VESSEL - Extinction Countdown 943: Wildsword Righteous Zhang

The Cycle, a traditional timekeeping method of the Eastland Empire’s native religion, originated from the River Luo Scriptures. In the Sovereign’s Canon of Cosmic Order by Shao Yong, one of the Five Masters of the Northern Song, it is stated: “One Cycle consists of twelve epochs, three hundred sixty revolutions, and four thousand three hundred twenty generations, with each generation lasting thirty years, totaling one hundred twenty-nine thousand six hundred years… One Cycle is akin to a year in the grand transformation.”

In modern terms, a Cycle is roughly 129,600 years. Three Cycles—388,800 years.

Plainly, the voice from the coffin, Xi Qing, claimed she and Ye Shisan were lovers three civilizations ago!

More than lovers, they forsook leaving this planet for a higher realm, choosing to dwell at Moltenpyre Mountain for eons.

But bliss fades. Some 13,000 years ago, a stranger came to Moltenpyre Mountain—an outsider to Xi Qing and Zhu Qiu.

Calling himself Wildsword, he demanded Moltenpyre Mountain’s key—the way to a higher realm.

His demand was refused. First, ascending to a higher realm is a lure no being can easily resist—Xi Qing and Zhu Qiu had steeled their hearts to stay behind, and handing over the key risked shattering their hard-won resolve. Second, their kind, three civilizations past, opened the sole path to the higher realm with might and will. Strength alone wasn’t enough—a heart unyielding was vital, lest illusions and desires spawn demons, dooming one forever.

But Wildsword was crazed, driven to ascend. He attacked, threatening to raze Moltenpyre Mountain.

In crisis, Xi Qing and Zhu Qiu had no choice but to fight him.

The battle shook the heavens and earth.

Wildsword’s strange arts burned mountains, boiled seas, slew stars, and felled moons. One against two, he stood firm.

The war raged fully three hundred generations—nine thousand years. Earth split, skies darkened.

Moltenpyre Mountain, forged by four ancient clans, cracked in two. Its summit, veiled in mist, soared a million feet; its base sank into the abyss, blanketed in ash and lava.

With Moltenpyre Mountain’s aid, Xi Qing and Zhu Qiu barely matched Wildsword. Another blow would ruin all, so in desperation, they fled with Divine Art.

For reasons unknown, Wildsword didn’t chase, instead scouring Moltenpyre Mountain in search of the “key of hope.”

Xi Qing and Zhu Qiu found a haven to recover and heal, but without Moltenpyre Mountain’s power, their lifespans dwindled.

A millennium later, in the Eastland Empire’s heartland, a vast war erupted among ancient tribes. Its shockwaves reached their refuge.

The tremors reopened Zhu Qiu’s wounds, leaving him near death.

Far from Moltenpyre Mountain, their healing slowed drastically. Over a century, madness consumed him.

Left with no choice, Xi Qing sealed him in a clay vault.

In human form, Xi Qing lived among mortals, guarding the vault as she watched seasons turn and mortal lives flicker, with another century passing.

That year, a harsh winter struck. Post-frost, blizzards swept in. In just a few days and nights, streams froze, peaks donned snowy cloaks and the temperature plummeted.

Xi Qing, undaunted by cold, felt her time dwindling. Long parted from Moltenpyre Mountain, she had at most two cycles of Jiazi[1] left to her life. Watching the raving Zhu Qiu, she feared his fate if she died.

On a clear day, she set out to gather firewood and trade at the market for some household necessities.

A journey once effortless with Divine Art now demanded walking to save strength.

Halfway, she saw a naked man in the snow, his body frosted, eyes staring blankly, and clutching something tightly.

Without probing with her Divine Art, she hurried forward.

“Zhoukin? Zhoukin? …” (The name for strangers then, meaning descendants of the Zhou.) In Xiaya, the elegant tongue of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou, Xi Qing called out, but the man lay still, as if dead.

She reached out with two fingers to check his breath, only to realize that he had died the moment he saw her.

Prying his arms, Xi Qing found a girl of seven or eight, wrapped in his clothes to save her life, her lips purple and body shivering, teetering on the edge of death. Had Xi Qing arrived half a day later, the girl would have joined him in death.

Xi Qing lifted the girl, glanced at the man’s hollow eyes, and soared home in a streak of radiant light.

In the warm house, the girl slept soundly.

Xi Qing studied her face, her first close look at a mortal’s.

To her, this era’s folk were mere natives, even this lovely girl, beneath her Celestial kind.

Yet, the longer she gazed, the more she grew fond of her. A strange impulse compelled her to keep staring.

This flutter unnerved her. She resolutely stepped outside and walked straight to the man who had frozen to death.

In any case, this man's actions could be considered a remarkable feat in today's world. By no means could his body be left neglected.

She began digging a grave.

Without using Divine Art, Xi Qing dug for over an hour, whereas a century ago, it would have taken half that time, as each use of Divine Art hastened her aging.

But now, there's no turning back. Moltenpyre Mountain is undoubtedly occupied by Wildsword, and defeating him is almost an impossible feat.

As Xi Qing climbed out to move the body, the girl appeared.

The path was ten miles, and she was unconscious when saved. How could a child find her?

“Child, how’d you track me?”

“Your scent’s distinct, auntie. I followed it.”

Xi Qing studied her face, a surge to embrace her rising. She restrained it.

Her eons of wisdom saw this as Void Flame—a spark that could drive her to ruin.

Suppressing it, she eyed the corpse. “What‘s his name?”

“He's my servant, Zhang Fude. Escorting me to the capital for Father, we hit a blizzard…”

“A servant… Zhang Fude.”

Xi Qing was struck, silently recited his name and sighed, “If he and the girl are father and daughter, it is great benevolence; if master and servant, great righteousness. Zhang Fu, a man of great righteousness, should not die in vain!

Zhang Fude, a righteous man, should not have died in vain.

Xi Qing stood tall, proclaiming:

“I, Celestial Xi Qing, proclaim the righteous Zhang Fude Right God of Fortune and Virtue! With heaven’s mighty awe and earth’s grand deeds, all spirits submit—none dare defy!!”

[1]Jiazi: A 60-year cycle in the Taoist sexagenary calendar, symbolizing time’s cosmic rhythm.