Chapter Eighty-Three: The Northern Abyss, Part Two

At Bai Ze’s suggestion, Di Jun began to set a trap for Kunpeng, luring him in by deliberately weakening their own forces. Taiyi had initially felt some reluctance in his heart, but after hearing Bai Ze’s report that the Solar Dragon clan was secretly plotting rebellion, all traces of compassion vanished, replaced by burning fury.

The plan unfolded smoothly. Within just a day or two after the three leaders finished their deliberations, hundreds of thousands of Solar Dragons—under Bai Ze’s arrangements—were led by an equal number of Solar Guards back to the Solar Star. The pretext was that, according to reliable intelligence, the Wu tribe intended to strike at the Solar Star, so the Solar Guards and Solar Dragons suspected nothing. Only a hundred thousand Solar Dragons were left behind to aid the campaign in the Northern Abyss.

With the first step of the plan successfully executed, Di Jun and his two companions finally breathed a sigh of relief. Their confidence soared, certain of victory.

“Master, as long as a few dozen demon kings and generals make the proper arrangements, the plan can be enacted within a month. By then, no matter how Kunpeng tries to escape—soaring to the heavens or diving into the seas—he won’t get away from you,” one of them said.

“We’ll secretly set the Primordial Heluo Formation. Once Kunpeng enters, the Chaos Bell will trap him. With a million elite troops working in unison to unleash the true solar fire, I refuse to believe Kunpeng could break free.” Bai Ze gave a cold, confident laugh.

“Is that really necessary? With such a force, do we even need the three of us to act? Even if we win, Kunpeng may not truly submit,” Taiyi objected, his tone uncertain.

“Hmph!” At Taiyi’s words, Di Jun’s face darkened. Taiyi had been disappointing these past days. Di Jun did not require a brother of great intelligence—only one who obeyed. But it seemed Taiyi was falling short even of that.

“Second Lord, I must disagree,” Bai Ze said, stroking his chin. “Those who achieve great things never quibble over trifles. Our lord is destined to accomplish feats unmatched in history—how can he be so constrained? Remember: the victor becomes king, the defeated a bandit. Once our lord unites the demon race and claims the title of Demon Emperor, who would dare challenge him? In such times, even if he were wrong, his word would make it right. And this is but a small matter—no one will care. Kunpeng is only useful so long as he serves our lord’s cause. Once the grand design is complete, his end is inevitable.” Bai Ze smiled, feather fan in hand, persuading gently.

“Well said. Bai Ze’s words are much to my liking. No more objections—just follow the plan,” Di Jun commanded Taiyi directly.

“Yes,” Taiyi replied, clicking his tongue, clearly displeased but resigned.

With their resolve unified, the three immediately summoned their subordinate demon kings and generals to make arrangements. Shadows gradually crept over the Northern Abyss.

…

While Di Jun and his companions plotted against Kunpeng, the battle of the Northern Abyss was reaching its climax, and for Qingxu, the moment of truth had arrived.

Since settling among the human tribe at Wanqiu, Qingxu devoted himself wholly to researching all he remembered about the path of divinity from both his past and present lives. To his surprise, the path was far simpler than he’d expected. As long as one possessed enough faith and incense power, one could advance smoothly to the rank of Divine King. The only real complication was that deities could restrict one another: the first to practice the path could hinder the success rate of any who followed. The first deity could affect the second’s success by about one percent, the third by two percent, the fourth by four percent, and so on, doubling each time. The second would similarly affect those after him.

“This is insane—sharper than any heavenly tribulation! If I were the first deity, I could raise a cadre of loyal gods, and anyone else trying to become a lesser god would be at my mercy. But being the first is also most dangerous, with no one to guide you—one misstep and you’re destroyed, body and soul. There truly is a trade-off in everything! And those deities tied to the Investiture of the Gods list don’t even count in this system. It’s all so complicated!” Qingxu began to worry—what if someone else had become a deity before him, or worse, several had? He might end up losing everything, unable to cultivate new avatars and even damaging his soul.

“Damn it, fortune favors the bold. There’s no such thing as something for nothing in this world, especially in the path of immortality and Dao attainment. Risks are inevitable. Even if I lose this bet, I won’t lose my chance to recover—that’s enough.” Hardening his resolve, Qingxu gritted his teeth and decided to cultivate the divine path no matter what.

Since this involved an avatar, a vessel was required—something Qingxu had already planned for.

Using Supreme Yin Gold as a foundation, faith and incense power exchanged for divine energy as the source, his soul’s avatar as the catalyst, and Xuanhuang pure water to refine the divine power into the avatar, he could forge a Divine King’s soul, possessing the power of a Golden Immortal, and a godhead at the lower god rank. Two layers of protection: even if the Divine King’s soul was unusable, he’d still retain the strength of a lower god.

Here, the system tied to the Investiture of the Gods was invaluable. Its unique exchange functions made Qingxu feel as though he’d found a fish in water. Not only could he convert faith and incense into various grades of divine power—lower, middle, higher, even supreme—but merit too could be exchanged (one point of innate merit for a hundred points of acquired merit), as well as karma, yang virtue, yin virtue, and more. This had once delighted Qingxu to no end.

His stockpile of Supreme Yin Gold was nearly depleted, with only enough left to make a single humanoid “spiritual treasure.” Thus, he began refining his divine avatar with Samadhi True Fire. Due to the shortage of Supreme Yin Gold and his lack of interest in searching for more, this vessel ended up short and skinny—about one meter forty or fifty, bamboo-thin, and with a rather… disreputable-looking face.

“With a body like this, no one would ever dream of connecting this avatar to my true self! Perfect for handling things best kept in the shadows! Ha ha ha…”

The true self exuded immortal dignity and uprightness, while the divine avatar looked wretched and shifty-eyed—day and night, heaven and earth. No one who didn’t know the truth would ever connect the two.

“But just to be absolutely safe, I’ll need to trouble my master to conceal the heavenly secrets. Even if I can’t hide it from the Five Sages, at least I can keep it from anyone below their level.” This was the bane of life in the prehistoric world—every action was subject to calculation and divination, and the slightest carelessness could reveal one’s plans (provided the other’s cultivation was higher or they excelled at such arts). Only sainthood could bring true peace of mind.

As for Hongjun, the one who merged with the Dao, Qingxu ignored him for the moment. Perhaps influenced by his past life, Qingxu regarded Hongjun as merely a patch to the deficiencies of the Heavenly Dao, devoid of true autonomy—at most, a servant or agent of the Dao, even a kind of avatar. If the Dao perished, so would Hongjun; but if Hongjun died, the Dao would endure, merely allowing him to borrow a bit more of its power and see a little further into fate than the Six Sages. The Sages, however, enjoyed far more freedom than Hongjun. As far as Qingxu remembered, Hongjun could barely even leave the Purple Cloud Palace.