Chapter 511: Enter the Mortal Realm!

Experience the eight sufferings of the cycle!

Sun Wukong and Yao flew out of the ruins star region not far, and he suddenly halted.

Yao turned her head to look at him: "What's wrong?"

"Not right."

Sun Wukong scratched his Back of Head, turned and gazed at the Deathly Silence of the ruins behind him.

Over three hundred withered old men and women were still sprawled on the broken‑stone ground, like a pile of dried salted fish.

"Just leave them here?"

Yao blinked: "Otherwise?"

"That would be cheap for them."

Sun Wukong grinned, that Smile carrying a chill that ran down the spine.

"Fèi le Xiūwéi and that's it? Let them lie here waiting for death? How is that any different from giving them a quick end?"

He turned and flew back.

Yao followed, a hint of understanding curving her mouth.

Ruins star region.

Over three hundred former old gods still held the posture they had just moments before.

Some curled into balls and sobbed, some stared blankly at their withered backs of hands, some groped the ground, trying to find their fallen teeth.

Tai Xu lay in the very center, his cloudy old eyes now out of focus.

His lips moved back and forth, repeatedly muttering the same sentence: "My Xiūwéi... give it back to me... give it back to me..."

The voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz, and no one paid him any heed.

"Dong."

A muffled thud came down from Heaven.

Iron Staff struck three inches in front of Tai Xu's face, shattered stones splashing his entire face.

Tai Xu shivered as he lifted his bald head.

A pair of crimson‑gold eyes looked down at him from above.

"Again... again you're back?"

Tai Xu's voice was full of Fear Heart Demon.

Sun Wukong crouched, eye level with him.

"Old thing, you think Fèi le Xiūwéi means it's over?"

Tai Xu's lips trembled, unable to speak.

Sun Wukong stood up, raised his right hand.

Palm down, he gently pressed into the void.

It was like pressing once on a water surface.

The ground of the entire ruins star region began to tremble.

The broken stones leapt up, then fell.

Leapt up again, fell again.

Then— it cracked.

It wasn't a single fissure.

It was an entire sheet.

The ground exploded outward from the center, broken stones and dust surging down, revealing a massive bottomless tunnel beneath.

The entrance spanned roughly a hundred li in radius, a deep glow rose from within, neither golden nor black, but an indescribable murky white mist.

Within the white mist, countless silhouettes could be faintly seen moving.

There were infant cries.

There were the gasps of elders near death.

There were the moans of hunger.

There were the wails of illness.

That was the cycle of reincarnation.

A reincarnation passage leading to Mortals.

The faces of over three hundred old gods turned to deathly ash‑gray the instant they saw the passage.

Ten times paler than when their Xiūwéi had just been stripped.

"No..."

An old god who had already been unable to cry suddenly erupted with an earth‑shattering howl.

"Don't—!"

"You want to throw us down?!"

"Become Mortals? Birth, aging, sickness, death? No no no no—kill me! You kill me then!"

Panic spread through the crowd like a plague.

These beings who had lived for tens of thousands of years, once standing on clouds overlooking ants, now displayed a fear at that passage a thousand‑million times more intense than facing death.

Dead is dead, knowing nothing.

But going down—

you'll starve.

you'll fall ill.

Will age.

Will be bullied.

Will experience all the suffering they once scorned, the suffering that only mortals undergo.

And they will clearly remember who they once were.

Remember that they once stood high above.

That gap is crueler than any torture.

「All——go down. 」

Sun Wukong's voice wasn't loud, but each word was like a nail driven into the ears of every old god.

Birth, aging, sickness, death; love and separation; resentment and hatred; unfulfilled desires.

When you used to watch mortals suffer these hardships, weren't you quite pleased?

Now it's your turn.

The few old men nearest the passage entrance scrambled desperately backward.

With those hands covered in old calluses and wrinkles, their nails scraped the stony ground as they dragged and shifted themselves back.

Their speed was pitifully slow.

They climbed one foot, then gasped three breaths.

Their knees were rubbed raw, their fingers worn bare, yet they felt no pain.

Because the breath emanating from that passage behind them made them Fear Heart Demon more than any pain.

That is the human world.

It is the sea of suffering.

It is hell in their eyes.

Sun Wukong watched them crawl, shaking his head.

「Dragging. 」

He walked over.

He lifted his foot.

「Bang! 」

The first old man was kicked into the air, tracing an arc, and fell with a 'plop' into the white mist.

The Cànjiào echoed in the white mist for two seconds before being drowned out.

「Bang! 」

The second.

「Bang! 」

The third.

Sun Wukong kicked casually, not with much force, like kicking a pebble by the roadside.

To be precise, it was like kicking a soccer ball.

Lift foot, exert force, retract leg.

Very smooth.

One after another, the withered bodies flew up, tumbled in the air, and fell into the bottomless reincarnation passage.

Some clutched their heads and howled.

Some reached out, trying to grab something.

Some had already been frightened into unconsciousness, limbs splayed as they fell downward.

It was all useless.

Once gone, it's gone.

Sun Wukong kicked from east to west, his soles squeaking on the gravel.

Tai Xu was the last one.

He no longer cried, shouted, or begged for mercy.

He merely fixed his turbid old eyes on Sun Wukong's foot.

「Remember your expression now. 」

Sun Wukong lowered his head to look at him.

「When you are starving in the human world, gnawing on bark, think of how many mortals you once let starve to death. 」

He lifted his foot.

Tai Xu closed his eyes.

「Bang. 」

The last withered figure vanished into the white mist.

Sun Wukong stood at the passage entrance, lowering his head to glance at his shoe.

It had a bit of dust on it.

He bent over and tapped it twice with the back of his hand.

As he straightened up, he let out a long whistle.

The tune was very cheerful, like just finishing a satisfying good deed.

Yao floated over from the side, peeking her head to glance into the passage.

「Just throw them down like that? 」

「Not enough? 」

Not enough.

Yao lifted her chin, a flash of cunning light flickered in the depths of her eyes.

She extended her right hand, a cluster of seven-colored light mist rose from her palm.

The light mist silently drifted into the passage, like a thin veil covering each fallen soul.

That was the dream realm's shackles.

Not shackles binding the body, but a seal etched deep within the soul.

I added a little something.

Yao withdrew her hand and patted her palm.

Sun Wukong raised an eyebrow: "What?"

Make it so they can never cultivate.

Yao's tone was light and airy, as if she were commenting on today's nice weather.

No matter how many times they reincarnate, or what they are reborn as, this seal is etched into their souls.

Spiritual root? None.

Immortal affinity? Severed.

Even if someone stuffed their cultivation methods into their mouths, their meridians would not flow a single thread of spiritual energy.

Life after life, they can only be ordinary mortals.

Sun Wukong stared at her for two seconds.

Then he raised his thumb: "Wife, fierce."

Yao gave him a sideways glance: "Learned from you."

The white mist in the passage surged one last time, then began to contract.

The mouth of the passage resembled a giant maw closing, rubble gathering from all directions to fill the cracks.

After ten breaths, the ground returned to its original state.

As if nothing had happened.

Over three hundred old gods, together with their names, their legends, and all they once lofty—

were completely erased from the Three Realms.

No one will remember them anymore.

Sun Wukong slung his iron staff over his shoulder, turned, and reached out his hand to Yao.

"Let's go, back home."

Yao took his hand.

The two turned into a stream of light, shooting up into the sky and vanishing into the depths of the starry void.

The ruined star field returned to silence.

No old gods.

No wails.

Only the sound of wind blowing over rubble.

And at the edge of the universe, in that chaotic realm,

The black giant tree formed from an enemy, its trunk's cracks having spread to the main stem.

Three clusters of azure flames turned into seven.

The seven clusters of flames formed a circle, with the forming eye in the center—

opened.

The pupil of that eye was golden.

Exactly the same golden as Bodhi Patriarch's.

But what lay in the depths of that eye was not compassion, not wisdom.

It was hunger.

It was something that had waited far too long, finally about to break out of its shell.

On Fangcun Mountain, Bodhi Patriarch's teacup shattered in his hand.

The shards pierced his palm, yet the old man did not look at the blood on his hand.

His gaze pierced through three thousand worlds, locking onto that golden eye.

His lips moved slightly.

"... Old thing, you really are willing."