Chapter 66: A Temporary Pause

Outwardly, it appeared to be nothing more than an ancient well. Whatever was sealed beneath it, Cao Chengyu could not investigate directly, but he could surmise that it was something teeming with vitality and brimming with yang energy—a treasure or perhaps some kind of living being. As for the very bottom, it was most likely a living corpse.

A living corpse—neither alive nor dead, neither yin nor yang—was a peculiarly rare creature. Furthermore, the arrangement here, blending yin within yang and yang within yin, closely resembled a Taiji diagram. Could it be that the so-called Yin-Yang Reversal Array he’d once fabricated as a joke truly bore that name? And what was its effect? Prolonging life, or resurrection? Or perhaps both?

Cao Chengyu was inclined toward this speculation because the original purpose of the Reversal Array was resurrection. Any derivative or improved formation based on it would surely retain that core function. In the Daoist scriptures, yang signifies the vitality of all things; thus, prolonging life is the most basic effect.

Of the three great Golden Core cultivators in the Skymonitoring Pavilion, aside from the master of the tower who was still relatively young, Wanxiang and Miaodan were both nearing the end of their lifespans. In the hierarchy of cultivation, the Spirit-Refining stage granted 120 to 140 years, the Dao Body around 240, the Purple Mansion over 500, and the Golden Core an astonishing 1,200 years.

Among these three, the master of the tower was just over 740 years old, the youngest, with the greatest potential and formidable strength. Miaodan had already lived 1,150 years and was approaching the very limits of her lifespan. Wanxiang was the most unfortunate; in his youth, he had altered another’s fate and suffered the backlash of mystical arts. Though just past 900, he was already shrouded in the aura of death. At this rate, within a decade, he would be carried to his grave to the sound of mourning pipes.

Indeed, the stargazing arts of the mystical Dao were powerful, but their backlash brought early death to their practitioners. In Cao Chengyu’s eyes, even living 900 years was a short life. He was different—he intended to roam free for at least ten thousand years before considering it a minor achievement.

Given all these factors, and a reasonable margin of inference, Cao Chengyu provisionally concluded that the effect of the Yin-Yang Reversal Array was to prolong life and resurrect the dead. Using the entire population of the Dayue dynasty as material, the collected vitality would be monstrous; not only would it suffice for these three, but it could easily sustain twenty more Golden Core cultivators.

He estimated the likelihood of this conjecture at forty percent. The remaining sixty percent was riddled with uncertainties. First, whom did they intend to resurrect? Second, if the imperial method was merely a smokescreen, why truly carry out the plan and grant the commoners actual power? Third, why would the Emperor of Dayue agree to such a scheme?

The fourth question: how would they withstand the heavenly calamity brought about by so much slaughter? Fifth, why would the master of the Skymonitoring Pavilion participate in this plan?

After all, the Dayue dynasty was the foundation of the Chi family. The Skymonitoring Pavilion, being a subordinate force, would surely act with the emperor’s knowledge. Moreover, based on the hypothesized effects of the Yin-Yang Reversal Array, the pavilion master had no reason to get involved unless the Chi family held his life in their hands—or unless he had someone he wished to bring back to life, such as a wife or child.

The final doubt concerned the so-called “Transcendence Plan.” What exactly was transcendence? Ascension to immortality? That seemed far-fetched; ascension was not even a concept in this world. Despite its round heaven and square earth, and its classic immortal cultivation trappings, the ever-expanding wildernesses made Cao Chengyu suspect that beyond this world lay a void like the cosmos itself.

But it was too early to delve into these mysteries. Cao Chengyu shook his head; with the current information, he had reached the limits of what could be concluded and what mysteries remained unsolved. Unless he advanced to the Purple Mansion stage and could investigate larger formation hubs, or somehow extracted information from the pavilion master, he could go no further. After all, if his deductions were not wildly off, that man was the most likely to be swayed.

Putting down his charcoal pencil, Cao Chengyu decided to set this matter aside for now. The immediate priority was to join the Five Elements Sect, become a core disciple, and secure his family’s future. That way, he would not have to worry about dragging them down if his own plans went awry—an outcome he was determined to avoid.

His intention to sabotage these people’s plot was predicated on the safety of his own life and that of his family; otherwise, the fate of the Dayue dynasty was none of his concern. He was, after all, a man not afraid to pack up and move when necessary, keenly aware of when to retreat.

For now, he operated from the shadows, relatively safe. If things went south before he achieved his aims, he swore never to set foot in Dayue territory again.

“Hmmmmm…”

Stretching, Cao Chengyu let out a peculiar moan. By his reckoning, Ning Wenjun should be finishing work soon. Remembering that Sister Jun had yet to taste his cooking, he was overtaken by a sudden enthusiasm and made for the kitchen, eager to cook once more.

His ingredients? The frozen flesh of the shrimp demon he kept in his storage pouch. There was still plenty of meat.

Cao Chengyu prepared several dishes: stir-fried shrimp, spicy shrimp balls, flash-fried shrimp meat, steamed shrimp claws, and finally, a plate of raw shrimp slices. Five dishes in all, using up half the shrimp demon’s meat. Clearly, he would need to hunt more fierce beasts in the future; not only were they delicious, their size was colossal, far beyond their normal kin—a true boon for him.

When Ning Wenjun returned, she stood there dumbfounded at the dinner he had prepared for her. Tears sprang to her eyes, sudden and overwhelming.

Cao Chengyu had not expected his gesture to move Ning Wenjun so deeply. In his mind, making a meal was no great feat; back in his former life, if it wasn’t a high-class restaurant, his girlfriend wouldn’t even bat an eye. Cooking at home was cozy, but it lacked a certain sense of ceremony. For families with children, it was different, but those without usually ate out.

After tasting a bite of the stir-fried shrimp, Ning Wenjun threw herself into Cao Chengyu’s arms, murmuring “Thank you, thank you” over and over.

“Ha…”

Cao Chengyu scratched his head, embarrassed, and embraced her in return. To a scholar like Ning Wenjun, his cooking was even more impactful than what he’d done for Lin Yunjiao. Suddenly, this simple act felt ceremonial—like an engagement, with him offering the ring and her responding with sincerity.

The difference was, here all it took was a meal.

Heaven itself!

“So easy to win her over…” Cao Chengyu muttered under his breath, too quietly for anyone but himself. Ning Wenjun looked up at him, her large, luminous eyes still glistening with tears.

“What did you say?”

“N-nothing, just… I like you, Wenjun.”

The sudden outpouring of affection left Ning Wenjun as lost as he was, the two of them like lightning sparking a wildfire. Their kiss was feverish, and Cao Chengyu’s skillful touch left no room for hesitation.

What began as a simple dinner soon simmered with spring’s passions—damp, sticky, and unrestrained.

Hands wandered where they pleased.

“Mm…”

Clothes were nearly gone, and just as the dragon was about to dive into the sea, a burst of white light flared above Ning Wenjun’s head.

It was the radiance of the Confucian Dao—the scholar’s soul made manifest. In broad daylight, her spirit would not permit her to commit such a breach of propriety; in simpler terms, her subconscious had awakened.

It was hunting hour!