Chapter 3: The Riddle of the Forgotten Heavens
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The silence that followed the revelation of the name was not a mere absence of sound; it was a physical entity, a dense, suffocating fog that descended upon the ruins like a shroud.
The world seemed to shrink to that single word, a name so heavy it locked living bones in place and silenced the very vibrations of the atoms in the air.
The sky remained that bruised, sickly crimson, but the blood mist swirled above the scorched earth as if the oceans of the primordial world had collapsed.
Then, in an instant, the crushing weight dissipated. The oppressive heaviness, which had felt like a mountain range pressing the two intruders into the dust, vanished as if snuffed out by an indifferent hand.
Awareness crashed back into the old man with a violent gasp. His lungs burned, screaming for air as if he had been dragged from the crushing depths of a trench.
He had forgotten what it felt like to breathe. Sweat poured from his brow, mixing with the dark ichor that continued to seep from his seven orifices.
His vision swam in dizzying arcs, and for a moment, he feared his spirit sea had cracked under the pressure.
Beside him, Xiao Yang was a broken heap. The boy's body heaved with agonizing spasms, his robes stained a deep, visceral red where his pores had burst under the aura of the Shen patriarch. He was alive, but his pride had been ground into the powdered bone of the soil.
The old man struggled, his joints popping like dry twigs, as he forced himself into a kneeling position.
He did not know if he had the strength to stand, and the thought of it felt like an act of blasphemy that would invite immediate annihilation.
He resolved himself to speak, driven by a gnawing, desperate hunger for the truth.
"Senior… Shen Wuji… may this old one… may I be so bold as to ask… what truly became of the Shen Clan?"
There was a pause that felt like an eternity. Shen Wuji did not move. He remained transfixed before the jade tomb, the charred, obsidian spear through his chest emitting a low, metallic whine that vibrated in the old man's teeth.
His hair, dark as the deepest abyss, cascaded down his back like a river of shadow, undisturbed by the howling gales of the ruin.
The quiet thickened until it was a heartbeat.
At last, the figure spoke. He did not look at the old man but at the fractured sky, his face a mask of impassive, celestial stone. His words were a puzzle that dug into the old man's marrow.
"Ask me, mortal: if the gods feared their own shadows, what would they destroy first? The shadows, or the one who cast them?"
Hmm..
The old man's lips quivered. He could not answer. It was not a lack of wit, but a total collapse of his mental faculties under the weight of the riddle.
His mind reeled, trying to grasp a concept that existed beyond the mortal Dao.
Shen Wuji's lips curved slightly. It was not a smile of humor or joy, but one of cold, ancient mockery.
"The Heavens did not tremble because of sin, disorder, or blood," Wuji continued, his voice echoing like stones grinding in a void.
"They trembled because of envy. Do you understand, mortal? When the sun shines too brightly, even the firmament cannot endure its heat. It shatters the sun, piece by piece, until only the cold remains."
The old man's heart thundered. The horror settled fully into his soul. It was not weakness or corruption that had felled the Shen. They had simply stood too high. They were a peak that the sky itself could not overlook.
"They called us gods," Shen Wuji whispered, his gaze shifting back to the jade grave. "Then they called us heretics. Tell me, old one, which is the greater burden? To be a blessing worshipped by the weak, or a curse feared by the powerful?"
The old man trembled, cold sweat slicking his spine. He gaped, but no sound emerged. He felt as if any answer he gave would be the spark that ignited his own funeral pyre.
He chose the only path left to the small: silence. He bowed deeper, pressing his forehead against the bloody stone until it bruised.
"This old one… dares not answer."
For the first time, a sound like dry leaves skittering over a tomb emerged from Shen Wuji. He chuckled. It was a laugh without warmth, bitter and older than the stars.
"Wise… or cowardly. Perhaps both. Such has always been the nature of your kind. You crawl in the shadows of giants and wonder why the world is dark."
The old man remained aschen and slouched in reverence. The silence returned, vast and eternal, until Shen Wuji spoke again, his tongue weaving the very fabric of the void into his speech.
"The Shen Clan was never destroyed. Can an Eternal Mandate truly be extinguished? Tell me… if the sea were to dry, does the ocean vanish? Or does it simply wait in the deep cracks of the earth for the rivers to return?"
The old man's breath caught. He realized then that Shen Wuji was not merely speaking to him. He was addressing the Heavens, the grave, and the very river of time.
Shen Wuji placed his skeletal, radiant hands upon the jade tomb. His voice dropped to a low resonance that made the earth groan.
"This is the riddle for eternity. A clan that ruled like gods vanished, but a bloodline no Dao can erase remains. These graves are not endings, mortal. They are doors. And doors always open when the rightful key arrives."
The grave began to quiver. Hairline cracks spread across the jade surface, spilling a blinding, ancient golden light that clashed with the slithering crimson mist. The Dao itself began to scream, a high-pitched keening that felt like the world was being flayed alive.
"Senior Shen…" the old man gasped, his eyes wide with terror. "Is… is that… your son?"
Shen Wuji's voice was like ice shards in the old man's brain. "Son. Heir. Curse. Call it what you will.
But know this: once he awakens, the Heavens will bleed. The stars will fall from their tracks. And your bones will wish they had never heard the name Shen."
Despite the pressure, the old man's greed, refined by centuries of cultivation, forced one last desperate question.
"Senior… forgive my insolence… but if the Shen endure… why do you kneel here? Why not rise and reclaim the universe?"
Shen Wuji turned his abyssal eyes fully upon the old man. The spear in his chest clanged, bleeding a thick, black radiance that devoured the light.
"Can you not see, little ant?" Wuji's voice was colder than the space between galaxies. "I am already dead."
The old man's heart skipped a beat. It struck him like a bolt of lightning. The figure before him was not a living being. This was a corpse sustained by nothing but sheer, unadulterated will, hatred, and an ancient oath.
He was a being too powerful for even the laws of death to claim.
Shen Wuji smiled, a haunting blend of sorrow and madness.
"This body is dust. This spear binds my soul to this spot. I kneel only to wait for the one within. The son who must bear the burden I can no longer carry. The son who will finish what the Shen Clan began a billion years ago."
The tombstone roared.
A pillar of divine light erupted, shattering the crimson clouds above. The old man collapsed, covering his head as his body convulsed under the surge of pure Dao force. Xiao Yang, still unconscious, was tossed like a ragdoll by the shockwave.
Shen Wuji's voice cut through the chaos like a celestial blade, his eyes blazing like twin supernovae.
"My son, rise. The age of silence ends tonight. The Mandate returns!"
The jade tomb exploded into a million shimmering shards.
From the ruin of the grave, a pale hand emerged.
It was radiant, dripping with divine blood that smoked as it hit the air, reaching out to claim a world that had forgotten what it meant to fear the gods.