Chapter 420: Miraculous

The green snake swam down from his wrist, moving around him. Its body became transparent in the chaos light, revealing the bones inside, and the marrow within the bones. The marrow was blue and glowing. That light was not its own; it was the chaos light shining in and shining out from within. It swam in the chaos light like a fish returning to water.

The golden crow rose from his shoulder, spreading its wings. Its golden feathers burned in the chaos light, not a spell's flame but a blaze of life. That blaze met the chaos light, not repelling but merging. The chaos light turned gold for an instant, then returned to gray. The golden crow circled in the light, flying higher and farther, until it became a tiny golden dot.

The ice dragon loosened from his waist and coiled around him. Its silver scales turned transparent in the chaos light, like ice meeting water. Its body began to melt, not into water but into light. From a dragon it became a silver band of light, winding around Wang Ping. Within the band, countless tiny light points flowed—its life.

The pangolin jumped from his shoulder and curled into a ball in the chaos light. Its scales opened piece by piece; beneath each scale lay a small cluster of chaos light. Those lights pulsed under the scales like a heart. The pangolin curled tighter, becoming a stone in the chaos light—not an ordinary stone, but a chaos stone, like the stone tablet.

The white tiger stepped from behind him and stood before him. Its white fur turned gray in the chaos light, blending with the surrounding light. Its eyes remained white, but a different white—within it, chaos light flowed. It did not move, merely standing there, looking at him. Behind it, chaos light gathered, condensed, and took shape.

That shape was a larger tiger—not a real tiger, but a tiger of light. Ten times the size of the white tiger, it stood behind the white tiger like a mountain. Its eyes were chaos-colored, gazing at Wang Ping. It was not looking at an enemy or prey, but at a fellow kind. It recognized the chaos within Wang Ping's body, and the point of light in his dantian.

Wang Ping looked at the giant light tiger and understood.

That was the white tiger's origin, the origin of the slaughtering way, the gathering of those most fierce light points in the chaos. They had slept in the chaos light for many years, now they awoke. Because they sensed the white tiger, and sensed a life that had inherited their will. They were looking at the white tiger, and also at Wang Ping.

Wang Ping reached out and touched the white tiger's head.

The white tiger's fur twitched slightly in his palm. In its eyes, a light flashed—not chaos light, but its own. It had lived so many years, alive since the day of the Return to the Void until now, and for the first time was regarded as a living being—not a spell, not a tool, not an incarnation of slaughter, but a tiger, a living tiger.

"Go." Wang Ping said. He uttered only one word.

The white tiger turned and walked toward the depths of the chaos light. The giant light tiger followed behind it, like a shadow, yet like a guide. Wang Ping followed the white tiger, with the green snake swimming at his left, the golden crow flying above his head, the ice dragon coiling at his right, and the stone formed from the pangolin gripped in his hand. Together they walked toward the depths of chaos.

He did not know how long they had walked. Time had no meaning here.

It might have been an instant, or ten thousand years. Wang Ping only knew his steps did not stop. Each step he took sent ripples spreading in the chaos light beneath his feet. Those ripples expanded outward, meeting other ripples and passing through them—no collision, only penetration, like two thoughts crossing in the mind, each going its own way.

In the distance, there was a figure.

It had not appeared suddenly; it had always been there. But Wang Ping had not seen it just before, because the light was too bright, so bright his eyes could not discern distance. Now his eyes had adjusted, and he saw it. The person stood in the light, back to him. Their robe fluttered in the light, not from wind but from the light flowing. Their hair was long, hanging to the waist, silver-white, like moonlight, like frost, like the color of congealed time.

His figure was slender, standing straight—like a pine, like a sword, like a pillar propping up the heavens. Standing there, he was that place. He did not occupy space; he defined it. He was the center of this chaos light; all light flowed around him. If he stayed still, the light circled him; if he moved, the whole chaos moved with him.

Wang Ping walked toward him—not with his feet, but with his will. He thought to draw near, and he was near; he thought to see clearly, and the person turned around.

The Transcendent One.

His face remained thus, constantly changing. Sometimes young like a youth, skin smooth, eyes clear. Sometimes old like an ancient tree, deep wrinkles, profound gaze. Sometimes handsome like a heavenly deity, perfect features, dignified bearing. Sometimes ordinary like a passerby, lost in a crowd. Sometimes male, with sword brows and starry eyes. Sometimes female, with brows like a painting. Sometimes human, sometimes not. When not human, his face became a mass of light, a mass of chaos-colored light.

But his eyes did not change.

In those eyes, stars turned, galaxies flowed, universes were born and died—not an illusion, but real. Within his eyes lay a universe containing countless stars, lives, civilizations, arising, ceasing, reincarnating. His eyes merely watched, silently, without sorrow or joy.

He wore a silver-white robe, unadorned, with only light flowing upon it. The light streamed from his shoulders to the hem, then back to the shoulders, slow like melting silver, like flowing moonlight. His hair floated in the light, silver-white, each strand carrying a fine thread of light flowing from scalp to tip and back.

The Transcendent One looked at Wang Ping and gave a faint smile.

That smile was so faint it was almost invisible—just a slight lift of the mouth's corner, a slight deepening of the wrinkles at the eye's corner. But Wang Ping saw it, for he had been waiting for this smile. Since the Azure Void Heavenly Realm, since the moment the silver stone gate opened, he had waited. He waited many years, from early Nascent Soul to mid Spirit Transformation, from a clueless brat to a cultivator who could stand on his own. He waited until his master died, his comrades died, countless people died. He waited until he had walked through the Return to the Void, the Sea of Laws, the Reverse Flow of Time, the Trial of the Heart. He waited until he had refined the Blue Lotus, refined the White Tiger, and raised his own Dao art from the fourth realm to the fifth.

He had waited until now.

The Transcendent One spoke not, merely gazing at Wang Ping. His gaze was light, as light as a feather landing on Wang Ping's shoulder—no weight, yet a sensation. Wang Ping felt it: the feather fell on his left shoulder, then slid down his arm, to the back of his hand, and finally into his palm.

In his palm lay the stone formed from the pangolin.

The feather landed on the stone, and the stone moved. The pangolin lifted its head from his palm, its small eyes gazing at the Transcendent One. Its eyes held no awe, no fear, only curiosity. It looked at the ever-changing face, at the eyes where stars were born and died, at the robe flowing with light. After a while, it drew its head back and curled again into a stone.

The Transcendent One smiled again, this time a little deeper.

He looked at the pangolin, then the green snake, the golden crow, the ice dragon, the white tiger. His gaze lingered on each spirit beast a moment, as if recognizing kin. The spirit beasts also looked at him, feeling as Wang Ping did. This person, they had seen before—in the Azure Void Heavenly Realm, in the Return to the Void. Each time they met, he had helped them—not to make them stronger, but to help them live more like themselves.

Finally, his gaze fell upon Wang Ping. He looked at Wang Ping for a long time. In his eyes, the stars ceased turning, the galaxies stopped flowing, the universe halted its birth and death. They stilled, resting quietly in his eyes, together watching Wang Ping. The entire chaos light grew still—flowing light ceased, surging clouds stilled, pervasive mist faded. All light was looking at Wang Ping.

"You have come." The Transcendent One spoke.

His voice was soft yet clear—not entering through the ears, but ringing directly in the heart. Like a temple bell at dawn, reverberating, striking the heart and sending out layers of echoes. The voice carried the taste of time, the sediment of myriad ages. It was not one person's voice, but many voices stacked together—male and female, old and young, some laughing, some crying, some speaking, some singing. Yet when combined, they became a single voice: his.

Wang Ping nodded. He did not speak, for he did not know what to say.

Thanks is too light. What this person gave him was not help, but a path—from the gate of the Azure Void Heavenly Realm, to the finger-point of the Return to the Void, to this gate of the Chaos Immortal Stele. Each step was a path, not laid by others, but walked by himself. Yet the path's beginning was pointed out by this person. Sorry is too heavy. This person needs no apology from him, for there is nothing to forgive. The path he walks is his own choice. This person merely tells him the path is there.

He could only nod.

The Transcendent One watched him nod, then reached out and pointed at Wang Ping's chest. His finger was very white, almost translucent. At its tip was a speck of chaos-colored light. When that light touched Wang Ping's robe, the robe became transparent—not vanished, but transparent. Wang Ping could see his own chest, the vessels under his skin, the blood flowing within them. The blood was red, but within the red were specks of chaos light.

The Transcendent One's finger halted before his chest, not touching the skin, an inch away. Yet Wang Ping felt the finger's temperature—neither cold nor hot, exactly matching his own body temperature, like a person looking in a mirror: when the finger touches the glass, the finger in the mirror touches him.

"You have brought something." The Transcendent One said.

Wang Ping lowered his head, looking at his chest. There was nothing there but his heartbeat. Yet he knew what the Transcendent One meant: those spirit beasts, lives born from his Dao arts. They were in his body, in his meridians, in his dantian. They were part of him, and also himself. He had brought them here, to the Chaos Immortal Stele, before the Transcendent One.

It was not he who brought them; they came of their own accord.

Since the day of the Return to the Void, they have been inseparable from him. His life soul resides in their bodies; their lives reside in his. Wherever he is, they are there. Regardless of his willingness, regardless of theirs. Once this bond is formed, it cannot be broken—not because it cannot be, but because they do not wish to. For they remember the pain of that day, and its warmth.

The Transcendent One's finger withdrew from his chest and pointed toward the distance.

There, a cluster of light shone—brighter, thicker, denser than the surrounding light. It pulsed like a heart, like a lamp, like a life gestating. Its color was chaos-colored, but not murky gray; it was bright and sparkling, like a gray gem, like a gray star, like a gray sun. It dwelled in the depths of the chaos light, emitting its own glow.

Wang Ping gazed at that cluster of light for a long time.

His chaos primordial spirit leaped in his dantian—not from fear, but excitement; not his excitement, but that of the chaos primordial spirit. It sensed that within that cluster of light lay what it had been seeking since the day it was born in Wang Ping's dantian. It did not know what it sought, only that it must seek, and that the thing was within that light.

Now it has found it.

The Transcendent One turned to face that cluster of light. His back, seen by Wang Ping, loomed tall—high enough to prop up heaven and stand firm on earth. His silver-white hair floated in the light like a river; his silver-white robe flowed like a sea. Standing there, he resembled a mountain, a stele, a gate. He was the gateway to that cluster of light.

"Go." He said. His voice remained soft, but a little heavier than before—weighted by a single word. "It will not harm you. It only wishes to see you."

Wang Ping gazed at the Transcendent One's back for a long time. He had many questions he wanted to ask. He wanted to ask what that cluster of light was. He wanted to ask what would happen after seeing it. He wanted to ask whether his path, having come this far, had reached its end. He wanted to ask where his master was, where his comrades were, where the dead were. He wanted to ask what the meaning of life was.

But he asked none of them.

Not because he dared not, but because he needed not. He knew all answers lay within that cluster of light. The light would tell him everything—not with words, but by being. If he entered that light, he would know. Not knowing the answer, but becoming the answer. He is the answer; the answer is him.

He stepped forward.

First step: the green snake swam from beside him to his wrist, re-coiling. Second step: the golden crow flew down from high altitude to land on his left shoulder, folding its golden wings. Third step: the ice dragon came from his right, coiled around his waist, its silver scales pressing against his robe. Fourth step: the pangolin leapt from his palm to his right shoulder, its tiny claws gripping his collar. Fifth step: the white tiger stepped from behind him to his side, walking shoulder to shoulder.

Six breaths became six footfalls.

He walked toward that cluster of light, steps light and slow—like a child toward a mother's embrace, like a traveler toward home, like a river toward the sea. Behind him, the Transcendent One's silhouette faded in the light, like a picture soaked in water, ink bleeding, lines blurring. He had not vanished; he had merely retreated into the light's depths, there watching Wang Ping.

In his eyes was relief.

He had waited a long time—not from when Wang Ping entered the Chaos Immortal Stele, but from earlier. From when Wang Ping tore his life soul in the Return to the Void, from when Wang Ping first heard the word 'live,' from when Wang Ping was still a mortal gazing up at the silver stone gate from outside the Azure Void Heavenly Realm. Even earlier. From when Wang Ping was merely a wisp of chaos qi, he had been waiting.

He awaited this child from the spirit realm, to walk the path he ought to walk, to come before him, to enter that cluster of light. Now he had finally waited. In his eyes was pride—not the pride of an elder for a junior, but the pride of a fellow traveler for a fellow traveler. He had walked this road, knowing its hardship, knowing the pain, the suffering, the despair, the moments of gritting one's teeth alone at night. Wang Ping had made it through all of them.

His eyes held a hint of reluctance.

Because he knew that after Wang Ping entered that ball of light, he was no longer a child—not an increase in age, not a rise in cultivation, but a change in "existence". He would become an existence like that of a Transcendent—not becoming a Transcendent, but becoming himself. That point of light that rushed out of chaos, the first existence that said "I", the existence he had always been but never knew.

The Transcendent stood in the depths of the light, watching Wang Ping's back.

His lips twitched and he uttered a single word. The sound was so faint that even he couldn't hear it, but the entire Chaos Light heard it, for as soon as the word left his mouth, all the light brightened for an instant—not becoming brighter, but "living" for a moment. The Chaos Light lived for a moment, then returned to its original state.

That word was "live".

Same as the word spoken at the silver stone gate of the Azure Abyss Heaven Domain, and the same as the word Wang Ping spoke to the spirit beasts in the Returned Ruins. One "live" word, spoken three times. The first time was to teach him, the second time was when he learned it, the third time was to witness it. The Transcendent witnessed Wang Ping truly coming to life.

Wang Ping did not hear that word behind him. He had already reached the front of the light mass.

The light mass was larger than he imagined. From afar it looked like a point; up close he saw it was a sea—a sea of light. The sea surface was calm as a mirror, without ripples. But Wang Ping knew that beneath the surface there were undercurrents, whirlpools, and countless things gestating. He stood at the shore, gazing at the sea surface. The surface reflected his image—not his present appearance, but his original form.

That reflection was a ball of chaos-colored light. Tiny, weak, blurry. Yet it moved, breathed, lived.

Wang Ping stared at his reflection for a long time. Then he reached out, and the instant his fingertip touched the Sea of Light, the world fell silent—not a silence without sound, but the very concept of sound vanished. He could hear neither his own heartbeat nor his breath, nor the cries of the spirit beasts, nor the sound of the light flowing, nor the footsteps of the Transcendent, nor the hum of the Chaos Immortal Stele.

He heard nothing.

But he heard everything.

He heard the breath of the Dao. Not the breath of any one Dao, but the breath of all Daos. The breath of the Five Elements Dao was like the earth's heartbeat, the breath of the Yin-Yang Dao like the alternation of sun and moon, the breath of the Time-Space Dao like the rise and fall of tides. They inhaled together, exhaled together, and their breaths merged into a soundless song.

He heard the pulse of Chaos. Not a heartbeat, but the pulse of existence itself. When it contracted, all things gathered inward; when it expanded, all things spread outward. Between contraction and expansion, the universe had birth and death. Those births and deaths were completed within its pulse, just as a lifetime is completed within a breath.

He heard the beginning and ending of all things.

Every beginning was a soft "hng". Like a newborn's first cry, a seed's first sound breaking soil, the first birdcall before dawn. Every ending was a soft "ah". Like an elder's last breath, a leaf's final touch on the ground, the last bell toll after dusk. Countless "hng"s and "ah"s gathered into a sea of sound.

He was within that ball of light. The light was in his heart.

Wang Ping closed his eyes.

In that instant of closing his eyes, he saw everything—not past or future, but "all". All the Daos, all the principles, all life, all death. They unfolded simultaneously before his eyes like a picture stretched infinitely, every detail clear. He saw how Chaos split into Yin and Yang, how Yin and Yang gave rise to the Five Elements, how the Five Elements transformed into all things. He saw the growth and decay of all things, the birth and death of life, the shining and fading of stars.

He saw that path.

From Chaos to all things, from all things to life, from life to spirit, from spirit to immortal, from immortal to Transcendence. That is the road home. Every being walks this road—some fast, some slow, some stop halfway, some go the wrong way. But no matter how they walk, the road's direction is one: return to Chaos. Not returning to that gray mist, but returning to one's original form—the point of light that rushed out of Chaos.

His body melted in the Sea of Light.

Not disappearing, but merging. His skin, flesh, bones, meridians, and elixir field gradually merged into the Sea of Light. There was no pain, only warmth—like a weary bird returning to the forest, a fish returning to the sea, rain falling to the earth. He had originally come from this Sea of Light; now he was merely returning.

His spirit beasts also melted.

The Green Snake turned into a thread of green light and merged into the Sea of Light. The green light swam a circle in the sea, then sank to the seabed. The Golden Crow turned into a strand of gold light and merged into the Sea of Light. The gold light circled the sea surface three times, then fell into the sea's heart. The Ice Dragon turned into a strand of silver light and merged into the Sea of Light. The silver light wound through the sea, then stopped, resting in the depths of the Sea of Light. The Pangolin turned into a clump of yellow light and merged into the Sea of Light. The yellow light rolled a few times in the sea, then settled, still as a stone. The White Tiger turned into a clump of white light and merged into the Sea of Light. The white light ran across the sea, running faster and farther, until it became part of the Sea of Light.

They returned home.

Wang Ping also returned home.

His consciousness spread throughout the Sea of Light, no longer confined to his body. He became part of the Sea of Light, and the Sea of Light became part of him. He moved within the Sea of Light—not with his body, but with his existence. Wherever he wished to go in the Sea of Light, he was there. He saw countless points of light gestating in the depths of the Sea of Light. Each point of light was a life that would, someday, surge out of the Sea of Light and begin its own path.

He saw himself.

That first point of light that rushed out of Chaos, the first existence that said "I", still remained there, in the deepest part of the Sea of Light, quietly glowing. It had never left, for it needed not to. It is the source of all points of light, the origin of all paths. It waits for all points of light to return, for all paths to reach their end. It has waited for many, and many still wait.

Wang Ping swam to it—not him going to it, but it coming to him.

Two points of light met in the depths of the Sea of Light—one was the origin, the other the return. One was the source, the other the flow. One was the initial split of Chaos, the other the return after the split. They gazed at each other, needing no words, for they were originally one.

Then they merged together.

Not a merger, not a devouring, but a fusion—like a drop of water merging into another drop, like a beam of light merging into another beam. No trace, no sound, no process. Wang Ping was that first point of light, and that first point of light was Wang Ping. They had always been one, merely separated for too long, so long they forgot each other.

Now he remembered.

Wang Ping opened his eyes in the Sea of Light—not his original eyes, but the Sea of Light's eyes. With the Sea of Light's eyes he gazed at the Sea of Light, at the points of light gestating, at the points of light returning, at the points of light still on their way. He saw everything and understood everything.

A smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Like the Transcendent's smile. It was faint, almost imperceptible. But that smile held light—Chaos-colored light. That light began at the corner of his mouth, slowly spreading across his face, then across the entire Sea of Light. The Sea of Light brightened for an instant, then returned to its original state.

He opened his mouth.

The first word he spoke was "live".

Same as the word he spoke to the spirit beasts in the Returned Ruins, and the same as the word he heard the Transcendent speak before the Chaos Immortal Stele. But this time he was not speaking to others; he was speaking to himself—to the self that had slept for countless years in the depths of the Sea of Light. That self heard it, stirred, and opened its eyes.

The Sea of Light trembled.

All the points of light lit up at that instant, and the entire Sea of Light became a gigantic heart. It beat once, twice, three times. With each beat, countless points of light surged out of the sea. They laughed, shouted, and ran in all directions. They would become stars, become mountains and rivers, become plants, become beasts, become