Chapter 53: The Covenant Is Sealed; Those Who Break It Shall Suffer the Penalty of the Devouring Rock

While Ye Xuan journeyed toward Mount Kunlun, within the Imperial Capital’s Sihe Academy.

On the sandalwood go board, the black stones had no escape left.

“I’ve lost.”

Li Cheng’an sighed softly, placing the black stone between his fingers back into the go bowl, then lifted his gaze to the man across from him, his eyes complex.

The “young man” seated opposite him wore a dark gold long robe, its hem embroidered with dark patterns resembling dragon scales; his long hair was bound with a jade zhang, a few strands of temple hair falling loosely, stirring faintly in the wind.

His handsome face was not of this world, his eyes holding a weariness incongruous with his youth, his expression calm as still water—yet somehow evoking towering mountains.

“Should I call you Shanhai now… or Zhongli?”

Li Cheng’an sighed inwardly.

He and Zhong Shanhai had grown up in the same courtyard, close as children; though adulthood brought differing beliefs and allegiances, and they often clashed on key issues, their bond remained unbroken.

He had imagined that in old age, they would gradually relinquish power, spend days sipping tea, fishing, chatting, enjoying quiet lives—never expecting the world to change so drastically.

Spiritual energy revived. Dimensional invasions began.

All things, nurtured by spiritual energy, began evolving, awakening special abilities; even creatures from human fantasy appeared in reality.

Thus, the lives of these two men, both nearly sixty, diverged utterly.

He was white-haired; Zhong Shanhai had become young again.

Li Cheng’an felt no envy.

For the sake of Great Xia, he had voluntarily suppressed his own will, forging himself into a vessel suited to “Zhongli”; though his power grew immense and his lifespan extended, his aged face restored to youth.

But now—who was he truly? Zhong Shanhai… or the Rock King Emperor of Liyue?

Li Cheng’an never voiced this thought, yet the man across from him had already perceived it.

“Every time we play, you wear that same expression.”

Zhong Shanhai—or Zhong Lao—gently pressed a stone onto the board, his tone calm.

“The world doesn’t lack a Zhong Shanhai. But it lacks a god who truly sees this land as his child—not his possession.”

“We both know our core flaw: power corrupts the heart. Even if you remain pure, what of your family? Your friends? Your students?”

“Beneath the sun, none are truly clean. Neither you nor I.”

After placing the stone, Zhong Lao continued:

“But now, it is different.”

“I have the power to change this. And the resolve to see it through.”

“Once, I still carried human weakness—I spared out of emotion, bent rules for old friends; but now, I will not.”

“We are the ones who signed the covenant—and the ones who perfected it. If we ourselves do not uphold our own covenant, whom else can we expect to?”

“The covenant is sealed. Those who break it shall suffer the Penalty of the Devouring Rock.”

Li Cheng’an fell silent. He understood these truths all too well.

Yet this murky world was never black and white; at their height, even with pure intentions, power inevitably stains.

Not seeking personal gain, yet still thinking of securing paths for descendants; not greedy for wealth, yet unable to refuse kin and friends’ pleas.

Zhong Shanhai, now transcending humanity, naturally sees all things as cuttable with one blade; yet this mortal world is, after all, a mire of yin and yang.

As a god born of human imagination, infused with countless beautiful words, Zhong Shanhai had fully become Zhongli, descending as a deity to reshape heaven and earth—undoubtedly a blessing to all beings.

But what of those whose livelihoods and paths were severed because of him?

Those now lying low merely lack the strength to oppose him; should they gain it in the future, they will spare nothing to bind and control him.

A god who loves humanity more than humans themselves is salvation to the common folk—but for some, it is the worst nightmare imaginable.

Li Cheng’an shook his head, ending the topic.

At least in his heart, he was grateful for Zhongli’s arrival.

In this turbulent age, unlike any before, Great Xia needed such a guardian beyond humanity—even if it meant former beneficiaries like themselves must surrender some power.

But even if they surrendered it, so what?

They, in their high positions, had always lived well.

Generous privileges, exalted status, benefits no ordinary person could dream of—was that not enough?

Human greed always leaves them dissatisfied with what they have, always craving more.

“Yesterday, I saw a new future—different people dying in different ways.”

“Run over by a runaway truck on a crosswalk. Sudden heart attack in a meeting room. Fell on the street, impaled through the brain by a tree branch.”

Zhong Lao’s calm gaze sharpened instantly, his rock-gold pupils contracting slightly.

Li Cheng’an continued.

“Technically, these aren’t unusual. Nearly ten thousand die daily from accidents across Great Xia—these are merely a tiny fraction.”

“But I don’t believe my ability would suddenly show me futures so ordinary.”

“So I memorized the faces of some, and after waking, had people investigate them based on my descriptions.”

He pulled a stack of files from his robe and slowly pushed them toward Zhong Lao.

“Slander. Embezzlement. Bullying. Assault.”

“Each incident stirred minor ripples—but each was swiftly silenced.”

“Even when outcomes were reached, they were unsatisfying.”

“We stand too high to see these things. Now that we’ve seen them, we must act.”

“Otherwise, before long, we may no longer be needed.”

Zhong Lao’s gaze lifted from the files, his rock-gold eyes fixed on Li Cheng’an.

“You believe their deaths in your vision were not accidents?”

Li Cheng’an gave a slight nod, his voice calm.

“If they were accidents, that would be best. But you and I know this world does not punish evil with evil.”

“So, most likely, it’s deliberate.”

“They lived in different cities, thousands of miles apart. In my vision, their deaths occurred within minutes of each other.”

“If a normal person or even an adept were responsible, there must be a force spanning nearly half of Great Xia, capable of tracking these individuals with precision.”

“I lean toward the conclusion: their deaths are the effect of some celestial artifact.”

Unlike today’s youth, Li Cheng’an had read works by authors of his own era—his imagination far narrower, his genres far more limited.

Thus, many of today’s celestial artifacts were utterly unfamiliar to him.

(End of Chapter)