Chapter 422: The Tomb of the God of Killing, Bai Qi

Blood seeped from the cracks in the wall—ancient blood, so much of it, no one knew how many mighty beings were buried here.

Blood flowed from the wall’s fissures.

With awe and reverence, the Three Supreme Immortals of Jiuzhou entered Hangu Pass.

Once, when mortals first saw Hangu Pass upon the River of Time, they speculated it was more than merely an Emperor’s Pass—its interior must hold hidden wonders.

The reason was simple: the Emperor’s Pass was too vast, built upon the foundation of worlds—they could not believe it held nothing.

After all, Hangu Pass stood guard over the River of Time, blocking incursions from the future; the gods and demons stationed here could not possibly stand idle on the pass every day.

They must have places to rest and cultivate.

And so it was.

As soon as the Three Supreme Immortals of Jiuzhou entered Hangu Pass, they discovered its interior truly held hidden wonders.

But

Tianxie Sword Immortal, the Three Supreme Immortals of Jiuzhou, and Gao Xiang Hong all froze, their faces filled with strangeness—they had never imagined the Emperor’s Pass would look like this.

Not just mortals, even the three of them had envisioned what lay within the Emperor’s Pass.

For example, opulent palaces and towers, each housing a mighty being.

Or an earthly paradise, with immortal isles floating, qi like clouds drifting, each isle guarded by ancient beings.

Or a hidden expanse of boundless starry sky, great stars rising and sinking, rivers of stars hanging high, glowing points where gods sat in meditation for eons, their bodies coated in thick layers of dust, in deep contemplation for a hundred thousand years.

Or…

They had imagined countless possibilities, but never once had they imagined the Emperor’s Pass would be a mass graveyard.

Chilling, hair-raising.

Countless relics of Wei Bao rank lay scattered across the ground in ruins.

Seeing the remnants still radiating earth-shattering power, the Three Supreme Immortals of Jiuzhou’s hearts leapt with desire—then twisted with sorrow.

“Every fragment here is a great opportunity—but they are the weapons of immortal gods who died in battle.”

The three quickly quelled their thoughts, for they realized: these were the blood of heroic warriors who fought on the battlefield, unimaginably glorious sacrifices, their hearts filled with fierce determination to pacify the frontiers, yet all they returned with were their bones and broken weapons.

Within the Emperor’s Pass, there were too many graves—everywhere you looked, countless, impossible to count.

A thousand? Two thousand? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? Definitely more than that.

The Three Supreme Immortals of Jiuzhou fell silent, standing in this boundless graveyard, gazing at each tombstone before them.

Each tombstone bore inscriptions.

Tomb of the God of Killing, Bai Qi…

Tomb of the Martial Saint, Guan Yu…

Tomb of Gu Yun the Undying…

Tomb of the War God, Xingtian…

Each tomb represented an immortal god—and this endless sea of graves, how many immortal heroes had perished here?

The wind blew, cold and mournful, as if gods wept, demons sobbed, demons and buddhas wailed in grief.

The heroes who fought in the earliest frontiers fought in silence; the world’s myriad beings never knew immortal gods had died defending their realm, buried here.

Buried in Hangu Pass, even in death, their wills endured, still guarding—the chilling wind, the rising dark energy, were the best proof.

The Three Supreme Immortals of Jiuzhou remained silent, bowing deeply before this boundless graveyard.

They did not disturb anything in the graveyard, nor purify its resentment or dark evil, for this was the heroic resistance, the roars and screams of the fallen champions who fought the earliest frontiers.

They walked step by step into the depths of the graveyard, then stopped—unable to go further.

Along the way,

Too many.

Truly too many.

One field after another of graves stood lonely upon the River of Time, stretching as if to the edge of spacetime.

The peace of past eras was bought by these fallen heroes buried here.

With their lives, they piled up peace brick by brick.

Yet the world’s myriad beings never knew, never heard, never saw this glory.

Gao Xiang Hong stood solemn, spine straight, staring deeply at the endless rows of graves, memorizing everything—the name on every tombstone he saw.

Finally, he understood.

Why the Moon Reader God and Lucifer called the Initial Realm noble, honorable, why they said the people of the Initial Realm were the most exalted beings in existence.

Not because the Initial Realm was the world first born, the oldest world—that was merely ornamentation.

The Initial Realm’s glory was never granted by age—it was forged by rivers of blood spilled in battle.

Each tombstone here was a patch of blood; it was they who forged the Initial Realm’s nobility, cast its glory, made it the supreme realm, the main current of the River of Time.

“We cannot let them remain nameless.”

Tianxie Sword Immortal spoke—mortals must know of these heroes; the champions should not be forgotten through eons.

The Three Supreme Immortals of Jiuzhou and Gao Xiang Hong both nodded.

“That grave is different.”

After walking further, they saw ahead, at the center, a heavenly stele standing silent amid the River of Time’s waves—cracked, yet unbroken, like a man stubbornly holding up the sky, as if supporting eternity.

Its surface was densely covered in characters—ancient oracle bone script, most of which were now damaged.

“These are China’s oracle bone script.”

Gao Xiang Hong widened his eyes—he recognized the script on the stele, and realized this was not a tomb, merely a solitary heavenly stele.

It seemed the stele recorded something.

The characters on the stele radiated supreme power, unlike any inscriptions on the other graves.

These were characters carved by a Supreme Being!!

No mistake—this power, as if one could casually touch the River of Time, could only be carved by a Supreme.

A Supreme standing here to carve such a stele could never have done so for poetry or verse.

“Xiang Hong, what does this stele say?”

The Three Supreme Immortals of Jiuzhou was excited, his voice rising slightly.

A Supreme—a being beyond time, one might appear only once per world epoch—what they left behind must be extraordinary.

Perhaps this stele held the ultimate secret to becoming a Supreme—how could one not be stirred?

He also tried to judge: which Supreme carved this? Only a few could become Supremes, and with the oracle bone script, the list narrowed drastically.

“Could this be left by the Supreme Sui Ren Shi?”

Thinking of Chinese mythological Supremes, the three immediately thought of Sui Ren Shi.

He was the only known Chinese mythological Supreme—but Chinese mythology had more than just Sui Ren Shi as a Supreme; at least one other existed.

According to the conversation between Cang Jie and Di Shitian in the Ancient Era, the Chinese mythological figure Nüwa was also a Supreme, taught by a departed one to achieve Supreme status.

If Nüwa was a Supreme, then her brother Fu Xi was very likely one too.

After all, Fu Xi’s achievements were no lesser than Nüwa’s—he was the cultural progenitor of China, one of the Three Sovereigns, the earliest recorded creation god in Chinese texts, and the first king documented in ancient Chinese records.

With these titles alone, no one would believe Fu Xi was not a Supreme.

“That Supreme who refused to become Heaven is dead too.”

Looking at the tomb, the Three Supreme Immortals of Jiuzhou grew even more certain: Supremes faced a choice—either die, or become Heaven.

……