’s. A phoenix’s cry rang from within the light, a sound that chilled spines and humbled hearts.
“This Mu Heng is extraordinary,” the northern elder remarked with satisfaction. “The sect’s library should preserve his words for future disciples.”
“As expected of the son of Sky Cloud Star’s planet lord,” the southern elder added. “Even we could scarcely do better.”
Liu Wuxie observed in silence. Mu Heng’s work was long, nearly five hundred words, refined and elegant. But on the dao, his explanation was shallow, lacking proper comprehension.
The eliminations continued. More than half of every ten participants failed to achieve recognition.
When He Yingwu finished his writing, he pressed it into the column and held his breath. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a faint ripple spread across the light. It was weak, but it was enough.
“I passed!” He Yingwu shouted, dancing with joy. He grabbed Liu Wuxie, laughing like a child. For him, heaven’s acknowledgment was proof of his potential, a sign that he could one day walk the immortal path.
However, it was only potential; few in the Astral Domain ever became immortal.
Relief washed over Liu Wuxie. He had feared for his companion, but the test proved his worth.
Not long after, Shen Yue completed her writing. The column responded swiftly, her recognition weaker than Mu Heng’s but still strong enough to surpass most. Her eyes glistened with pride, and when she turned toward Liu Wuxie, she did so with expectation and challenge.
Mu Heng’s provocative gaze followed. He sent a clear message—combat strength meant nothing without comprehension.
Two hours passed, leaving only ten thousand participants. The trial had eliminated more than half. Yet Liu Wuxie had not moved.
“Why hasn’t he started? Did he give up?” whispers spread. Even the northern elder frowned, glancing his way. Liu Wuxie’s earlier brilliance had set high expectations. Could his comprehension match his blade?
He Yingwu’s palms grew clammy. Time was running out, and still Liu Wuxie sat unmoving.
