“This ocean… is it the destined resting place for the souls of all the departed in the universe? Does that mean the netherworld of myth and legend isn’t non-existent, but actually exists in the microscopic realm?”
After the initial shock and terror subsided, everyone began voicing their own viewpoints, engaging in heated debate.
“If you approach it scientifically, you won’t find the three souls and seven spirits in the human body because they are too minuscule, existing in some special state within the microscopic world. When a person dies, their three souls and seven spirits lose a host, and naturally return to this microscopic sea of souls before our eyes.”
“Right! A person’s soul is born within the womb. For it to be contained, it must be even smaller than the egg; otherwise, there would be no space.” …
Someone raised a question, “Are we really at the microscopic level of Earth? Is Earth the netherworld where every living being’s soul returns in the universe? I feel that on such a micro scale, the material state of Earth actually ceases to exist.
Perhaps… we are no longer on Earth.”
“Or maybe we’ve arrived at a special interface entirely different from the macroscopic universe. We really might never be able to return!” …
The words “never be able to return” filled everyone with hopeless despair. It meant that the future was uncertain, life and death were unpredictable, and the atmosphere grew heavy with oppression. Throughout the sea, vicious souls kept howling; from the deep sea came strange noises resembling rolling thunder at intervals.
This left everyone on edge, wondering if monsters must be dwelling in the sea of souls. As the bronze ship continued its journey, vicious souls like moths drawn to a flame tried to leap onto the deck, but none found a resting place; the protection of the bronze vessel was far too strong for them to break through.
That was the one thing that brought temporary reassurance. Amid the doldrums and anxious worry, there were also those who remained optimistic. Gao Huan, with a white band wound around his hand, stood at the very front of the bow and excitedly declared, “I told you all—we definitely fell from the Arctic Ocean into the Underworld.
Now you believe it, don't you? The Arctic Ocean is the ancient North Sea! Think about it, a giant Kunpeng spanning thousands of miles cannot easily shift in the Arctic Ocean, but in this boundless sea of souls right before our eyes, it must be able to turn the world upside down with ease!”
“Also, do you know why it is said that after death one experiences the head sevens? Because after seven days, the soul can never return! The distance from Earth to the soul sea equals seven days.”
Here was a top graduate student in his third year who was extremely superstitious, spouting off myths and wild speculations. In earlier times everyone might have secretly laughed at him, but now that every one’s scientific beliefs had collapsed, all they could do was try to explain what was happening with messy and random guesses.
Li Weiyi showed no interest in their baseless speculations. Since arriving, he had come to accept his situation. After cultivating to an extraordinary level, he was no longer as lost and confused as when he first awoke.
Life now had a purpose, a drive, dreams, and a direction: to further cultivate beyond the ordinary. He wanted to know just how far one could go on the path to transcendence—could one become as mighty as the legends, soaring through the sky, moving mountains, and driving away the stars…
Even if it meant ending up in the netherworld or ghostly wasteland… what did it matter? Together with Cai Yutong, he took the two old professors injured in the stampede to the medical shed for examination and treatment.
At that moment, the bronze ship was already quite close to a stone peak monument emerging from the sea, only a few kilometers away.
One of the old professors with a leg injury adjusted his glasses and, finally able to clearly see the four characters carved on it, exclaimed in surprise, “These characters are completely different from the inscriptions on the bronze ship; they’re more like oracle bone script and bronze inscriptions, which trace their origins to Chinese characters.”
Although neither of them were professionals, both were enthusiasts in ancient texts. They had been studying the inscriptions on the bronze ship these past few days and trying to decipher them. Another old professor, injured by a stomp on his chest and with a face ashen, was supported by Li Weiyi.
He stared at the stone peak monument for a moment and said, “It’s from a period even earlier than that of oracle bone script and bronze inscriptions. There’s a traceable evolution in the script. We should be able to decipher it.”
The professor with the injured leg added, “I think it’s a bit similar to the script on the 'Cang Sheng Bird Trace Inscription'. It might be from the same era.” The 'Cang Sheng Bird Trace Inscription' contained twenty-eight bird-trace characters, said in legend to be the original pictograms created by Cang Jie, the ancestor of civilization.
Li Weiyi’s mind trembled internally.
“These four carved characters, if they share the same origin as Chinese characters… Doesn’t that mean that, in the extremely distant past, ancient Chinese people reached here?”
“Probably so… Let’s decipher them first and see exactly which four characters they are.”
The two old professors, so fascinated by the script that they were in no hurry to tend to their wounds, each took out ancient texts, steel pens, and notebooks from their bags, engaging in earnest discussion and study. Before long, they reached a conclusion. They wrote down four characters in the notebook—“赤县古道” (Ancient Red County Road).
“Ancient Red County Road!”
A crowd gathered around, all baffled. How could a stone peak monument emerging from the sea bear such an inexplicable four-character inscription? The bronze ship, its sails billowing widely like galloping horses, had already sailed beneath the stone peak monument.
Up close, one could clearly feel the imposing majesty of the monument, its overwhelming presence pressing down. It was impossible to tell how many years it had stood there in the vast sea of souls—steep and perilous, a barrier no ape or bird could cross. It stood ever so tall and eternal.
The sea should never naturally have such a neatly cut stone peak, unless some mighty ancient force had brought it here. The four characters carved into it looked as though they had been hewn by a divine axe or heavenly blade, every stroke resembling a crack in the earth.
The old professor with the injured leg carefully put away his steel pen and brown leather notebook and said, “赤县 is not to be understood as just some county among many!”
“Regarding 赤县, the earliest record is in ‘Records of the Grand Historian – Biographies of Mengzi and Xun Qing’. Zou Yan referred to ancient China by the name ‘赤县神州’ (Red County Divine Continent).”
“In legend, in ancient times, the lands governed by Yan Emperor were called ‘赤县’, while those governed by the Yellow Emperor were known as ‘神州’. In ancient Huaxia, the names 赤县 and 神州 derived from that.”
Gao Huan cried out in astonishment, “So, the Ancient Red County Road means the road leading to the Red County Divine Continent? In other words, the direction back to Earth?” Li Weiyi looked back toward the stone peak monument with the inscription “赤县古道” which was slowly receding.
Far off, a leaden black gloomy cloud shrouded both the sky and the sea’s horizon. It was as if the sea of souls ended there, with no light able to penetrate. The bronze ship had emerged from the midst of those black, gloomy clouds.
Li Weiyi mused, “With this stone peak monument, the wayfarers who have fallen into the sea of souls will eventually find their way home. The Ancient Red County Road must be the path that the bronze ship travels over these seven days. Within those gloomy clouds there must be countless secrets that we cannot possibly understand today.”
In his mind he recalled the image of the Nine Infants being snatched by a gigantic, golden claw from within those gloomy clouds. The memory, whenever it returned, continued to shake him.
“Too bad the bronze ship is not under our control. If it turned around, perhaps we could return to Earth,” said Director Yang meaningfully, his gaze fixed on Li Weiyi.
After sending the two professors off to the medical shed, it wasn’t long before Zhao Meng arrived.
“Come with me.”
Zhao Meng, his rifle never far from hand, pulled Li Weiyi to a secluded area beneath a small heap of graves. Along the way, his expression was grave. When they were sure no one was around, Zhao Meng spoke in a stern and serious tone, “Once the gloomy clouds disperse, every thought of returning to Earth will be shattered.
This means that the greatest restraint—law—will be completely erased, and some restless individuals will have no scruples left. I suspect that soon there will be an uprising on board the ship. Li, every word that I say next must be memorized clearly.”
“First, you are too badly injured. In the turmoil to come, I’m afraid I won’t be able to protect you. Tonight, when everyone is asleep, collect some extra food. Then go deep into the Graveyard Forest and find a grave mound where you can bury both yourself and the food—bury it securely. Also, don’t go near the Nine-Story Ship Tower; that area is extremely dangerous.”
“Second, the Dao Ancestor Taiji Fish and the Yellow Dragon Sword—I have hidden them in the grave mound where you fell onto the bronze ship. There, in front of the grave, you will find a tombstone with a string of white bone wind chimes hanging from it. Look carefully; they’re easy to recognize.”
“Third, I don’t know how long this unrest will continue or how many people are secretly plotting, so even though I have rallied some brothers and made some arrangements, … there really is no guarantee for victory.”
Zhao Meng grabbed Li Weiyi’s right shoulder, his eyes filled with a complex mix of intensity and concern, “Three days! We have three days as our limit. For three days, no matter what noises or commotion you hear, do not come out—even if they threaten me with my life.”
“After three days, I will come looking for you in the Graveyard Forest and call your name. That will mean that the situation has come under my control.”
“If after three days you do not hear my call, then it means I have died! At that moment, you will know that your situation is exceedingly dire… But no matter how miserable things become, you must understand—you must absolutely never hand over the Dao Ancestor Yin-Yang Fish. If you do, your end is guaranteed!”
“Also, trust no one. With law and morality no longer restraining people, when it comes to survival, profit, and desire, people will have no limits. Concepts like morality, shame, and dignity might end up worth nothing. In the face of torture, no matter how tough a man thinks he is, he can hardly guarantee that he will withstand it.”
Li Weiyi could feel his senior brother’s concern and worry, and asked, “Is this why you agreed to this three-day plan with me in advance? Because you’re afraid that if you fall into their hands, you won’t be able to endure the torture?”
“Who who hasn’t experienced torture can promise they can stand it? When it comes to that point, having this three-day agreement leaves at least a small buffer in my heart,” Zhao Meng replied with a bitter smile.
Li Weiyi hesitated, considering whether he should now tell him that his injuries had finally healed, and that he had cultivated the extraordinary art his master had foretold of. Senior brother could certainly be trusted. But the people around him might not be as reliable; otherwise, Zhao Meng wouldn’t have said, “Trust no one.”
In the end, Li Weiyi decided to keep this information to himself for now, for in doing so he might become an unexpected asset for his senior brother.
“Meng, Meng! The standby generator has been fixed! Haha!”
Chen Hong burst onto the scene, his arms flailing in excitement as he ran over, his body smeared with machine oil. He was the technician responsible for equipment on the scientific survey ship—a person Zhao Meng had personally selected during interviews. In other words, he was Zhao Meng’s absolute trusted subordinate.
Li Weiyi was not unfamiliar with him; he had seen him several times already. The two stopped their secretive discussion. Li Weiyi’s face brightened as he said, “Now that we have power again, doesn’t that mean the freezer can be restarted?”
“Of course, it does. Now we have temporarily resolved our biggest crisis. With the food on board, we have enough to last us at least several more months,” Chen Hong said cheerfully, his smile bright and optimistic.
In recent days, Zhao Meng had been busy with repairing the freezer and the generator with his team. Only by doing so could they fundamentally prevent conflicts from breaking out over food shortages.
“Come on, take me to take a look,” Zhao Meng said, the gloom in his heart lifting considerably.
He headed off with Chen Hong toward the overturned and partially broken scientific ship. Watching their departing backs, Li Weiyi couldn’t help but smile.
“In this world, there is never a lack of builders of civilization. Even in the hardest of circumstances, there are always those who patch things up. Civilization and morality were born to restrain human nature, to enable humanity to progress further—not like in the primitive age when people slaughtered each other, enslaved the weak, and even resorted to cannibalism.
Faced with hardship, kind and brave people will often choose to rescue the common home of all humanity through civilized means, to counteract the destructive force of primitive instincts. Like Cai Yutong with her efforts in field cultivation, or Zhao Meng with his repair of the generator.
Selfish and ambitious people, driven by their baser instincts, mostly choose to trample on civilization rather than build it. Ordinary folks can only choose to follow along.” …
Later, Li Weiyi walked alone into the eerie and ominous Graveyard Forest Stone Forest, determined first to retrieve the Yellow Dragon Sword and the Dao Ancestor Taiji Fish.
(End of Chapter)