UCS Chapter 143

Chapter 143

 

The moment Gao Shi recalled his true name, the entire world fell silent.

 

Unlike the supernatural phenomena that accompanied the restoration of Ying Bujie’s soul, the instant Gao Shi remembered his true name, heaven and earth went still.

 

Thunder fell silent, the quaking earth ceased its movement, and the heavenly fire was extinguished.

 

It was as if the entire world trembled in fear at his awakening.

 

This fear differed from the terror of life and death evoked by Ying Bujie; if Ying Bujie represented retribution in the afterlife, then Gao Shi represented punishment during one’s lifetime.

 

The name “Ru Shou” carried many titles—God of Autumn, God of Metal, God of the West—but the one that defined him best was the God of Punishment.

 

The God of Punishment.

 

The Heavenly God of Punishment.

 

He who executes the will of Heaven.

 

Gao Shi gazed up at the firmament; his eyes transformed into a limpid gold, more dazzling than the sun itself.

 

He saw the truth—hidden beneath layers of dreams—concerning the plot, the Spirit Flower, and the Heavenly Dao.

 

Gao Shi twirled the long axe in his hand; the weapon, weighing tens of thousands of catties, moved as lightly as a mere twig in his grasp. As he moved, the world returned to its normal state—lightning flashed, heavenly fire descended, and the earth shook—yet there remained a faint, lingering undertone of… trembling.

 

Gao Shi sensed the spiritual energy around him and exchanged a glance with Ying Bujie.

 

Ying Bujie conjured a zither from spiritual energy before him, while Gao Shi stood tall, long axe in hand, gazing at the heavens; his voice rang out like spring thunder—a sound that seemed to originate from beyond the sky itself. “The Heavenly Dao of this realm disregards the lives of countless beings; driven by selfishness, it devours a million souls, plunders the local spiritual energy, interferes with the world’s natural order, ravages the realm’s spiritual treasures, covets the immortal bones of deities, and steals the accumulated merit of all living things.”

 

“I hereby pronounce judgment: By the laws of the Dao, you deserve execution!”

 

His stern shout rang out as if directly within everyone’s hearts, sending a shock through them all. Instinctively, they looked up at the sky, even though it was shrouded in thick, dark clouds that obscured all view.

 

The golden radiance upon his long-handled axe intensified; even if the blazing sun itself were forged into the axe’s blade, it would pale in comparison to the light he wielded.

 

Yet, the Heavenly Dao let out a peal of thunder that sounded like a mocking laugh: “Ha!”

 

“I *am* the Heavenly Dao; I am the law governing all things, and I hold dominion over the life and death of every being.”

 

“How laughable you all are—whether you are the God of Heavenly Punishment or the King of Reincarnation, you only attained the Dao by glimpsing a fraction of Heaven’s secrets. You ought to submit to Heaven’s will.”

 

“For I am the one who metes out Heaven’s punishment and governs Heaven’s cycle of rebirth!”

 

Ying Bujie spoke calmly, “Even celestial beings face the Nine Decays, and the Heavenly Dao itself undergoes cycles of renewal. Why, then, should you be beyond challenge simply because you are the Heavenly Dao?”

 

“Moreover, you are nothing but a counterfeit; what right do you have to call yourself the Heavenly Dao?”

 

A thunderbolt cracked through the air, striking toward Ying Bujie in a fit of celestial rage.

 

Ying Bujie rose into the air. His white Daoist robes shifted—transforming from white to an ink-black hue like polished jade, traced with golden characters too brilliant to look upon directly. A silvery-white spiritual aura coalesced above his head, forming a golden crown with hanging beaded tassels. As the lightning drew within ten feet of him, it weakened; by the time it actually struck his body, it had lost all its power. His expression remained impassive; the cycle of reincarnation fully unfurled behind him, merging with all things in existence—with time and space itself—yet that small, black vortex was no longer to be seen.

 

This was the true form of reincarnation.

 

Gao Shi sneered, pointing his axe toward the heavens, his unbridled arrogance no longer held in check. “Tens of thousands of years ago, the Heavenly Dao waned and the Six Realms collapsed. It took another ten millennia for the Three Thousand Worlds to stabilize and for the Heavenly Dao to slowly recover from its decline. Yet, to think that in the absence of the tiger, the monkey would reign as king.”

 

Ying Bujie gazed up at the sky. “When the fabric of space fractured, you must have devoured a fragment of the Heavenly Dao’s laws, thereby gaining the power to govern this realm.”

 

Faint, intricate characters flickered within Gao Shi’s eyes—manifestations of his *Dao*, the rules bestowed by divine revelation that encompassed the dispensation of rewards and punishments for all living beings. “Had you upheld the celestial laws and diligently managed this world, you would have surely garnered supreme merit and ascended to immortality in a single bound once the Heavenly Dao recovered. Yet, to usurp the status of the Heavenly Dao, you chose to drain this realm’s spiritual essence! That is your first crime!”

 

Wails of tormented spirits echoed around Ying Bujie; he made no move to soothe them, allowing them to vent their rage and resentment. “To prevent the Heavenly Dao from discovering this realm, you destroyed the nascent seeds of reincarnation—that is your second crime. You absorbed spiritual energy—and even the very essences of souls—to such excess that countless spirits were denied reincarnation and utterly annihilated; that is your third crime!”

 

Gao Shi spoke coldly, “You imposter—you could never truly rival the authentic Heavenly Dao. As the Heavenly Dao began to reawaken in recent years, you feared your deeds would be exposed. In a desperate bid to tighten your grip, you plotted to harm…” “You absorbed the spiritual essence and wisdom of heaven-and-earth treasures and mystical flora, usurping the Great Dao’s power to imbue life—this is the fourth crime!”

 

Ying Bujie spoke calmly, “Foreseeing an impending calamity, you ruthlessly used the entire human race as a sacrifice. For thirty years, you unleashed ceaseless natural disasters and caused heavy casualties, treating humans as mere pawns in a game against Heaven to seize merit and suppress the divine will—this is the fifth crime!”

 

Gao Shi slowly stepped forward, “You assumed the role of the Heavenly Dao yet abused your power for personal gain, stopping at nothing—using coercion, manipulation, and even forcibly possessing human bodies—this is the sixth crime!”

 

Ying Bujie lightly rested his right hand on the zither strings before suddenly shouting, “Sensing the reincarnation of an immortal deity here, you harbored malicious intent. You distributed artifacts belonging to the deity Ru Shou among your chosen pawns, aiming to destroy his power and seize his accumulated merit and immortal essence—this is the seventh crime!”

 

With each charge listed, their voices grew louder, ensuring all living beings heard clearly. Once all seven crimes were proclaimed, Gao Shi held his instrument across his chest while Ying Bujie plucked the zither strings; their voices merged into a single, clear, resonant chime that echoed far and wide.

 

…

 

Zhuang Xiuxiu bit her lower lip hard as she gazed at her boyfriend.

 

He looked somewhat helpless as he leaned down slightly. “What’s wrong, Xiuxiu? Why are your eyes red? Who bullied my baby?”

 

“Are you upset that I arrived too late? I’m sorry, Xiuxiu. I’ll stay by your side from now on, okay?”

 

[Xiuxiu, I’ll marry you when I come back! Wait for me!] “Xiuxiu, do you remember when I said I wanted to marry you? I… I see that next month is an auspicious time; how about I go to your family to propose?”

 

Zhuang Xiuxiu’s vision blurred; she nearly blurted out “yes” and threw herself—recklessly—at the man she had waited three years for.

 

*Why not just let it happen?*

 

*It didn’t matter anymore—whether this was an illusion or a haunting.*

 

*Qingmu, take me away.*

 

“Xiuxiu, come away with me.”

 

Through tear-filled eyes, he extended his hand, just like a prince welcoming his bride.

 

But Zhuang Xiuxiu gently stepped back, avoiding his touch.

 

“Xiuxiu?”

 

She blinked, and tears slid down her cheeks; the essence distilled from the jade talisman dripped steadily onto a blade of grass, strengthening the formation a fraction more.

 

She smiled—though it was an ugly smile, with red, swollen eyes and a flushed nose—and said, “Qingmu, I’m sorry.”

 

She took one last, greedy look at Qingmu, then hardened her heart and turned away, fixing her gaze intently on the formation’s core. She refused to look back, even as the voice beside her shifted from pleading to desperate begging, laced with the faint sound of sobbing.

 

Her own voice trembled slightly, yet her tone was cold—almost ruthless.

 

“Go now, Qingmu. I’m doing well; you don’t need to worry about me.”

 

“You’re already dead.”

 

As the words left her lips, a resonant *clang* rang in her ears. Her boyfriend’s figure slowly began to fade into transparency. He stopped struggling, gazing quietly at Zhuang Xiuxiu as if trying to carve her image into his very heart.

 

And then, he vanished completely. Zhuang Xiuxiu felt a sudden pang of emotion; tears dripped onto the concrete floor, leaving behind small, dark floral patterns, yet she never once looked back.

 

That shy, vain little girl—who used to love sneaking under the covers to read novels—had grown into a young woman capable of protecting others.

 

…

 

“Little brother, I’m starving—why am I so hungry? Hurry up, do you have any food on you?”

 

His older brother looked ghastly from hunger; clutching his stomach, he muttered to himself in confusion, “That’s strange. Mom made me a huge bowl of pickled-cabbage noodles at lunch—how am I hungry already?”

 

The taste of wasabi in Chang Yang’s mouth surged straight to his head, stinging his eyes until tears spilled out.

 

Right. Of course his brother would be hungry.

 

Back during the Great Earthquake, they had been trapped between concrete slabs.

 

He had been delirious with hunger, too weak even to cry, until his brother pried his mouth open and stuffed in bits of dry, hard steamed bun.

 

[You dummy, hurry up and eat.]

 

[Brother, you eat too.]

 

[I’ve already eaten; you just hurry up.]

 

Hearing the rustling sounds of his brother eating nearby, he felt reassured and chewed vigorously on that dry, hard bun that scraped his throat.

 

He didn’t know how much time had passed outside. When he had run off in a fit of temper, his brother had been carrying only a small schoolbag—yet the food inside seemed endless, enough to sustain two children until they saw the light of day again.

 

The moment he saw the sunlight, he immediately turned to look at his brother.

 

“We’re getting out… Brother?”

 

His brother—the one who had cared for him in that cramped space for seven whole days—was already stiff and cold. His brother died on the third day after the earthquake struck.

 

The bag his brother had carried was tiny—small enough to hold only half a steamed bun and a small bottle of water.

 

To keep him alive, his brother had guarded that water without drinking a single drop himself.

 

So, who was it that looked after him and encouraged him after his brother died? Who rationed the water and the bun, helping him hold on until the rescue team arrived?

 

Was it you, Brother?

 

Tears welled up in Chang Yang’s eyes, yet prolonged starvation left him too weak to even make a sound as he wept.

 

As the rescuers held him—marveling that such a small child had managed to survive—he struggled in their arms. But lacking the strength to break free, he could only turn his head to look back at the slab of concrete that had sealed him in for seven long days; he was leaving, while his brother remained there forever.

 

Take my brother with us!

 

A low, animal-like whimper escaped his throat.

 

“Little bro? Why are you crying? Don’t cry, don’t cry—fine, I won’t eat your snacks, okay?”

 

He looked at his brother; the older man’s face was sallow and gaunt from hunger, looking as though he had just been dug out from beneath a slab of concrete.

 

“Oh boy, where am I? I need to find something to eat—I’m starving.”

 

His brother rubbed his stomach.

 

Chang Yang’s body trembled slightly; he felt an involuntary urge to pull his hand away from the burning talisman and reach into his pockets for snacks.

 

He *did* have food—he had heaps of it, stuffing every single pocket. He was the department’s walking snack shop, a connoisseur of every treat imaginable.

 

He had always been waiting for that one person—someone who would call him “little bro” while unceremoniously snatching snacks from his hands, devouring his prized treats without a second thought, and then offering a solemn, expert critique: “Not bad. Got any more?”

 

Of course he had food; he was supposed to have plenty of it.

 

But he bit down hard on the tip of his tongue until he tasted blood; his throat, choked with tears, ultimately failed to utter a single word.

 

A sharp, ringing sound cut through the air, clearing his mind. The talisman in his palm burned to ash, and the figure of his brother before him slowly faded away.

 

His brother looked at him with a grin, his eyes holding a touch of earnest tenderness.

 

…

 

As a child, Xiong Xiong had actually been tiny and frail; at seven or eight years old, he looked no older than five or six.

 

That was why he could curl up safely within the protective embrace of his grandfather.

 

His grandfather’s thin, frail shoulders created a sanctuary of absolute safety, shielding him from every danger. The elevator cable snapped during the earthquake; while being on the ground floor had spared their lives, they were now forced to watch helplessly as hope slipped away.

 

The deformed steel elevator doors were crushing the space around them, while debris—whether mechanical parts or mere dust—rained down upon their faces.

 

Xiong Xiong felt his grandfather’s embrace grow cold.

 

If only I had immense strength.

 

If only I were incredibly strong.

 

If only I could protect Grandpa.

 

If only I could smash this elevator open.

 

Burst it open; smash it to pieces.

 

I am strong now; I possess immense strength; I could easily shatter this elevator that imprisons me with a single punch.

 

Xiong Xiong curled up at the center of the formation, his eyes wide and his muscles taut.

 

Yet, he still carefully poured his spiritual blood into the narrow groove.

 

A resonant chime pierced through layers of barriers, ringing in his ears; the old man let out a final, contented breath—and then fell silent forever.

 

Xiong Xiong’s tears mingled with the sweat on his arms.

 

Grandpa, do you see? I can protect so many people now.

 

…

 

Ran Qiu once had a friend—someone wonderful, brilliant, and gentle.

 

He was two years younger and had skipped a grade to enter junior high, yet he always ranked first in the class.

 

Then, he died.

 

[We just couldn’t stand how he acted so high and mighty all the time; we only wanted to scare him. We had no idea he’d actually die in that haunted house!] 】

 

【Waaah, I was wrong, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…】

 

【I shouldn’t have started the livestream; I shouldn’t have let everyone mock him; I shouldn’t have let people place bets on whether he’d wet his pants. I was wrong, I was wrong—please, just let me go, let me go.】

 

That evening, a friend asked Ran Qiu if he wanted to do homework together, but Ran Qiu declined. Thanks to his exceptional talent for computers, he had been specially admitted to an elite program for gifted students, and he wanted to go home to put in some extra practice.

 

It seemed like it had been a while since he’d done homework with that friend; his humanities grades were quite mediocre, and his friend had to put in a lot of effort just to help him pass.

 

【Hehe, please? If I become a world-famous hacker someday, you’ll be the hacker’s best friend! I’ll be able to dig up info on anyone you want!】

 

He had said one hour—and one hour it was.

 

However, he hadn’t expected that, just as the hour was up, a livestream on a foreign site would suddenly spike in popularity and catch his eye.

 

The title read: #NerdEntersHauntedHouse#

 

A sense of foreboding washed over Ran Qiu. He clicked on the stream and saw a few of the school’s bullies.

 

His heart sank.

 

The “nerd” in the title was his friend.

 

He immediately called the police, but it was too dark to identify the location, and the streaming site’s IP address kept jumping around, making it impossible to pinpoint the source.

 

Through the broadcast audio, he could hear his friend sobbing.

 

Ran Qiu’s hands trembled slightly as he began to use the skills he had only recently learned to attempt a trace.

 

He was brilliant.

 

But he was a beginner.

 

He failed. “Qiuqiu? Why aren’t you saying anything? I get it—you didn’t write your Chinese essay again, did you?”

 

Even though he was two years younger, he acted just like an older brother; shaking his head, he pulled a sheet of composition paper from his bag.

 

“Here.”

 

Ran Qiu almost reached out for it.

 

Gritting his teeth, he forced his head away.

 

The sound of his friend crying drifted from the livestream.

 

That sound—his friend’s weeping—haunted him daily like the deepest of nightmares.

 

The punks in the livestream laughed raucously, their grins so vile they made him want to smash his fist right into their faces.

 

But that wasn’t right; he was supposed to be looking for Lele.

 

He pressed his face desperately against the screen, trying to break free from the hallucination.

 

The keystrokes turned into meaningless gibberish, and the computer’s blue screen seemed to mock him—

 

You couldn’t save your friend ten years ago, and you can’t save Lele now, either.

 

“No!”

 

Ran Qiu cast one last, deep look at the friend who was gazing at him with such concern and worry, then picked up the vehicle’s emergency escape hammer.

 

“I can save him!”

 

“This time, I can save him!”

 

He raised the hammer and—hard, so very hard—slammed it down onto his leg, which had only recently healed.

 

Amidst the sound of cracking bone, the illusion before him seemed to dissipate; he thought he saw a friend waving goodbye.

 

……

 

“Huang Mutou! If you keep ignoring me, I’m really going to get mad!”

 

Huang Shan jerked the steering wheel, executing a flawless drift to dodge a fissure opening in the ground.

 

Yet, his tone remained gentle. “Dongxue, stop messing around; I’m busy.”

 

Dongxue let out an “Oh,” then puffed out his cheeks in dissatisfaction. “No! You have to look at me! You aren’t looking at me at all!”

 

Huang Shan sighed softly and turned his head.

 

Just as Dongxue leaned in with a smile to kiss him, a meteorite was about to crash down right in front of the car.

 

With a gentle smile still on his face, Huang Shan used a fountain pen—inscribed with a spell to shatter illusions—to pierce straight through Dongxue’s head.

 

By the narrowest of margins, the meteorite grazed the side of the car.

 

Nothing could stop him from reaching his beloved.

 

Not even an illusion.

 

……

 

A resonant *clang* echoed across the land, bringing clarity to every heart.

 

For those Anomaly Officers with steadfast wills, the sound washed away the dust from their minds; for those trapped in nightmares, it roused them from their slumber.

 

In the blink of an eye, the city-level formation took shape, coalescing into a provincial formation, which in turn merged into a national formation.

 

Interlocking seamlessly like an immovable iron tower, the formations shielded all living beings from the ravages of the natural disaster.

 

The formations—modified by Ying Bujie—served to dampen the overwhelming might of the Heavenly Dao; the suppressed officers began to regain their mobility and swiftly threw themselves into disaster relief efforts. Gao Shi and Ying Bujie looked at the grand formation shielding the living beings below and exchanged a smile.

 

Gao Shi then turned his gaze toward the firmament; his words carried the authority of the Heavenly Dao, and he held the Great Dao of Retribution in his grasp as he pronounced the verdict.

 

“The Seven Sins against the Heavenly Dao have been proclaimed.”

 

“Ru Shou—carry out the execution!”

 

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