Chapter 117: Is This Not Destiny?

“Master!” The unprecedented ease in his body did not bring joy to Qiao Yu; instead, he felt sorrow.

“Everyone, leave now! If this had happened before…” He climbed up from the ground, his eyes sharper with inquiry. “Who exactly are you? And what was the old ancestor of the Wen family trying to do?”

“When the Heavenly Ladder appears, demons as deeply sinful as you will naturally come to know,” Wen Xueshan said, adjusting his arm. Together with several men in black robes, he carried Wen Jinge to stand beneath the ancient ginkgo tree.

In an instant, the tree’s color shifted to a blood-red hue, as if human blood were flowing through its veins.

The shadows danced, and the tree, once withered and yellow like in autumn, became vibrant, sprouting numerous red buds.

“Master…” Liang Si seemed to want to approach but was held back by the Buddha of Joy and Sorrow.

“See? I told you there was a well here!” the Buddha said.

“Are you talking to me?” The Demon Prince glared at him. Heaven knows his palms were drenched in cold sweat, terrified by Wen Jinge’s death.

Wen Jinge’s death was beyond his comprehension.

“Who are you? Strange,” the Buddha murmured to himself. “Why don’t I remember you being here?”

The Demon Prince was left speechless.

“Take your junior brothers and sisters out. Didn’t Wang Xi say she wanted to visit the Qianyan Kingdom? After you finish there, return to Xuan Yun Sect,” Lu Wei instructed, clarifying the arrangements. He had no intention of leaving.

He brought a few disciples along because they were Wen Jinge’s students.

Now that Wen Jinge was gone, and since he could no longer accomplish what he intended, following her to the end seemed fitting.

“And what about Master?” Ling Yi gazed thoughtfully at the corpse, feeling despite the body’s decomposition, that the Master was still alive.

With such great power, how could the Master have died so suddenly?

It had to be a lie!

“All right, let’s go.” Yang Wennan remained as silent as ever, taking Ling Yi’s hand. “Take care, Master.”

“Brother Yang, how can you be like this!” Wang Xi murmured but knew this was not the time for loyalty. She was restless inside, wondering who would avenge them if they all died here. After coming to terms with it, she said, “Fine! Let’s go!”

The Demon Prince looked at them with a mix of frustration and disbelief. How did they all turn against him?

Were disciples of Xuan Sect truly so heartless and unprincipled? Worse than demons!

He had intended to stay and help but, being a demon himself, had no standing to consider things from the Xuan Sect’s perspective. Stomping his foot, he declared, “I’m leaving too! Goodbye!”

Lu Wei nodded slightly, and after everyone had jumped into the well, he finally asked, “When will the Heavenly Ladder appear?”

“Mr. Lu, are you anxious?”

“Not exactly.” He sneered, lying beside Wen Jinge. Wen Xueshan, perhaps thinking that since everyone was dead, an outsider posed no threat, did not stop him.

“It’s just strange.”

“If Mr. Lu finds the ancestor’s last command puzzling, I cannot help clarify. We were born for this purpose. The ancestor does not explain, and we do not ask. As for the calamity hidden behind this order, the ancestor bears it.”

“She’s dead. How can she bear it?”

Wen Xueshan was momentarily dumbfounded, then sighed. “Trust in fate and do your best.”

“Fate?” Lu Wei stared at the sky. “Who commands the gods then?”

After saying this, his expression grew peculiar.

He realized, unknowingly, he had adopted some of Wen Jinge’s habits—like contemplating issues from such a challenging perspective.

His face hardened. “Don’t tell me there’s a heaven above the gods? Nowadays, Xuan Sect disciples scramble to ascend, striving to become gods. For what purpose?”

Wen Xueshan turned away, no longer speaking.

Lu Wei held the Demon Harp in his palm, patiently wiping the bloodstains from its blade.

“One sword is Gou Chen, the other the Demon Harp—extremes of pure yang and pure yin both in your hands. I have never seen anyone who could keep two such opposing swords together.

If you say the Demon Harp was not your sword before, I won’t believe it. Yet, everyone says you used only Gou Chen in the past, but now I see you wield the Demon Harp most frequently.

Why is that? Both sentient swords follow you, proving you are no ordinary person. Wen Jinge, you faked your death, didn’t you?”

Boundless darkness, endless suffocation, powerless struggle… No matter the effort, the fate was inescapable, like a life scripted and replayed, akin to a single-player game with the save file repeatedly erased…

Failure, restart. Failure, restart. Failure, restart…

No one knew how far this cycle would go, when it would end, or where the final destination lay…

Only one voice echoed in the heart: “You cannot die. You must live, live, live…”

“How to live?” It sounded like a question to herself, and to others. “How to live? How to live?”

The echo repeated again and again: death, rebirth, death, rebirth, death, rebirth…

After countless cycles, each time she saw another version of herself turning away, like a circle looping endlessly. In this closed loop, even the most diligent ant could not find its way home.

“Kill them, and you will survive.”

“But I don’t want to kill.”

“No, you must.”

“...Why?”

“You are a god. You must be merciless.”

“There are so many gods in the world; why can’t you be flexible? Why find me? Don’t tell me those others won’t do?”

“This world… is about to be destroyed.”

“Then let it be destroyed!”

“But your destiny isn’t meant for that.”

“Destiny? Ha ha ha, you’re gods. I am you, the me from a past life, you all are me, yet you talk of destiny? The biggest joke I’ve heard.”

“But we’re all dead. Isn’t that destiny?”

“I understand now.” She took a deep breath, the arrogance fading from her face. “Let me think… think.”

“It’s useless. We’ve thought through every method you imagine.”

“No, you haven’t. You’re repeating. No more repetition. Repetition will only make me like you… I refuse to be a useless thing like you… In the future, in the future, I want a great power…”

“What kind?”

A hoarse, weary voice asked.

“Mechanisms, those who wield mechanism arts… They, no… those gods, must all be exterminated… You failed because of those meddlesome gods… Gods must be destroyed…”

“Mechanism arts…” the voice, old and frail like a crone’s, echoed again. “I remember one, a genius a thousand years from now, called the Diviner.”

“Who was the last god?” she asked. “Kill her, take her place…”

“White Deer…”