Chapter 86: Uniting the Way in the Mortal World? (Part One)

Another wisp of immortal energy was added, and the Ancestor of Luo felt immense joy. Though, logically, he should have grown accustomed to each new wisp, his delight only grew with every addition. In truth, happiness is entirely within one's control, especially for someone of Luo Ancestor's level, whose mind is wholly his own, able to master and manipulate his emotions at will. Joy, anger, sorrow, fear, and anxiety—he could command them as easily as breathing.

Having experimented on others and found no great harm, Luo Ancestor finally turned his methods upon himself. Previously, he had subjected the demons Qing and Ding to both torment and healing—an ordeal that left them oscillating between terror and relief, nearly transforming them into masochists. Through this, Luo Ancestor gained some insight into the nature of emotions.

After several further trials, he set about applying these discoveries to his own cultivation, establishing a reward system for himself: a small step forward warranted a moment of joy, while significant progress called for jubilant celebration. Of course, he did not overindulge; he set this mechanism only once, confirming its influence before turning his attention to more efficient ways of steering others’ moods—not through direct mystical arts, but by spiritual intuition.

This allowed him to subtly and swiftly influence the beings of the World-in-the-Jar. As for his earlier intention to refrain from interfering with the evolution and daily life of that world's inhabitants, Luo Ancestor found such detachment impractical and unfitting. After all, he often conducted experiments within the World-in-the-Jar, and the results were not destroyed but sent into the mortal world—was this not influence in itself? Sometimes, his interventions were even more direct.

Given these factors, Luo Ancestor concluded it was better to act as the truly invisible hand, manipulating events from the shadows. To remain unseen, his methods would have to be imperceptible—subtle influences on the heart and mind, rather than overt interventions.

Yet, most of the time, he did not bother with such machinations. True governance, he believed, lay in non-interference. He was no emperor; there was no need to impose laws and meddle in every affair. The world and its principles were already in place, functioning without anyone’s enforcement.

With this mindset, the divine sense he cast upon the mortal realm became even more agile, his communion with heaven and earth deepening.

“The time to descend into the mortal world draws near,” he mused.

With this new progress, Luo Ancestor forged two special Dharma Brains in the great Yin and Yang of the mortal world. These brains were designed solely for recording and analysis, their structures optimized to process information—each capable of storing thirty times more data than a standard Dharma Brain.

Thus, Luo Ancestor no longer needed to monitor the entire world in real time with his own consciousness; through these devices, he could access all the changes and intelligence within the mortal realm. In case of emergencies or special events he had already programmed in, the brains were set to alert him promptly.

This made everything far more convenient. Previously, lacking a rudimentary unity of mind and world, he had been forced to personally scan the land with his spirit—an exhausting endeavor. Now, it was simply a matter of installing a Dharma Brain.

For that, he owed thanks to Barbarian Lord. May you have a second life as well. In fact, Barbarian Lord’s return was inevitable—not because it was predetermined, but because Luo Ancestor had discovered that even after self-destruction, Barbarian Lord had left behind a secret contingency. Indeed, prior to his demise, the man had already prepared a means of return. As a remarkable figure among the barbarians, he could hardly have been a fool; endowed with profound wisdom, he had ensured a path of escape.

He had been cautious, for the power of the human clan was overwhelming. Only by preparing such contingencies could he dare to challenge the Central Plains, seeking to reclaim what his people had lost.

Luo Ancestor had not anticipated Barbarian Lord’s back-up plan, or more precisely, he had failed to “see” it—an oversight. This was the disadvantage of lacking new “equipment”; without real-time surveillance of the World-in-the-Jar, many important “plots” had escaped his notice.

Now, however, Luo Ancestor could examine any moment in the World-in-the-Jar. Even reviewing the past became a possibility.

“If I upgrade further, could this become something like… the River of Time?” Luo Ancestor mused. “Could I even change the past?”

Once his thoughts started down this path, they would not stop. The very definition of the past was slippery here—what was recorded were merely events, while the true past was time itself.

If there were no observer, no material flow, no events—did time still exist? Luo Ancestor could not say; after all, he was only a minor figure. Such questions were not his to contemplate—these were matters for Golden Immortals or the Great Luo to ponder.

Or perhaps for those ancient monsters who had survived countless eons, their minds shaped by the erosion of time itself.

For now, Luo Ancestor could only offer a fragmented reflection on the passage of time. If he were to replay all the moments recorded by the Dharma Brains in the mortal world—would that count as returning to the past? And if he preserved the “current” memories of a living being, would that not be a form of “time travel?”

It was an appealing experiment, and Luo Ancestor stroked his chin, eager to invest—if only his resources were not so limited.

He had just brainstormed a plan, only to realize it would require as much energy as all the essence of sun and moon absorbed by the world’s living beings in an entire year—a truly astronomical sum. He even feared the demon gods controlling the great Yin and Yang would notice, and come to attack his small world.

Even then, the scheme would be far from perfect—many details would undoubtedly be missed. Luo Ancestor considered it might be more efficient to construct a new world above the mortal realm, a one-to-one replica—a “parallel world” for meaningful comparison.

Of course, ideas were one thing; in reality, such an endeavor would force Luo Ancestor to abandon most of his other responsibilities. He could not afford that now—the “Cave Man” tribe still required his hands-on attention, and the ironworking project remained stalled. Their farming tools had yet to be fully upgraded to metal.

It was a vexing situation. The great technique of “Loss” had extracted ninety percent of the metal essence from the tools the “Cave Men” had already forged, forcing them to revert to stone implements. It was as if they had regressed overnight from the Iron Age to the Stone Age.

Fortunately, the World-in-the-Jar was unaffected—and, luckier still, the metal essence had not been extracted from living beings. Otherwise, every creature in this land would have been reduced to a heap of rotten flesh.

Returning to Barbarian Lord, his reappearance was now only a matter of time. For Gu had fewer qualms than before, wielding the Barbarian God’s Hammer with ever greater ease. Unwittingly, his spirit and the hammer had become ever more attuned.