Chapter 52: As Heaven Moves in Strength, the Noble Strive Unceasingly

The root of the great upheaval about to unfold could actually be traced back to the primordial fiend that Chen Yang had slain. Although the Nascent Soul cultivators among the human race possessed myriad techniques and, having achieved their cultivation under the suppression of the present heavenly way, were generally more formidable than the ancient demon cultivators who had survived since the waning days of the Middle Ages, the gap between the two sides was not so great that a demon could be effortlessly slain. Two demonic Nascent Souls could stand against any of the Four Grandmasters, and might even gain the upper hand. Even confronted alone, they could stall for time and protect themselves with little issue.

Yet, when Chen Yang drew his sword without warning, crossing a thousand miles in an instant, and with just a few strikes cut a demonic Nascent Soul into seven or eight pieces—not without any chance to retaliate, but not far from it—the other ancient demons were naturally terrified.

Since the demon race had breached Beiju Continent and consumed the millions of humans there as their food, coexistence between humans and demons had become impossible. Either the demons would seize dominion, confining the humans as livestock, or the humans would annihilate every demon, reducing all demonic beasts to nothing but materials for alchemy and forging, ensuring no sentient demon could ever rise again. This was a battle of extinction, with no possibility of surrender.

Now, with Chen Yang as a disruptive force in the human ranks, the demons’ hope of outlasting Ye Fa and others through their long lifespans became untenable. A direct assault was out of the question; if their losses had been great attacking Dongsheng Continent before, now, with Chen Yang able to kill them as easily as slaughtering a chicken, their chances were nil—the best possible outcome a pyrrhic victory.

Yet, there could be no return to the old days of coexistence. With the situation thus, the only path was to invoke greater powers to alter the demons’ disadvantage. These ancient demon cultivators, survivors from the Middle Ages when the human race was at its height, proved their cunning by turning their eyes to the Upper Realm—the Spirit World to which this world’s cultivators once smuggled themselves across.

There were only seven or eight weak spatial nodes between this world and the Spirit World. One of these, as fate would have it, lay at the seat of Tianchen Sect, the greatest sect of old Beiju Continent. The demons’ current plan involved a ritual passed down from antiquity: conducting a blood sacrifice of the remaining millions of humans and countless lesser demonic beasts of Beiju, in order to summon the true spirit projections of those ancient demons who had long ago ascended to the Spirit World, using the node at Tianchen Sect.

Even if successful, the foundation of this world was far too frail to withstand a true spirit’s intervention—the consequences could be catastrophic. This was truly a case of wounding the enemy a thousand times at the cost of eight hundred wounds to oneself.

From the human perspective, such a blood ritual was unspeakably evil. But from the demons’ point of view, it was different—they had been oppressed since ancient times, hunted for their pelts and tendons, their inner cores dug out at whim.

Now, with the shifting of the world and the human race’s decline, how could they not yearn to become masters at last? Even demons are not born to be slaves. This war between humans and demons was not a matter of right or wrong, but one of survival for each race.

Such are the wars of survival between races. One must exhaust every possibility, or else await annihilation.

Since the time of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, humanity had become the undisputed protagonist of the realms: innately wise, quick to multiply, naturally attuned to heaven and earth, perfect for cultivating the Dao. No matter what the demons attempted, they could not stir great waves.

In Mount Shu, for instance, unless you were human by birth, even if you achieved celestial cultivation, you would still be looked down upon as a “demon immortal,” an outsider, and you’d not dare make trouble—should you dare, plenty of masters would come to put you down. Thus, in Mount Shu, non-human beings who attained the Dao would often throw themselves under the protection of great Daoist or Buddhist sects, voluntarily dissolve their bodies, and reincarnate as humans to cultivate anew.

The reason humanity of this world fell to such peril was, in truth, their own fault. Those who achieved great power cared nothing for the prosperity of their world, made no effort to elevate its plane, and thought only of themselves—fleeing to the Spirit World to use it as a springboard to ascend to the Immortal Realm.

It’s no wonder the Spirit World resented these stowaways. Even a world with deep foundations has its limits; every ascendant drains its strength. If those who ascend give nothing back, the world inevitably declines.

Given the selfishness of this world’s cultivators, they would be even worse in the Spirit World—no wonder they were unwelcome.

Still, the human race is indeed blessed with great destiny. In ordinary times, it is unseen; but when extinction looms, someone always awakens the spirit of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, rises to lead the people in defiance of fate.

In this world, those who stepped forward were Ye Fa and his peers, the Emperor of the Great Tang, and, eventually, all of Dongsheng Continent.

In recent years, Chen Yang had traveled widely across Dongsheng. Neither the Celestial Palace nor Great Tang had hidden the continent’s dire straits from the common people; many knew that beyond Dongsheng lay Baohua and Southern Toad Continents.

Yet, Chen Yang had never heard a single complaint as to why the other continents did not come to Dongsheng’s aid, nor had he seen despair—only people quietly doing what must be done.

Young men trained in martial arts or, under government direction, opened mountains and mined, dug underground palaces, preparing for the worst. Women tilled fields, wove cloth, produced supplies, tended medicinal herbs—most people striving for the future of their race.

As the saying goes: “Buddha saves those with affinity; the Dao is taught to those with a heart.” And what is affinity, what is heart? Dongsheng Continent is the one with affinity; Great Tang is the one with heart.

Only if you save yourself first, will others aid you. If you do not wish to live, then even if Buddha himself descends, even if the Celestial Lord manifests in the world, you cannot be saved.

This is why Chen Yang was willing to act. Rather than say he saved others, it is truer to say Dongsheng saved itself. The reasoning is both complex and simple—no more than the words: “As Heaven moves with strength, so must a nobleman strive unceasingly.”

Two streaks of light descended upon the capital of Great Tang, Gaojing.

Ye Fa, Luo Shangshan, Sima Chengzhen, and the second emperor of Great Tang himself came out to greet their arrival.

After the formalities, Luo Shangshan, who had already met Chen Yang, introduced him to the others. Ye Fa, not much different in age from Luo Shangshan, appeared equally aged and frail; though his cultivation method preserved his lifespan somewhat, he still had little time left, but fared better than Luo Shangshan, who had to sever his future with secret arts.

Sima Chengzhen and Zhang Longhu were both a generation younger, their lifespans still ample, appearing in their forties. The Emperor of Tang was a late-stage Nascent Soul cultivator, around thirty, dressed in ordinary court attire.

Though Ye Fa and his companions had long heard from Luo Shangshan of Chen Yang’s profound abilities and extraordinary youth, seeing him in person, they could not help but be astonished.