Chapter Fifty-Five: The Scholar

The young man was clad in white, ethereal as though untouched by the world, his gaze clear and gentle, radiating the soft light of a bright moon. A faint smile touched his lips. “Miss, you misunderstand. I am not called Nameless; I simply have no name.”

“No name?” Little Phoenix blinked in confusion. How could there be someone in the world without a name? How was she supposed to address him?

“What can you do?” Feng Shang suddenly asked.

“I know a few Daoist arts,” replied the young man.

“Daoist arts? Doesn’t sound impressive,” Feng Shang shook his head, his tone serious. “The Library Pavilion of Star City houses countless cosmic techniques and ancient divine arts. If we wish to learn, why would we seek you?”

“Boy Feng, what this man knows is called the Derivation Arts. You’d best not let this opportunity slip,” the old vagabond lying to the side suddenly awoke at that moment, grabbing his yellow gourd for a drink and speaking slowly.

“Derivation Arts? What’s special about them?” Feng Shang had never heard of any Daoist or divine arts by that name in the Spiritual Qi Universe.

Though the old vagabond was lazy and fond of food and drink, his origins were mysterious and his knowledge vast. Otherwise, he would not have been maintained here for years, served daily with fine wine.

“A speck of dust can become a sea of stars. A thread of dawn can be forged into a radiant sun,” the old vagabond said. “In the age of the ancient cosmos, cultivators grasped the essence of the Dao and founded the Derivation Arts. With a single thought, they could birth mountains and rivers, or destroy the heavens and the cosmic vault. Some say the ultimate Derivation Arts create another Spiritual Qi Universe. The great cosmos we inhabit is but the perfect derivation of one person’s will.”

“You speak of the Path of Contradiction,” Starbreaker shook his head, disagreeing.

“Indeed, the Derivation Arts are flawed, the Spiritual Qi Universe is flawed, and so is the cosmic Dao,” the old vagabond sighed, his voice weathered. “One may become a god, be canonized as a saint, but cannot sever the shackles of time, cannot escape the final bonds. Otherwise, why do some cultivate six incarnations?”

After his words, an inexplicable emotion flowed within their hearts.

Starbreaker’s eyes suddenly shone with divine light, awakened by the old vagabond’s insight. His gaze grew sharp, like a peerless celestial blade, scrutinizing the young man up and down.

Feng Shang was astonished and moved, realizing these were words of profound significance, hinting at something deeper.

Qing furrowed her brow, pondering silently.

Only Little Phoenix and Shadow remained bewildered, innocent and pure, lost in the conversation and unable to grasp the old vagabond’s meaning—it was simply too profound.

“Good, good, good.” After a moment, Starbreaker repeated the word thrice, and when he looked at the young man again, his gaze was entirely different—tinged with fervor and freshness for one who walks ahead on the path.

“Senior…”

The young man was surprised, unable to understand why Starbreaker’s demeanor had become so… intense?

“You are in Nine Star City. Teach these children well, and I will forge for you a Star Refining Treasure Aura,” Starbreaker pledged solemnly.

The young man shook his head. “Senior Nine Mad, you have already done me a great favor. I am unworthy of more. Teaching a few Daoist transformations is nothing; I cannot accept your reward.”

“Do you realize, in the Spiritual Qi Universe, you are the only one to refuse my Star Refining gift?” Starbreaker smiled. “Very well, let this karma return to its rightful owner who seeks your incarnation’s path.”

…

Star Sea, beneath the vast firmament, the mansion of the Hua Sage.

Here, winding paths meander through secluded gardens, with fantastical rock formations and elegant architecture; pavilions exude literary charm, orchids and bamboo flourish in the courtyard, and splendid trees fill the air with freshness and clarity.

Beyond the nine-bend corridor lies a clear lake, its emerald waves rippling gently in the breeze, beautiful and inviting.

At the lake’s center stands a pavilion.

A scholar, possessed of an ethereal aura, sat cross-legged within, cooling himself. Suddenly, he opened his eyes. For a brief moment, stars wheeled and all things were born and perished; upon closer inspection, nothing seemed to have happened.

He pondered briefly, murmuring to himself, “Not very worthwhile.”

“Sir, a letter from the Han Morning Realm,” a child in white walked down the corridor, holding a scroll glowing with mysterious purple light, and bowed from the shore.

“Speak.”

“The Three Ancient Clans of the Grand Han Morning wish you to permit the opening of the Jian Divine Realm, so they may send their young to vie for this era’s fortunes.”

“I see,” the scholar waved his hand, and the purple scroll flew to him. He opened it, reading for a while, his expression thoughtful.

The writing within was not simple, possessing a flavor of returning to the primordial.

In all the vast Han Morning Realm, only that person seemed capable of such writing.

“Nine is the utmost of the universe. This era, the Jian Divine Realm opens for the first time; perhaps there will be unexpected changes…” the scholar murmured, holding the purple scroll.

Recently, more and more petitions have come for the opening of divine realms, surely with deeper meaning.

A breeze of mist and smoke drifted by, dreamlike and ethereal, and the scholar vanished from the lakeside pavilion.

The white-clad child’s expression remained calm as he withdrew; the scholar came and went as a shadow, needing no explanation.

…

A bright moon hung high.

On a tiny island in the Star Sea, a youth in blue sat alone on the shore, playing a flute. Under the moonlight, the flute gleamed with amber brilliance, its sound gentle as a murmuring stream, flowing softly through the star-studded night.

After a long while.

A small mysterious turtle surfaced and crawled to the youth’s side, yawning as it bathed in the moon’s essence, bored and listless, quietly listening to the flute.

“Susu…” came a faint sound from afar. A scholar, riding the sea breeze, walked onto the island.

The little turtle lazily lifted its gaze—unmoved, clearly familiar with the scholar’s frequent visits.

“The Jian Divine Realm is about to open,” the scholar’s eyes shone with brilliance, addressing the youth as an equal.

“Hmm.” The youth lowered his flute, his gaze calm as he admired the night sea, lost in thought. His voice was not that of a young man, but of a middle-aged one.

“There is a power, dormant for eight ancient eras, woven through a thousand domains. I fear their emergence will be the variable when Jian Divine Realm opens,” said the scholar.

The youth paused for a long time before speaking. At last, he smiled faintly, gently wiping the flute with his sleeve. “Let it be.”

“Why?”

“Defeat was written in ancient heaven, the upper nations are at rest. Even if they seek resurgence in this era, it will not be easy.”

The youth shook his head, his words imbued with subtle meaning. As they sounded, his figure gradually faded, the flute in his arms growing indistinct.

In the end, he vanished like mist and cloud.

The little turtle rose, lazy as ever, slowly crawling toward the Star Sea.

“Wait,” the scholar called after it.

The turtle turned, regarding him with puzzlement, as if asking—what is it?

“The Mountain and Sea Mirror, is it not time you returned it to me?” The scholar’s eyes were clear, his manner refined and gentle.

The little turtle nodded in agreement, but in the next instant, its eyes gleamed cunningly, and with a swift motion, it darted into the Star Sea and vanished.

Seeing this, the scholar could only shake his head in resignation.