Chapter 24

Su Chen never expected that a moment of kindness would bring such a reward.

After leaving Qingxi Sword Sect, he found a cave in an unnamed deep mountain, set up forbidden seals within it, then took out the wooden box and retrieved the mysterious scroll once more.

After Quchu the scroll, Su Chen double-checked that the cave’s seals were intact, then calmed his mind and gazed at the mysterious scroll.

The scroll felt heavy in his hands—not gold, not jade, its material unknown, smooth to the touch yet radiating an ancient desolation.

He slowly unrolled it, and once again the towering divine figure wielding a massive axe appeared before him; the overwhelming, primordial intent of splitting heaven and earth struck him like a blow, shaking his spirit.

But Su Chen’s gaze was soon locked onto the two symbols on the right side of the scroll.

The two symbols were neither characters nor pictures—strokes twisted and coiled, yet perfectly natural, as if etched by the Dao itself at the dawn of creation.

“Primordial Dao Script,” Su Chen whispered four words.

He had once read a few lines about Primordial Dao Script in an ancient scripture from Xieyue Sansheng Cave.

Before human writing emerged, beings in heaven and earth used runes to record things; the scripts of the Witch and Demon clans were crafted by their great ones based on the principles of heaven and earth—mystical, yet still postnatal.

Only Primordial Dao Script was born spontaneously from the Dao at the moment heaven and earth opened.

Each Dao character held unimaginable power.

For this reason, Primordial Dao Script could hardly be recorded, for few substances in the world could bear its weight.

“To contain two complete Primordial Dao Scripts, the scroll’s material must be more precious than ordinary immortal gold or spirit iron.”

Su Chen mused inwardly, his curiosity about the scroll’s origin deepening.

He did not recognize the two characters, but that did not prevent him from contemplating them.

Primordial Dao Script itself was the embodiment of the Dao; if one could comprehend the primordial truths within, the true meaning would naturally reveal itself.

Su Chen sat cross-legged, suspended the scroll before him, and immersed his spiritual sense into it, attempting to touch and understand the ancient symbols.

He entered meditation—and remained so for three days.

For three days, Su Chen neither drank nor ate, neither moved nor stirred, his body like a stone statue.

In his perception, the two Primordial Dao Scripts were like a vast river of the Dao—vast, majestic, ancient, boundless.

And he himself was but a grain of sand beside that river, able only to sense the grandeur of its Daoic essence, utterly unable to glimpse its full form, let alone comprehend its true meaning.

On the fourth morning, Su Chen opened his eyes, a trace of helplessness flickering in them.

The Dao contained within these two characters was too profound—he could not yet comprehend it at his current realm.

“Looks like I’ll have to rely on it.”

Su Chen activated his mind, and the Heaven’s Mechanism Mirror appeared.

“Decode the information contained within this scroll,” he requested of the mirror.

The Heaven’s Mechanism Mirror shimmered.

【Insufficient Heaven’s Points.】

【Hint: To fully decode the information within this scroll requires 200 Heaven’s Points.】

Seeing this prompt, Su Chen glanced at his remaining fifty Heaven’s Points—not a hint of despair, but his eyes blazed with sudden brilliance.

Two hundred points!

The scroll’s value was higher than he’d imagined!

Master Qinghe had truly given him a tremendous gift.

Yet the feeling of holding a mountain of treasure yet being unable to even enter its gate was maddening.

“Enough. Eat one bite at a time. Walk one step at a time.”

Su Chen quickly calmed his mind.

The scroll was already in his possession; its secrets would be unlocked eventually—no need to rush. His immediate priority was to find Wanshou Mountain and obtain that hollow willow branch to refine his Golden Core.

He carefully rolled the scroll back up, placed it in the wooden box, and tucked it close to his body.

He removed the seals at the cave entrance, stepped out, and felt refreshed and invigorated.

“I can’t keep searching like a headless fly.”

Standing atop the mountain peak, Su Chen gazed at the endless mountains and began recalling his past-life memories of Journey to the West.

In past-life films and novels, Wanshou Mountain’s Wuzhuang Temple was described vaguely—known only to lie in the Western Heavens, with no precise coordinates.

Directly locating Wuzhuang Temple was impossible; he’d have to use the crude method: reverse deduction.

Su Chen carefully reviewed the plotlines of Journey to the West.

After stealing the Ginseng Fruit at Wuzhuang Temple came the Three Strikes Against the White Bone Spirit.

Before that, he recalled the Four Saints Testing Chan Heart—Lady Lishan, Guanyin, Puxian, and Wenshu Bodhisattvas transformed into beauties to test Tang Seng’s disciples’ spiritual resolve.

But even that trial lacked a specific location in the text, merely stating it occurred in some remote mountain forest.

What came before that?

“Liusha River!” Su Chen’s eyes lit up.

The Liusha River, where Sha Seng was recruited—a landmark location.

After crossing the Liusha River, Tang Seng’s party encountered the Four Saints Testing Chan Heart, then Wuzhuang Temple.

Though there was some distance between them, finding the Liusha River meant having a clear reference point; traveling westward from there, he’d surely find traces.

This approach was clear and feasible.

Su Chen no longer hesitated, confirmed the direction, and took to the wind again, racing swiftly westward.

At his current Liánxū Hédao cultivation base, he could fly thousands of li in a single day.

But the vastness of the Western Heavens far exceeded his expectations.

After flying for more than ten days, the terrain ahead finally began to change.

The towering mountains gradually vanished, replaced by a vast river stretching beyond sight, spanning heaven and earth.

The water was murky, yet its current was fiercely swift.

“This must be it.”

Su Chen descended and flew along the riverbank for two days, finally finding a massive stone stele half-buried in sand at a river bend.

The stele, weathered by time, bore several ancient, bold characters, carved deep into the stone with powerful strokes.

“Eight hundred li of Liusha, three thousand fathoms of weak water. A goose feather cannot float; reed flowers sink to the bottom.”

Su Chen stared at the inscription, silently relieved.

This weak water corroded cultivators’ magic treasures and rotted their flesh; even ordinary immortals dared not touch it lightly.

Fortunately, he was no flesh-and-blood Tang Seng—he could ride the wind and fly over it; otherwise, just crossing these eight hundred li of Liusha River would have been a nightmare.

He did not linger by the river, took to the wind again, and carefully avoided the water’s surface, flying high above.

After crossing the eight hundred li of Liusha River, he flew further west, and a sizable human city appeared in his view.