Chapter 1: Awakening from the Dream in the Palace of Amethyst Clouds

“Alas, alas! Woe is us… Senior brother, have pity on the two of us, who have journeyed all the way from the West, enduring eight or nine calamities along the way, only to be battered by the primal fires, winds, and waters of chaos, left with barely a stitch to cover ourselves. Though the Great Dao favored us at last, and we managed to enter this Palace of Purple Clouds, who could have thought there would not even be a seat for us? What are we to do…”

The West? Chaos? The Palace of Purple Clouds!

Hearing these words, laden with sorrow and despair, drifting from afar, he felt momentarily lost and bewildered.

Before he could react, his soul quivered, and fragments of memory unfurled in his mind. His expression changed slightly: he had merely eaten three plates of mushrooms, so how had his soul ended up in the Great Desolation, becoming none other than the Ancestor Hongyun?

That taste…

Ahem, let that be. But why… did he possess only the faintest shards of memory, unable even to recall his original name?

Though Hongyun was a first-class Da Luo Golden Immortal, by his own reckoning, he did not have many days left…

He hesitated, inwardly cursing his luck twice, but gradually composed himself and accepted his new identity.

Hongyun’s mind was in turmoil, thoughts swirling, but after all, he was a figure of great renown in the Great Desolation, having proven his Da Luo rank after Pangu the Father opened the heavens. In an instant, his soul settled and his mind calmed, regaining composure so that no one observing him could discern the upheaval that had just occurred.

Let me, the Old Ancestor, catch my breath for a moment…

He took a deep breath and, almost involuntarily, began to contemplate the grand situation of the Great Desolation, methodically sorting through all that he now knew.

So, it was thus. Now, after Pangu the Father opened the world, the primordial gods and demons who survived the battle with the Demon Ancestor had gone into hiding. The first Dragon-Han Cataclysm had passed, and though the Great Desolation was temporarily stable, signs of chaos had begun to emerge once more.

At present, that exalted one had already attained sainthood, and the Old Ancestor found himself at the eve of the first lecture in the Palace of Purple Clouds…

…

Within the Palace of Purple Clouds, the assembled guests were already seated. They looked upon the two ragged figures not far away, their eyes filled with either mockery or admiration.

After all, to appear so before such peers—beings of the Da Luo realm—was no small feat. To survive death yet lose all dignity was truly laughable.

The Daoist Zhunti, his face a mixture of joy and sorrow, wept uncontrollably, presenting a somewhat comical sight. He glanced at the sorrowful Daoist Jieyin, who immediately caught his meaning and joined in the lamentation.

“My junior asks me, but truly I know not what to do… Woe is our impoverished West! We had hoped fortune would finally smile on us, but who could have foreseen such misery—what suffering, indeed…”

Having just accepted his new identity as the Ancestor Hongyun, he sat cross-legged on his mat, eyes closed in contemplation, seeking a solution. Insights pressed at his mind, but with so many distractions, he could not grasp any true understanding.

The Daoists Zhunti and Jieyin, carrying on so in the palace, seemed to employ some mysterious method, their voices echoing in his mind, rendering all attempts at mental defense useless and leaving him thoroughly vexed.

This mat… he still wished to defend it, for it was, after all, a chance for sainthood…

He pondered in silence, gathering his thoughts, and when he chanced to open his eyes, he started in surprise, nearly leaping from his mat despite his Da Luo cultivation.

For in that brief instant, as he opened his eyes—having been formed from Pangu’s blood after the creation of the world—he beheld scenes in the Great Desolation that he had never witnessed in countless kalpas.

One eye burned hot, the other icy cold; both beheld a suffocating expanse above.

Endless gray mists churned overhead, and deep within them, shadowy tendrils reached out, as if seeking to touch him.

Looking down, he saw that many of the great immortals were shrouded in these mists—some lightly, some heavily. The haze drifted about them, and for some, half their souls were already being drawn from their bodies and dissipating without their knowledge.

At the same time, the mists seemed to sense his gaze; subtle, indescribable auras met his eyes and reached for his mind, lingering even when unobserved.

This world, this Great Desolation, was utterly changed…

Though the vision vanished in an instant, it was enough to shake the Ancestor Hongyun’s Dao heart, steadfast for countless kalpas, leaving him reluctant to recall it.

In that moment, he realized there was something strange about his eyes:

In the burning eye, a boundless mist seemed to arise, reflecting countless galaxies and cosmic rivers.

In the cold eye, an empty realm formed—a transparent scroll upon which every gesture cast ghostly images.

Just then, sensing something, he looked back and saw a fishhook swinging behind him, his soul beginning to drift from his body without his awareness.

But once he turned to look, the fishhook vanished without a trace.

…

“Alas, alas… woe is me… Never did I imagine that I, Jieyin, would be left without even a mat to sit on. If I miss the teachings of the Sage, how could I ever forgive myself, or face the myriad beings of the West…”

The Daoists Zhunti and Jieyin embraced and wept, voices choked with sobs: “Is there any fellow Daoist here willing to spare us a mat? We would thank you on behalf of all living beings in the West…”

Seeing this, Hongyun sighed inwardly. Small wonder that “back then,” no one but “himself” was willing to yield a seat; such brazen freeloading could only leave one speechless.

Noticing the gray mists flicker in and out of sight, and the fishhook toying with him, he found his mind increasingly unsettled. Feigning casualness, he stood up with a kindly expression:

“If it is for the sake of the living beings in the West, then naturally, the needs of the many come first. I shall yield my mat to you, fellow Daoists. Alas, I have always been a carefree soul, with little connection to the West. Otherwise, I would gladly help enlighten its beings myself.”

“What?”

“Ah?”

The Daoists Zhunti and Jieyin, having been casting hopeful glances at the other seated immortals while dabbing their tears, were secretly disappointed that none moved. But hearing a voice from afar, they turned in astonishment and delight.

“Thank you, Daoist Hongyun…”

Exchanging a glance, Zhunti hurried over in three strides, using a great teleportation art to appear before the mat. Only after settling himself did he look up at Hongyun standing beside him.

“Daoist, your reputation for kindness is well deserved throughout the Great Desolation. On behalf of the beings of the West, I offer my thanks. Should you ever come to Mount Sumeru, we will surely return your hospitality.”

Hongyun responded with little more than a nod, and seeing Zhunti’s joyful face as he sat, he suddenly felt lighter, a great weight lifted from his heart.

As expected, by leaving the mat, he had averted a calamity.

Glancing around, his gaze fell on Zhenyuanzi, who sat nearby with furrowed brow. He moved to his side and sent him a silent message: “Say no more, friend. I have my reasons.”

Raising his eyes toward Zhunti, he saw that the Daoist, half sorrowful, half joyful, was already eyeing Kunpeng.

Kunpeng, my friend, forgive me…

Knowing full well what was to come, he sighed inwardly and closed his eyes beside his friend Zhenyuanzi, seeking some small measure of peace.

For now, the most important thing was to understand the changes that had occurred within himself…