Chapter Forty-Six: When the Sorrows of the World Become Commonplace

Having missed his first strike, Li Ruoyu hesitated no longer. He unleashed the Remnant Wasteland Burial Passage, black snow engulfing the golden Buddhist radiance, creating two utterly distinct worlds, as if two great realms were colliding. Li Ruoyu stood atop the tombstone inscribed with the scriptures of heaven and earth, channeling its power to press down upon the golden world.

The young man watched as the Buddha’s light, blooming from the statue, was steadily shattered by Li Ruoyu, seeming on the verge of dispersal. In haste, he produced an instrument shaped like a wooden fish, which floated before him.

Legend spoke of a certain stone in the world, known as the Wooden-Fish Stone. The first strike severs the bowels, the second dooms the life, the third extinguishes the soul. Li Ruoyu had once come across this lore while perusing the chronicles of the cultivation world in the Everlasting Nine Sects. Just as this thought crossed his mind, the youth produced a wooden mallet and gently tapped the wooden-fish-like instrument.

A deep, resonant thud resounded—utterly unlike the usual sound of a wooden fish—carrying waves that swept toward Li Ruoyu. At the first contact, the black snow began to recede. When the sound reached the tombstone, it finally dissipated entirely. Seeing his first attempt fail, the youth immediately used a different technique, striking the wooden fish with the mallet once more.

A crisp ding rang out. This sound, following the previous thud, seemed to mend its fading force, like a cultivator whose path had been severed suddenly reconnecting his broken circuit, and it struck toward the tombstone. The inscriptions on the tombstone fought to revive, clashing fiercely with this second sound, until the second blow from the wooden fish also dispersed.

Passivity was not in Li Ruoyu’s nature. Gripping the bone sword, he countered with a strike of “Eternal Beginning” at the youth. In Li Ruoyu’s hands, this sword’s power grew ever more terrifying and domineering. Its force was one of severing all paths forward and obliterating the past, a meaning infused into this very stroke. “Eternal Beginning” was Li Ruoyu’s own creation, wielded with consummate ease, allowing him to bring forth its might precisely when his attack most aligned with his spirit.

To Li Ruoyu, the greatest strength in this world did not lie in spells, techniques, artifacts, or even the Way itself, but in oneself.

He firmly believed that only oneself could be truly unmatched, that what suited oneself was the strongest. Just as the phrase went, “Remnant Wasteland bows to none but me; before me, there is no life.” Li Ruoyu had long since understood that neither the Remnant Wasteland Physique nor the Heavenly Burial Forbidden Art, though formidable, were the ultimate power. True strength lay in comprehending a Way unique to oneself and, with a pure heart, following it forward—no matter what obstacles lay ahead, to shatter them with a single blow. Li Ruoyu had already grasped his Way, seen clearly his own path, and set foot on the road toward the distant horizon.

No path of a peerless cultivator can be duplicated. Along the way, there may be fortune or blood and tears, but all share one thing: a pure, childlike heart for the Way, innocent and unblemished. As the saying goes, “If I hear the Way in the morning, I can die content by dusk.” Such is the essence.

Witnessing Li Ruoyu’s sword descending upon him, the youth struck the wooden fish for the third time, employing yet another, distinct technique.

A soft tap sounded, like raindrops splashing onto dirt, mingling with dust. From this sound, Li Ruoyu sensed hatred, resentment, unwillingness, and a kind of unwavering obsession, as though a fixation had been born and was now assailing him through the note. This roused in Li Ruoyu a sudden urge to uncover the true identity of the wooden fish’s original owner.

As “Eternal Beginning” met the third tap, a point of accumulation formed at their contact. In that instant, rather than retreat, Li Ruoyu advanced, enduring the backlash to amplify his sword’s power and slash at the youth. He could have retreated, sparing himself the backlash, but in the heat of battle, at the edge of life and death, withdrawal is seldom the best choice; seizing the initiative is the highest art. So Li Ruoyu chose this aggressive approach.

There are countless roads in the world; if many walk one, it becomes a road for the masses. Li Ruoyu, however, often chose differently, treading the path less traveled—difficult, yet ever forward. Just as now, his choice was the opposite of the ordinary.

The current stroke of “Eternal Beginning” was saturated with willpower, a domineering momentum suffused with relentless advance. A presence that belonged only to the greatest of giants now emanated from Li Ruoyu—a belief in his own invincibility, the iron will to carve a path forward even if none existed.

This was the “Aura of Invincibility” that Li Ruoyu had cultivated. It was not grand, nor did it manifest in startling visions, but it allowed others to feel the steadfastness of his faith—a grounded yet pure determination.

Yet, facing this strike, the youth’s gaze was unnaturally calm, calm to the point of lifelessness, like a still pond.

This caused Li Ruoyu to frown and only strengthened his resolve to end the youth. It was a trap, he realized instantly. The youth’s composure was too deep—surely hiding some unknown trump card. In order to utterly destroy Li Ruoyu, he did not even reveal a trace of mockery, only wore an unruffled expression. Had Li Ruoyu not developed the habit of scrutinizing his opponents’ eyes in every battle, he might have mistaken the youth’s calm not for calculation, but for fear at facing such a desperate attack.

Li Ruoyu slowed his sword, reserving a measure of strength to answer any change. Although the youth’s brow furrowed only briefly, Li Ruoyu, already suspicious, caught it at once with his heightened vigilance.

This gave Li Ruoyu even greater confidence in his earlier suspicions. Sure enough, just as “Eternal Beginning” was about to strike the youth, the Buddha statue in his hand changed its mudra, taking on a new form. The swastika symbol grew from small to large, contending evenly with Li Ruoyu’s sword. As they struggled, the youth suddenly produced a black needle and flung it at Li Ruoyu with blinding speed. The needle gleamed with a dark, metallic luster, nearly invisible to the naked eye. From the moment the youth revealed it to the instant it reached him, Li Ruoyu had only time to blink before raising his bone sword to block it.

Seeing the black needle punch a dent into his bone sword, Li Ruoyu felt a chill within. When droplets of the needle’s black liquid fell to the ground, hissing and corroding the earth, his heart chilled further still. The youth’s lethality was truly extraordinary. Li Ruoyu could not help but silently remind himself never to underestimate anyone in the cultivation world. The youth had first feigned weakness, then struck with deadly force—each move linked to the next, ensnaring not only Li Ruoyu but himself as well. Without Li Ruoyu’s habitual caution, regardless of his opponent’s cultivation, he would have perished or, at best, been gravely wounded.

Missing its mark, the black needle flew swiftly back to the youth’s hand. Li Ruoyu did not know what other hidden trump cards the youth might possess, but had already resolved to end him here—using the heavens as a coffin, the earth as a tomb, to bury him completely. Such an enemy was a calamity of the age; since they were foes, he must cut off all future threats while he still had the advantage.

Simplicity is a virtue, but to be born in a world so treacherous is itself a crime. Li Ruoyu, too, had once been simple—a naive youth. Yet wherever there are people, there will be conflict. Should he let the tiger return to the mountains today, who could guarantee the youth would not one day exterminate his entire clan? Perhaps in the mortal world, destroying nine generations is a grave affair, but in the cultivation world, life is the cheapest currency. High-level cultivators often wipe out entire families, even annihilate sects—such things occur frequently.

Such is the cultivation world—lawless, save for one rule: might makes right.

“Uproot the weed, destroy the root”—this was Li Ruoyu’s creed. It was not that his heart had turned black, but in this world, is it easy to survive? When the saddest things become commonplace, is that sorrowful—or laughable?

The youth, clutching the Buddha statue, met Li Ruoyu’s gaze with undisguised murderous intent. Li Ruoyu sensed that the youth’s thoughts were remarkably akin to his own—a feeling born not of logic, but of an inexplicable intuition.

Li Ruoyu understood: a bitter, brutal fight was now unavoidable.