Chapter Thirty-One: The Wheel of Fate Turns; Heaven Shows Mercy to None

Demon!

What is it?

What does it mean to be a demon?

“I am no demon!” Xiang Zong sat atop the mountain’s peak, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

“To take the essence of all things is considered right, but to take the essence of man is called demonic? What logic is this?” Xiang Zong demanded of the heavens.

The sky was silent, unable to answer.

“Humans have souls; they know life and death, love and hatred. You seize their lives at will, defile their wisdom—how could you not be called a demon?!”

Suddenly, a thunderous shout split the air.

At the same time, a surging wave of sword energy crashed forth.

“The Sword Immortal of the Vast Sea,” Xiang Zong remarked indifferently, as though he cared nothing for this renowned swordsman.

The sharp sword energy advanced relentlessly, drawing ever closer, but Xiang Zong remained unmoved, letting the force strike him.

The sword energy swept by, stirring up dust and rock thirty feet into the air.

Yet the man—godlike, demonic, mountain and sea in one—remained untouched.

He watched calmly as the man before him stared in astonishment, watched as his once-robust flesh withered and decayed, his vitality fading, his body turning to a pile of white bones.

The sword energy dissipated, returning to the world.

“The Sword Immortal of the Vast Sea—he truly lived up to his name,” Xiang Zong sighed.

Then he leaned forward, gazing down at the thirteen figures standing amid the dense foliage on the mountainside.

“Demon!”

These thirteen were all eminent figures of the world, each having reached the Realm of Spirit Transformation.

Cultivation was divided into four stages: first, Body Refinement; second, Qi Refinement; third, Spirit Transformation; and fourth, Unity with the Dao.

It was said that Unity with the Dao was rare and unattainable; throughout the ages, only two were known to have achieved it—one united with the Dao through martial prowess and became the Ancient Martial God; the other created a path of his own, transforming martial arts into Dao, and was known as the Wooden Martial God.

Beyond these two, there were no other legends—though it was rumored that the elusive Cang, who vanished after the founding of the First Kingdom, had also achieved Unity and ascended to immortality.

But Xiang Zong always felt that Cang was still in the world, not yet ascended.

“Heaven nourishes all things; how do all things repay heaven?” Xiang Zong murmured softly.

“If heaven will not take a single hair from you, then I shall take one on its behalf.”

“Nonsense!”

“The demon’s wicked heart will not die!”

“Today, we will slay this demon here!”

“This mountain shall be your grave!”

The thirteen mighty warriors hurled taunts and threats at Xiang Zong.

He remained unmoved, his expression cold, merely gazing down at them.

“One by one, or all at once?” he asked carelessly.

“There’s no need for rules when dealing with evil! Shoulder to shoulder—everyone, together!” someone cried.

“Yes—together!”

In an instant, shadows leapt into motion, true energy pouring forth in torrents, transforming into radiant light—thirteen deadly spells.

The mountain’s natural balance trembled, clouds and mists dispersed, and the great mountain itself quaked under the force.

Xiang Zong seemed stirred at last; he rose to his feet.

Boom!

The thirteen supreme cultivators unleashed their deadliest attacks, striking at Xiang Zong.

He raised his hand—so swift it defied the eye.

With a single palm strike—

The earth shook, black storm clouds tumbled down like an ocean of ink, enveloping the mountaintop and swallowing all thirteen spells.

“Devour Heaven and Earth!”

This demonic technique’s dominance was awe-inspiring: the thirteen spells were consumed, and then the black mist and cloud sea descended upon the mountainside.

The thirteen warriors were engulfed, unable to utter a sound.

When the ink-black sea finally cleared, everything in its path—trees, beasts, insects—was withered and dead. The thirteen warriors had no time to escape, their corpses strewn among the withered trunks and bones.

“In this world of men, who can stand against me?”

...

After the battle at Yu Mountain, most of the world’s heroes were lost. Fear gripped all; all dreaded the demon Xiang Zong might come and turn them into desolate bones.

Soon, word spread across the land from north to south.

Demon: On the fifteenth day of the eighth month, at the capital’s Purple Gold Palace, I challenge Cang with my sword!

A declaration of war!

Before Cang emerged, the demon had already issued his challenge.

Yet none called him arrogant; all hoped only that Cang would descend from the mountains, defeat the demon, and restore clarity to the world.

...

Luo Zu looked at the paper in his hand, then at the half-grown youth before him. Stroking his stubbled chin, he chuckled, “So, young man, you wish to become my disciple?”

“Yes!” the boy answered resolutely.

“Why?” Luo Zu asked.

“Because you are Cang!” The boy’s expression was solemn and earnest.

“What? Where is Cang?”

“Cang?”

Instantly, the passersby gathered, drawn by the commotion.

“Me? Cang? Hahaha…” Luo Zu burst out laughing.

“You stand eight feet tall, wear black robes, walk with authority, bear a divine sword, and wear a purple crown—just like Cang.”

The crowd examined Luo Zu’s attire at the boy’s prompting.

It did seem so.

But… wasn’t Cang too young?

“And you have the bearing of a true master,” the boy continued.

“Oh? What is the bearing of a true master?” Luo Zu’s interest was piqued.

“You are confident, not the least bit worried about the crisis facing humanity, whereas they—” The boy pointed at the swelling crowd, “are anxious, fearful, and sad. They are afraid.”

“You don’t seem afraid either. Are you not Cang yourself?” Luo Zu countered.

“No. I am Hatred,” the boy replied, his face expressionless.

“Whom do you hate? Yourself, for being powerless to avenge your father and brother?” Luo Zu asked quietly.

The boy looked at him in astonishment.

“The Monster of the Heavenly Pool was your father, the Hero of Divine Land your brother—both slain by the demon. You want vengeance, but you are young, so you have sought out Cang, hoping he will avenge them for you,” Luo Zu continued.

“Yes.” The boy did not dispute it, nodding earnestly.

“Rest easy. Though I am not Cang, I too have come to rid the world of evil. After all, if a worm has infested the vegetable garden, I won’t sleep well tonight until it’s gone.” Without lingering, Luo Zu passed the boy, patting his shoulder lightly.

The people found his words baffling, but when they looked again, he had vanished from the avenue.

“He’s gone! Where did he go?”

“He must be a master!”

On a high tower at the edge of the royal avenue, two men stood.

One wore a vermilion robe with cloud patterns; the other, black robes.

One was the Grand King of the First Kingdom; the other was Cang.

“Cang, do you know who that man was?”

“I do not. But he is a master,” said Cang, his hair now white, his face sallow, betraying little surprise.

Seeing this, the Grand King let it pass, but then his face grew worried: “Cang, what are your chances against the demon?”

“I do not know. But no one can escape the cycle of heaven’s will,” Cang replied.

“What do you mean?”

“The wheel of heaven turns for all; who has ever been spared by fate?” Cang said again.

...

The Grand King crumpled to bones at his feet—the ruler of the First Kingdom passed quietly from the world.