Ch. 1125 - Thoughts Across Hundreds of Millions of Years

“Disciples, you may withdraw,” the old Daoist said.

All the disciples bowed and slowly filed out of the grand hall.

When the hall finally emptied, the old Daoist rose and stepped down from the platform.

Despite his frail frame, each step carried immense presence, an aura that commanded awe.

Even in his old age, his body held unfathomable power.

“Old Daoist, if you have something to say, say it directly,” Xu Zimo replied. “No need to speak in circles.”

“I cannot say it,” the old Daoist shook his head, pointing toward the sky. “Three feet above your head, the gods are watching.”

“You fear the Heavenly Dao’s wrath?” Xu Zimo scoffed.

“I do not,” the old man said calmly, “but all of us cultivate under its gaze. Whether you believe or not, it governs you.”

“Who are you?” Xu Zimo asked.

“An old acquaintance,” the Daoist replied. “One you’ve long forgotten.”

He studied Xu Zimo carefully.

“You look like him,” he said slowly, “but I know, you are not him. You never can be.

He is dead, truly dead. Even if you return again, you will never be him.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Xu Zimo frowned.

“Tell me,” the old man asked, “what era is this now?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Xu Zimo replied. “I’ve heard that the Middle Ages have just ended, this is the New Calendar era.”

He remembered Mirror Maiden once telling him that after the Middle Ages, the Nine Heavens were divided into the Old Calendar and the New Calendar periods.

“And before the Middle Ages?” the old Daoist pressed.

“That would be the Ancient Era,” Xu Zimo answered.

“And before the Ancient Era?”

“The Primordial Era… and before that, nothing.”

“So much time has passed…”

“What’s wrong?” Xu Zimo asked.

The old man’s murky eyes stared off into the distance.

“You’re wrong,” he said quietly. “Before the Primordial Era, there was another age.”

He fell silent for a long time, lost in thought, before continuing:

“That age was short, but brilliant, dazzling, unforgettable. We called it… The Infernal Descent Era.”

Xu Zimo froze completely.

In that instant, countless riddles tangled in his mind.

“The Infernal Descent… Could it be that the Nine Heavens once experienced an era ruled by the Ancient Demon Race?”

From what he knew, the previous Infernal Lord had perished in the last epoch.

When that epoch collapsed, a new universe, a new cycle of existence, was born.

Yet the demon race had not been fully annihilated.

Some were sealed within the Primordial Demon Caves; others, like Paimon, fell into deep slumber.

“Can you tell me more?” Xu Zimo asked.

“The answers are yours to uncover,” the old Daoist shook his head. “It is both your trial and your path.”

“Then what kind of era was the Infernal Descent?”

“Only those who lived it could understand,” he said. “I cannot describe it. I exist only to tell you one thing.”

“What thing?” Xu Zimo asked, frowning.

“Not everyone in this world is your enemy,” the old Daoist said. “You can find allies, kindred spirits to aid you.”

He handed Xu Zimo a scroll filled densely with names.

Xu Zimo glanced at it briefly.

“The Lord of Death from Mirage Tides Heaven. The Flame-Bearer of Inferno Crucible Heaven. The End of Calamities from Ghost God Heaven…”

“Who are these people?” Xu Zimo asked.

“People you can use,” the Daoist replied.

“How should I use them?”

“That depends on you,” he smiled faintly. “Will you use them, or trust them? The path you failed to complete hundreds of millions of years ago, you walk it again. Don’t make the same mistakes twice.”

“Who are you really?” Xu Zimo asked.

“What you see now is all illusion,” the old Daoist said, shaking his head. “Who I am no longer matters. These illusions were left behind by me hundreds of millions of years ago. By the time you see them… I may no longer even exist.”

“An... illusion?” Xu Zimo looked around.

Everything, the grand hall, the white jade floor, the entire Chaos Cloud Ravine, looked utterly real.

If this was illusion, it was so seamless that even he could not detect the difference.

The one who created it must have been unimaginably powerful.

“Remember,” the old Daoist said, waving his hand, “your success must not be only for yourself or the Ancient Demon Race, but for all of us.”

As his voice faded, Xu Zimo noticed the world dissolving around him.

The Elder Lord Temple, the two Daoist disciples at the gate, the woodcutter at the mountain’s foot, all fading away bit by bit.

Even the old Daoist’s figure began to vanish.

A thought that had lingered for hundreds of millions of years, like a body sealed in a crystal coffin, once exposed to air, it decayed into nothingness.

When Xu Zimo’s vision cleared again, he found himself standing in the Chaos Cloud Ravine once more.

Behind him lay the Blackwater Lake.

Before him, no Daoist temple, no woodcutter, no Stairs to the Clouds.

Instead, there spread a vast valley of blooming flowers.

The valley was immense, oval-shaped, filled with endless blossoms.

Rare and sacred plants grew everywhere. Spiritflesh Ganoderma, Nether-Dragon Branch, Nirvana Void Grass, Dustless Flower…

Even extinct or legendary herbs were abundant.

Nine-Tailed Dragon Sunflower, Ancient Deep Sweetgrass, Dragonheart Nineleaf Herb, Demonblood Nectar Fruit, Ascension Grass, Seven-Colored Moon Orchid…

Their fragrance spread for miles, filling the air with intoxicating scent.

It was like stepping into a paradise untouched by the mortal world.

Xu Zimo stared blankly at the sight before him.

If not for the paper still in his hand, covered with countless names, he might have thought the earlier scene was a dream.

He quietly tucked the paper away.

The flowers of the valley were in full bloom, radiant and vivid.

Xu Zimo walked deeper into the valley, which stretched vast and wide.

As he entered, he saw what lay within.

A city of flowers.

Blossoms grew everywhere, and houses rose from the earth, woven from vines and petals.

Thorns and blooms entwined around every corner.

People lived here, primitive-looking, dressed in simple garments and wearing flower crowns.

As Xu Zimo stepped in, a crowd surrounded him, singing strange, lilting songs he couldn’t understand.

They danced joyfully, showering him with petals.

After a short while, the crowd parted.

An elderly woman emerged, bowing respectfully before him.

Her voice was old and gentle.

“Honored guest, welcome to our Hundred Flowers Valley.”

“Where is Fairy Myriad Flowers?” Xu Zimo asked.

“Her Ladyship said,” the old woman replied, “that I am to show you around the city first, and then, you may see her.”

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