Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Schemes of the Sea of Blood

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————————————— Main Story Below —————————————

The art of divining fate can be roughly divided into three categories.

The first is Calculation—using existing conditions to deduce outcomes. For example, knowing the wind speed, distance, and resistance, one might estimate how long it will take a hurricane to reach the next region. Or, by considering weather and terrain, one can calculate the rainfall from a storm.

The Art of Calculation differs little from mathematics; both rely on current conditions to infer results. Those transcendent beings—if they know your name—can use special techniques to divine your past lives and predict your actions for centuries to come. They can even deduce, based on your cultivation method, what materials you require and where you must go to further your practice. Take Ji Feichen, for instance: since he cultivates the “Demon Dragon Sutra” and needs Weakwater, he need only go to the river and wait in ambush.

Calculation demands extraordinary intellect. Ji Feichen’s “Jade Microcosm Canon of Celestial Calculation” is one such unique method. Yet even wielding this canon, one cannot claim to divine all under heaven. A single flaw in the premises can skew the entire outcome, hence the rise of arts designed to obscure fate—methods that alter or conceal vital information, making truth impossible to discern. Ji Feichen’s Ink Dragon Scale is just such an artifact; no immortal can uncover anything about his identity as the “Wandering Cultivator Qinghong.”

At this juncture, the other two methods become necessary—Divination and Observation.

Divination, as the name suggests, seeks results from the unseen Way. Through the casting of lots and seeking omens, all deduction is cast aside, and the final answer is drawn directly from the Dao.

The process of divining fate revolves around the journey; divination fixates on the result. Often, the answers revealed are cryptic, as when Ji Feichen used the “Nine-Cloud Mysterious Crystal Plate” to trace the origin of a dragon artifact—requiring careful pondering and interpretation. More often, fortune and misfortune are indistinguishable, and a single misreading can doom one to tragedy.

Thus, both methods are often combined: using results to backtrack, using clues to deduce, verifying the outcome again and again. Ji Feichen employs his Calculation Canon to infer the process and the Crystal Plate to divine the result—using both in tandem greatly increases his odds of success. Li Jingxun, meanwhile, relies solely on the first method, using the Supreme Method’s “Seven Calculations of Profound Virtue” to divine fate. Qin Wu, however, embodies the third way—Observation.

With the All-Seeing Eye, he observes the workings of the Dao with his own gaze. Within a hundred miles, nothing escapes its sight. This is true observation—one sees a thousand miles away, glimpses into past and future, probes the roots of a cultivator, discerns the origins of a demon. Yet the All-Seeing Eye demands extraordinary innate talent; ordinary folk cannot hope to wield it. Thus, each generation of the Supreme Palace’s direct line must possess a special constitution.

As soon as the Heavenly Eye rose, Zheng Qiong sensed it and left his palace, gazing at the golden pupil in the night sky. He mused to himself, “The Supreme Palace’s All-Seeing Eye lives up to its reputation. But the affairs of the Nether Sect are not for your eyes!” With a sweep of his sleeve, a black wind surged across their encampment; demonic clouds howled, shrouding all in darkness.

This stronghold had been painstakingly constructed to ward off the All-Seeing Eye.

The Heavenly Eye paused, ignoring the Nether Sect’s base, and turned its gaze further afield. That night, several individuals attempted to divine Qin Wu’s fate—some even having glimpsed the “Mystery of Unity.”

In the distance, beams of spiritual light withdrew, hiding their presence lest the All-Seeing Eye detect them.

“That fellow from the Primordial Palace is definitely here!” After a long while, Qin Wu withdrew his power. “I can’t be certain about the Supreme Palace, but among the Demonic Path, someone is no weaker than I—must be an heir of the Blood Sea.”

A rare flicker of concern arose in Qin Wu’s heart. Against ordinary cultivators, even demonic ones, he feared nothing. But when it came to the heirs of the Sacred Lands, he had to be wary, lest the Supreme Palace suffer a setback.

Only a Sacred Land heir can deal with another Sacred Land heir. It’s a truth acknowledged for thousands of years—only they can break through the three great barriers: “Mystery of Unity,” “Five Energies Converging,” and “Nine Mysteries Become One.”

For a Sacred Land heir to attain celestial immortality is the most perfect path.

When the Heavenly Eye dissipated, Ji Feichen, Li Jingxun, and the others all breathed a sigh of relief and withdrew their powers.

“During this divination, I stumbled upon something rather interesting.” Though Ji Feichen was awed by Qin Wu’s techniques, he found something of note and set off toward the bone forest at the edge of the encampment.

In the bone forest, besides Ji Feichen, two or three other Nether Sect disciples lingered.

Ji Feichen approached. “So late at night—what brings you two here?”

“Senior Brother Zheng Qiong asked us to craft a few Painted-Skin Maidens.” One of them produced a book bound in human skin, and with a gesture, sheets of skin flew from its pages to wrap around the bone trees.

The bone trees shuddered; white skulls and bones filled out the skins, shaping themselves into beauties of enchanting grace. These women retained only instinct—the urge to serve.

Ji Feichen raised an eyebrow. “Is this Senior Brother Zheng Qiong’s book of painted skins?”

“It is. What brings you here, Senior Brother Ji?”

“Just taking a walk.” Ji Feichen strolled casually among the bone trees, stopping before two of them.

With a wave of his hand, two threads of karma linked these trees to He Wenkai in the distance.

“So they’re his parents. So he comes from Golden Tortoise City?” Disciples of the Demonic Path have their memories sealed upon entry, divorcing themselves from their mortal past and pledging all to the sect. The original owner of Ji Feichen’s body had done so; so had He Wenkai.

Yet the sect never bothers to raise children from infancy—generally, recruits are taken from the mortal world between the ages of seven and twelve.

“He Wenkai entered the sect at eight—does he truly not recall his parents’ names?” Ji Feichen chuckled, then flicked his fingers, inscribing two golden names on the bone trees with the lines of karma.

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“The true name carries the power of words. Senior Brother He, I wish you luck.” With another wave, the names vanished. The karmic thread quivered, stirring He Wenkai from afar.

He Wenkai, in the midst of meditation, was suddenly seized by an inexplicable sense of foreboding, as though something of great importance to him was unfolding.

Restless and unable to continue his cultivation, he stepped outside for a walk.

Meanwhile, Ji Feichen returned to his room, set out the Nine-Cloud Mysterious Crystal Plate, and recited the incantation. On the plate, eight dragons coiled about the disk, each exhaling white mist. In the haze, a figure slowly appeared—He Wenkai’s form, faint but recognizable.

Ji Feichen formed hand seals and chanted. Black threads wound round the image, controlling its movements.

Unseen, a current drew He Wenkai toward the resting place of his parents’ bones.

He Wenkai gazed at the two bone trees, bewildered. “Are these trees calling to me?”

Try as he might, he could not fathom why.

Suddenly, beneath the trees, two phantoms emerged. Two wronged spirits appeared before He Wenkai, as if to speak—but no words left their lips, and they dissipated like bubbles.

“What is this…” Not only was He Wenkai stunned, Ji Feichen was also taken aback. “All I did was guide him to his parents. They’ve been dead for years—how could their ghosts still appear?”

Though puzzled, Ji Feichen had to admit—the effect was extraordinary.

He Wenkai, grasping something, cut his wrist to test the bones with his own blood.

The result made his face fall.

To use the bones of others for such trees was one thing. But to use those of one’s own kin—even with his memories sealed, the feelings remained. How could He Wenkai tolerate his parents’ remains being desecrated here?

At that moment, the two disciples carrying the painted-skin book approached.

“I can’t let them defile my mother’s bones.” He Wenkai collected the two trees. Fortunately, there were many such trees, and their absence went unnoticed.

Yet, as soon as he dug them up, a mist rolled in and two new bone trees sprouted in their place.

Ji Feichen, spying on all this, realized, “So that’s why he’s so easily duped—he’s from Nine He Mountain!”

Knowing who was secretly aiding him, Ji Feichen smiled, calmed his breath, and quietly waited for dawn.

…

At dawn, Ji Feichen was awoken by a commotion.

Stepping outside, he saw an attack on the encampment underway.

“Is the Daoist Sect attacking?” He asked a fellow disciple.

“No, it’s the authorities.” The disciple grinned. “Golden Tortoise City appealed to the court, and the court sent its sponsored cultivators to deal with us.”

“The imperial court?” Ji Feichen sneered. His view of the Grand Hong Empire was that its ambitions soared to the heavens, but its fate was as fragile as paper.

True, the Grand Hong Empire was, in name, the ruler of the Xuan Zheng Continent. But among the four Sacred Lands, could it defeat even one? Even if the Human King, gathering the power of millions, rivaled the immortals and stood as their peer, the Thirty-Six Great Daoist Clans could easily muster fifty immortals. Truth be told, a single Supreme Purity Sect or Nether Sect could destroy the entire empire.

Yet the empire, ruling vast lands and seeking to expand into the wilds, could only move against the Demonic Path, since all the wild lands were under its influence. But to take action against the Demonic Path was not something the Daoists relished. The millennial massacre that swept the immortals—once every fifteen hundred years—was a time they’d gladly descend the mountains to settle old debts. But otherwise, who would go out of their way to deal with the Demonic Path and stir up trouble in the wilds?

The Daoists’ bottom line was: as long as the Demonic Path did not enter the Central Plains, they would not intervene in the wilds.

The empire, for its part, resented this, lamenting the unruliness of these outsiders. So the empire trained its own cultivators, storing up strength, awaiting the day it could truly rule the continent.

“Imperial cultivators? Those so-called adepts, peddling their tricks to swindle the nobility, dare to come here?” Ji Feichen went to watch.

He saw a group of adepts in apricot-yellow robes marshalling soldiers to set up great cannons.

“Fire!” The leader waved a command flag. The cannons roared, bombarding the stronghold.

“So these are the special artifacts the court’s cultivators developed through alchemy?” Luo Qingyi also emerged, her posture languid, as though fresh from an amorous encounter.

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Ji Feichen remarked, “It doesn’t seem to be gunpowder.”

“Gunpowder arose from alchemy, but its lethality to mortals was so great it was banned,” Luo Qingyi replied, idly painting her nails with flower dye.

“Gunpowder?” Another cultivator joined them. “That stuff doesn’t harm us cultivators—why did the Daoists ban it?”

Luo Qingyi glanced at him, “It may not now, but that could change. Some immortals have divined that in three thousand years, gunpowder will be capable of leveling mountains and killing thousands in a single shot.”

One blast, and mountains crumble; one shot, and ten thousand lives are lost—and the damage to the world is permanent.

“For us in the Origin Sect, that’s a good thing. But the old Daoists claim it violates the harmony of heaven and forbid mortals from mastering such arts. They only allow its use for fireworks and celebrations.” Luo Qingyi sounded regretful. The Origin Sect had backed the early research and spread of gunpowder, hoping mortals would use these deadly weapons in their wars. The more blood spilled, the more resentment and rage, providing corpses to fuel their arts. And as the environment was ruined and baleful energy rose, they could supplant the Daoists.

But the Daoists caught on early. The Supreme Palace itself issued a decree: “Gunpowder may be used for celebration, but never for war. If it is, the Supreme Palace will overthrow the dynasty and depose the Human King.”

In the end, gunpowder was banned by the Supreme Palace, setting the Grand Hong Empire at odds with the Three Palaces.

It was this that made Ji Feichen deeply wary of the immortals’ ability to divine fate. Without the Ink Dragon Scale, he’d never dare oppose any immortal.

Those immortals can predict events millennia in advance. As for gunpowder’s future, others may be in the dark, but Ji Feichen understood all too well.

Yet thanks to the Daoists’ interference, the continent’s path diverged.

“This time, the weapons seem to be artifacts?”

“Yes.” Luo Qingyi gazed intently at the adepts. She could sense the cannons had all been refined with cultivator techniques, operated by soldiers trained in inner strength.

“Operating these cannons drains the user’s energy, even endangering their lives. This approach smacks of the Endless Blood Sea’s handiwork.”

The Endless Blood Sea would gladly see the world awash in slaughter—the more dead, the easier their cultivation. They manipulated the rise and fall of dynasties, constantly supplying mortals with new, deadly weapons. Pity the Daoists were no fools; the Three Sacred Lands suppressed them, so the Blood Sea dared not act openly.

“If I’m not wrong, it’s Blood Sea’s agents working with the court to promote a new weapon.” Luo Qingyi was exasperated by the demonic overlord’s schemes. Why not fight the Daoists head-on? Why drag mortals into it?

Still, she had to admit—thanks to Blood Sea’s meddling, the Grand Hong Empire and the Three Palaces had grown estranged, allowing Blood Sea’s influence to infiltrate the palaces.

The three watched for a while when suddenly, a pillar of light struck at Luo Qingyi’s feet.

“How dare you!” Her nails smeared, Luo Qingyi flared in anger, ready to kill.

Zheng Qiong hurried over to stop her. “Pretend we’re losing—retreat for now and let the court bask in victory.”

Ji Feichen caught on. “So we’re helping them spread the word?”

“Yes. Those artifact cannons came from Blood Sea. They want the court to intensify their research, and we’re giving them a push.”

Zheng Qiong ordered the Nether Sect to pull back, letting the authorities show off their artifacts.

When the officials assembled eight hundred soldiers for a killing formation to storm the camp, Zheng Qiong gave the word. The Nether Sect disciples struck, capturing every soldier inside the stronghold.

“Why intervene now? Their formation doesn’t seem less powerful than the cannons.”

“The artifact cannons were made by Blood Sea according to the ‘Threefold True Fire’ method—each one costly. The formation is the court’s own invention.”

So, they pretended to lose the first round, but prevailed in the second.

“Mortals won’t see through it. And since Blood Sea paid us handsomely in spiritual resources—including ingredients for the ‘Seven Aperture Mystic Pill’—why not play along?”

“Remember to seize all the artifact cannons. Let the court buy more from Blood Sea. As for these cannons—send them to the southern barbarians, let them attack the Central Plains, and force the court to further their research and rely more on Blood Sea.”

After years of suppression, the Demonic Path now devised new schemes—seeking to seize control of the empire and bring the world under their dominion at last.