In an instant, a brilliant light surged up within Jing Qian's sea of consciousness, illuminating all.
It was the Fate Stele, blazing with radiance!
Upon the stele, his first Sumeru life pattern was locked in place by the Life-Casting Opportunity, straining and writhing.
But as the second Sumeru appeared, the Fate Stele shook violently!
A boundless tide of blackened law-force swept across the Fate Stele space, obliterating everything in its path.
Even the lingering soul-shadows of Ao-Dragon, Blueblood Lantern, and Miaojue, his precious stock of soul rations, were instantly reduced to ash.
The Fate Stele space was wiped clean.
Then, the unimaginable occurred: the Fate Stele moved.
It surged out of Jing Qian's consciousness and smashed into that mysterious inner space.
The second Sumeru was shattered on impact, its essence dissolving into Dao-truth, fusing back into the first Sumeru upon the Stele.
Yet the Stele did not stop. With reckless violence, it rammed into the very walls of that inner space.
The heavens themselves seemed about to collapse.
What kind of savage guest not only steals the treasure but then tries to tear down the house itself?
The space resisted, unleashing its own wave of gray law-force to hold against the Stele.
The two forces collided in a cataclysm, tossing Jing Qian's soul-form about like driftwood in a storm, leaving him battered and shaken.
Still, the Stele, carrying an unstoppable might, smashed again and again into the walls.
Each impact rang like the primordial chaos before creation, thunderous, earth-shaking, shaking the space to its foundations.
Jing Qian focused all his will, stabilizing his soul-form, his Dao-heart unshaken.
After dozens of such collisions, cracks began to spread across the walls of that strange space, spiderwebbing outward.
The Stele grew fiercer, stronger, more relentless, as if determined to break apart the heavens themselves.
But the single thread of Dao-essence fueled by one fate-fire was nearly spent, its strength fading.
At that critical instant, the Void Furnace tore free from the Void Realm and descended.
Its remaining fate-fires erupted in a violent blaze, unleashing a surge of overwhelming Dao-essence.
Empowered anew, the Stele launched one final charge.
"Crash!"
Like a clay jar struck by a hammer, the space shattered.
Dao-force exploded outward, shaking everything into chaos.
Jing Qian's vision went white. His senses collapsed into nothingness.
And then clarity returned.
...
Before him stretched a boundless vision:
A river of fate, flowing endlessly through the void.
It transcended the bonds of time, threading through the beginning and end of the cosmos, now arriving before him.
Within its currents blazed the endless black karmic fire, burning bright and unquenchable.
This was the embodiment of all joy and sorrow, good and evil, the very fuel of fate's flames.
Scattered like stars across the river's surface were countless life patterns, some bright, some dim, some vast, some small. Each sparkled like a starry firmament, weaving together into the vast web of fate.
Here lay both the origin of cultivation and the graveyard of immortality.
What the Stele had shattered was the shackle binding Jing Qian from beholding this river, the grime that had barred him from his true fate.
Now that his soul-consciousness stood before it, enlightenment dawned.
From this day forth, fate itself lay in his hands.
Before him lay the infinite life patterns he could choose at will. No longer would he be confined to a paltry three choices.
The Stele hovered above the karmic river, the Sumeru life pattern upon it shining like a brilliant star.
Among the gold-root fates, three was the ultimate number.
Jing Qian had already secured two Sumeru. Only one remained in existence.
Now, as his Sumeru shone with brilliant light, a strange resonance rippled through the river.
In response, the final Sumeru rose from the flames, soaring like a swallow returning to its nest, and sank into the Stele.
A storm of Dao-force erupted, circling the Stele in dazzling brilliance.
For the second time, the Sumeru was reforged. This time, it was complete. It shone resplendent, brighter than diamonds.
Its majesty made the countless life patterns of the river tremble, as if in reverence of this newborn power.
Jing Qian watched, his heart pounding, as the truths flowed into him.
The realm above the gold-root fates was one he had never before touched.
When the three Sumeru fused as one, the life pattern ascended to its true extreme. Its new name: Mandate (Tianming).
From now on, this Mandate would stand as a singularity across all realms and ages, past and future, the only Mandate of Sumeru.
Once inscribed, no matter how many Mandates he acquired in the future, none could replace the place of Sumeru.
Henceforth, all his cultivation would rest upon Sumeru as the absolute foundation; this was the birth of his Sumeru Dao Lineage.
As his Dao Lineage was fixed, the black jade Fate Stele transformed as well.
Bathed in the aura of the Mandate, its surface blossomed with intricate patterns.
The four characters once carved upon its back shifted anew, forming:
"The Sumeru Chronicle of Jing Qian."
And for the first time, the Stele bore its true name:
The Stele of the Sumeru Dao.
Thus, Jing Qian's fifth Fatebinding came to a victorious close.
He had burned through all of his fate-fires, seized the two remaining Sumeru life patterns, elevated them into the singular Mandate, and established his own Dao Lineage.
More importantly, he had shattered the shackles of destiny and glimpsed the River of Fate itself, an insight that would bring immeasurable benefit to all his future cultivation.
The fully evolved Stele of the Sumeru Dao turned and plunged back into his soul.
And with the Stele's ascension came new changes, resonating deeply within his heart. He savored them in silence for a moment before putting them aside.
Then, a powerful suction drew his awareness back into his body, pulling him away from the River of Fate.
As he departed, Jing Qian cast one last lingering look at that endless current. Already, he was beginning to look forward to his sixth Fatebinding.
But just when he thought it was over, the Void Furnace at his side gave a sudden shudder and secretly stole a single thread of karmic fire from the river before disappearing with him.
...
The instant his consciousness returned to flesh, the power of Sumeru erupted from his sea of awareness, spreading in all directions.
A startling realization dawned on Jing Qian: now that Sumeru had ascended to the Mandate and achieved uniqueness, this dimensional void was entirely his!
No one else could ever again ordain Sumeru or challenge his sovereignty over this space.
Once his cultivation grew stronger, he would be able to fully command the entire dimensional void.
He settled cross-legged within the Void Realm, plunging into profound seclusion. There was much to digest from the upheavals of this ordainment.
Yet his transformation did not end with him.
When Jing Qian ordained Sumeru and forged his Mandate, the dimensional void's upheaval reverberated through the greater world.
Far away, atop the nameless snowy plateau, the high tower's Celestial Armillary shuddered once more.
This time, its reaction was enormous. The dragon carving that faced toward Hunzhou had nearly pried its jaws fully open, the pearl within about to fall.
The gathered elder Daoists, startled, rose to their feet to study the phenomenon.
The elder seated in the east spoke:
"Twice in a single year, the Armillary shakes, each time pointing to the Vast Sea. Which sea-lord is ascending? Or perhaps… is a new cave-heaven about to be born?"
The Daoist of the south, Huang Yan, replied calmly:
"The dragon pearl has not fallen. That means no true cave-heaven has yet emerged. Matters below that threshold let the Divine Dynasty handle it. They cannot grow into a true disaster."
"The Zhuoling Cave-Heaven is about to open. This term of guardianship is mine. Once it closes, if the Armillary still shows disturbance, I will send a projection to investigate."
The Zhuoling Cave-Heaven opens once every hundred years, a chance Huang Yan would not relinquish. For now, the disturbances over the Vast Sea could only be set aside.
Within the Void Realm, Jing Qian remained in closed-door cultivation for a full month, the longest retreat since he began his path.
The gains were immense.
Looking upon the Stele of the Sumeru Dao, he found his status transformed almost beyond recognition:
Host: Jing Qian
Lifespan: 203 years
Life Essence: 107 (White Fang)
Dao Lineage: Sumeru (Unique)
Life Patterns:
Worldly Insight (Gold)
Tushita Furnace (Gold)
Swordfang (Violet 4.12/10)
Tidal wave (Violet 1.36/10)
Soul-Weaver (Blue 1.01/10)
Lifespan (Azure, 4 hours)
Life Arts: Dragon-Swimming, Rune Imprinting, Lotus-Planting
Life Altar: Void Furnace (White Flame)
Life-Casting Opportunity: 0
His power had once again surged. His White Fang life essence had surpassed one hundred, and all his life patterns had advanced significantly.
Had his Life-Casting Opportunity not been completely spent, he would have been unwilling to end his seclusion.
Before him, within the Void Furnace, only a faint ember of white flame remained, no larger than a match-head exhausted by the ordeal of ordainment.
To gather enough fire again for the next ordainment would take time.
Yet within that tiny white ember was wrapped a trace of karmic fire, slowly fusing with it.
Around the flame were arrayed fifty-four White Fang life essences, available for his use.
The Void Furnace now burned the energy of the Void Realm itself, producing life essence alongside its cultivation of fire.
Though weak, barely two White Fang life essences per day, it was already an invaluable wellspring. As the Void Realm deepened, this number would rise dramatically.
Strengthened and brimming with confidence, Jing Qian finally grew restless.
His figure flickered, slipping out of the Void Realm and back into the open sea.
The Yin Year still raged. The vast ocean seethed with storm and wave.
But to Jing Qian, it felt like homecoming. He sank into the waters silently, without raising even a splash.
Deep in the sea, Jing Qian turned into a streak of white light, darting forward at incredible speed.
In the span of a single incense stick, he had already crossed more than a hundred li.
Up ahead, a White Fang–grade Yin Corpse yellow croaker was hunting a massive school of fish.
Jing Qian slipped into the dimensional void like a spirit of emptiness.
It was the first time he would test the Mandate-level Sumeru in real combat.
The Yin Corpse, lively and vicious only moments before, suddenly found itself trapped inside an invisible tank. It dashed left and right, but could not break through the unseen walls.
From the other side of the dimension, Jing Qian revealed Sumeru's new power.
He waved both hands, laying down ten evenly spaced void rifts around the Yin Corpse, locking it in place, forming an unseen prison of space.
Sensing the danger, the Yin Corpse dared not touch the edges. This was not something its body or strength could resist.
Jing Qian studied carefully.
Each rift was both a gateway and a shield at once, the sharpest edge and the firmest wall.
He could place them at will, anywhere within his spiritual sense, up to ten in total at full exertion.
He summoned Swordfang, gathering a streak of swordlight and firing it into one of the rifts.
The strike passed through seamlessly, its force completely intact, and emerged in the real world less than a body's length from the Yin Corpse. With Swordfang's speed, there was no chance to react.
The Yin Corpse was decapitated in a single blow. Immediately, from each of the ten rifts, a thread of Soul-Weaver silk stretched forth, piercing into the revealed Yin Ghost and shredding it apart.
The silken threads then worked like deft hands, stripping the Yin Pearl and Yin Bone from the remains and pulling them back into the rift.
The hunt was finished smoothly, efficiently, invisibly.
Inside the dimension, Jing Qian savored the experience.
The Mandate Sumeru's power had utterly transformed his combat style.
Now, he no longer needed to appear in person. He could project his techniques directly into reality from afar.
With ten void rifts covering the battlefield, his reach and flexibility had grown boundless, and his safety had multiplied.
He slipped back into the sea and sped eastward.
The only flaw left was that movement inside the dimension was too slow. To travel between battlefields, he still had to return to the real world.
After another hundred li, he found a second Yin Corpse. This time, he wielded Sumeru with even greater precision.
The rift opened directly inside the creature through its mouth and into its stomach.
Jing Qian slashed.
Swordlight exploded from within, tearing it open from the inside out.
Again, the Soul-Weaver threads surged forth, wrapping and ripping apart the ghost that emerged.
The power of Sumeru was insidious, attacking from within the body itself, impossible to guard against.
From now on, any enemy without a manifested Dharma Manifestation wasn't even worthy of being his opponent.
He pressed on eastward.
With his strength soaring, the ninth-grade Yin Corpses and Ghosts no longer survived even a single exchange.
His once-depleted stores were rapidly refilling.
Every new Yin Pearl went straight into the Void Furnace, thickening the fate-fire within.
These pearls, found only during the Yin Year, were premium fuel for life furnace treasures every Fate Island would buy at sky-high prices.
But with so few daring to sail in these times, and even fewer willing to hunt Yin Ghosts, the supply was thin.
The fall of Jiangzhu Island had wiped out the Jing Clan's contributions. Prices would soar.
Yet Jing Qian had no thought of selling. Not one.
They were his shortcut to building fire faster, the key to his cultivation.
Whether he could reach his sixth Fatebinding depended entirely on how many he gathered in the next half year.
His battle system countered Yin Ghosts perfectly. One strike, one kill. Rarely a second blow needed.
He only lamented the density; they weren't thick enough. Too much time wasted traveling.
But with the storming seas full of ghosts, this Yin Year was his paradise.
It was like a game of Snake: each ghost was a pellet, and each kill was another point.
As time passed, he grew ever more fluent with Sumeru. His void rifts, his remote strikes, all executed smoothly, without flaw.
And every victory fed the Void Furnace. The tiny white ember was fattened by Yin Pearls, glowing brighter.
Yet he found himself restless.
The ninth-grade Yin Corpses were too weak, no longer satisfying.
He longed to face an eighth-grade Azure Yin Corpse.
But in all his wanderings, not a single one appeared.
Whether sea monster or Yin Corpse, he had never yet encountered an eighth-grade being.
As though something forbidden barred them from the world.
So he widened his search.
And if one were to chart his path from above, it would be clear:
He was tracing a vast curve, edging closer and closer to She Dizang Island.
Of course, this was no accident.
For all his busy hunting, he had deliberately carved out days to make this detour.
Not for the island's rich metal mines.
But because of a single memory left by his "Number One Brother," Master Miaojue.
Even in death, Miaojue had burst like treasure, and his standing in Jing Qian's heart was only rising.
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