Chapter 1312: The Sole State!

The cold wind blew in through the window, and as the candlelight flickered, the pages of this Civilization Cycle Diagram were turned.

On this record, the rise and fall trajectories of all dynasties were documented, and after his organization, they all converged into a closed ring, like the path of the moon cutting through the long night.

Looking at this ring, he suddenly understood that every character and every era name in the historical records were merely traces left by the wheel rolling over, while the wheel itself had never stopped turning.

Thus, he forced his ailing body to endure, using the last of his life to carve his lifetime of understanding onto twelve bronze slips.

Even though he knew that the truth he had pursued his entire life, etched onto these twelve bronze slips capable of resisting the power of time, was merely a tiny ripple in the river of reincarnation.

Yet he still did it.

The overlapping times blurred by dynastic historians under some force, the destruction truths hidden by myth, and the same prophecies wrapped in different scripts—all were revealed in their true form under his carving knife.

When the final stroke carved the eight characters "All things reincarnate, ultimately returning to silence," thunder suddenly boomed from outside the window!

The booming sound shattered heaven and earth, raindrops poured down, striking the ground, striking the glazed tiles.

That rhythm, that melody, left Chen Mo somewhat dazed; he faintly felt it resembled the rhythm of the destructive rain recorded in the ancient text "Feng Gong" from a thousand years ago.

"I am leaving..."

Chen Mo murmured, his life beginning to fade, his vision blurring.

His life had been like a boatman lost in the sea of history—ununderstood by the world, yet he had left some traces.

"There are still some regrets..."

Chen Mo whispered.

Thus, in this final waiting for death's arrival, he strained to lift his head and gaze at the thunderstorm outside.

Perhaps it was the regret in his heart, so for a fleeting moment, he did not know whether it was his blurred vision, but he saw his shadow cast on the wall as lightning flashed, overlapping with the records on the bronze slips, the Nine Bright Hexagram of the Spirit Empress, the markings on ancient oracle bone script, and the coiling dragon pattern on the golden edict of this dynasty, forming the same outline.

Chen Mo stared, then light brightened in his eyes.

"Everyone who tries to grasp the course of history ultimately becomes the course itself."

Chen Mo laughed.

As the coolness of rainwater drifted over the wrinkles on his face, he suddenly felt he was no longer the boatman trapped in the sea of history, but had become the lamp in the boatman's hand.

This lamp might not pierce the eternal fog, but at least it lets those who come after know that, in the countless intervals between destruction and rebirth, someone once stubbornly held up a lamp, tracing a faint yet clear mark in the long river of time.

Perhaps in the next thousand years, another historian will, on some autumn night, while organizing ancient texts, suddenly see this trace and sense the lamp's fire in time and space.

And finally, just like himself, he will realize that this is the faint yet eternal signal passed among countless civilizations in destruction and rebirth.

They will become another version of himself, and with some future person, become spiritual kindred spirits.

"Enough!"

This realization now was not the wild joy of sudden enlightenment, but like the quiet of spring ice just beginning to melt.

He had already understood that every character in the historical records is a scale of reincarnation, and the truth he had pursued his whole life was never to make all civilizations submit to a single answer.

But to see that all answers flow along the same ring.

This, is the return to unity.

At this moment, the station's candlelight flickered uncertainly, as if countless dynasties' shadows overlapped in light and shadow into the same silhouette of reincarnation.

Candlelight and starlight illuminated each other; in their interplay, it seemed a jade cicada shimmered within.

And Chen Mo, smiling, closed his eyes.

…

The cicada's cry, still.

The cicada's wings, too.

Scene after scene, point by point, fragment by fragment, all reflected different times and spaces, possessing the same origin, yet evolving through various trajectories into the colorful lives of different people.

Five colors and six hues, each blooming another and another thought of unity.

These thoughts rose from time and space, returning to Xu Qing's consciousness, causing his consciousness to continually grow, letting him experience all kinds of lives, and making his breath become an invisible hand, time and again plucking the strings of Xian.

The notes played grew more and more, finally woven into a melody, meant to perform a supreme resonance named "Lu."

But…… the brewing of this resonance continued without cease, yet the sound could never be transmitted.

Because……

"Still missing one."

Xu Qing opened his eyes, gazing into the void.

That was himself in the final time and space, who had never formed the thought of unity, even if the authority of the Pain God guided him, he still could not be swayed in his thoughts.

He was a painter.

Once, he burned all his scrolls, only on a single sheet of xuan paper, drawing the character "one."

And now, the brushwork on that xuan paper had added five more strokes.

"One" became "come."

That first stroke was originally the first stroke of the character "come."

This is an invitation, crossing time and space.

Thus, Xu Qing, after gazing, stood up and took a step toward the void.

This step entered time and space, entered parallelism, and appeared in the study of that old painter.

The moment he appeared, the old man, brush poised on the xuan paper, lifted his head, the wrinkles on his face blooming as he looked at Xu Qing and began to smile.

"This stroke, I have waited for you a long time."

"And you too must not speak, just listen to me."

"When I was young and learned painting, I once reached the peak, using painting as a boundary, and in old age, I realized the turning of heaven and earth..."

"And in my paintings, I saw all things and all beings, I saw everything, such as Liu Xuanji, such as Chen Mo, even, I saw you..."

"Afterward, I burned all my works, sitting here, because I realized that I and my world perhaps never originally existed, but because you needed us to exist, so we came into being."

"As for what you needed, I saw it in the painting twenty years ago."

After saying that, the old painter raised his hand, took out a new sheet of xuan paper, inhaled deeply, ground the ink, and finally picked up the brush, dipped it in ink, and made a sudden stroke on the paper before him.

It was not a masterpiece of a prosperous age, but merely a few simple strokes, outlining one small square after another.

Then, after a pause, the old painter dipped his brush in fresh ink and directly drew a line!

This line connected all the small squares!

These strokes seemed to exhaust all his remaining strength; as he put brush to paper, his breath began to dissipate, and even the brush in his hand could no longer be held firmly—only his aged, hoarse voice echoed hollowly in the study.

"To return to the One is not merely space, but also time."

"Time is a line, and it has no present, no past, no future."

"Space, on the other hand, is a series of small squares; they were originally static, but due to the line of time, once connected, they began to move."

"Like this painting, each of those small squares contains us, encompassing beginning to end."

"A single time-line, connecting all the small squares—this is the complete, parallel spacetime of a lifetime."

"Therefore, our path is to extract, absorb, and internalize this line of time, making ourselves time itself."

"Then, to absorb all the small squares that have become static."

"Having done these, one achieves parallel return to the One—you become the sole one."

"Such a state of singularity, I wish to call it……Wei!"

"That is, our Tenth Extreme!"

After the old painter spoke his final word, he closed his eyes.

In the study, Xu Qing stepped forward, gazed at the xuan paper, and the world……began to shatter!