The moon set in the west, time slipped by, and the night grew ever deeper.

Chapter 0006: A Cup

Netherworld

A majestic golden chariot sped out from a half-collapsed palace.

Four black underworld steeds pulled the chariot, treading on golden flames, covering unknown distances with each stride, and within ten steps, they had entered the realm of the living.

It was the darkest moment before dawn in the world of the living. The chariot stopped in the open space before a temple. The underworld steeds gazed anxiously toward the east, restlessly pawing at the ground and leaving scorched marks of shadowy flames.

The black curtain of the chariot was drawn aside, and a deity stepped down, its entire body wrapped in a mass of golden light. It gently patted the steeds to calm them, then with a casual wave, the entire chariot turned into golden light and was tucked into its sleeve.

Though not tall or robust, in this valley, it exuded a weighty and commanding presence.

It pushed open the temple doors and entered, paying no heed to the sleeping Edward Clark on the ground, but instead walked straight to the wall, first examining the sacrificial inscription tinged with red aura, then looking at a line of poetry.

At this moment, the line of poetry faintly carried a greenish aura—truly worthy of being a work renowned through the ages.

The deity ignored the green aura radiating from the wall inscription and recited aloud: “Before me, no ancients; behind me, no followers. I contemplate the vastness of heaven and earth, alone and sorrowful, my tears fall.”

The voice was like iron, like ice, indistinguishable as male or female, yet ancient and profound.

A fierce wind swept through the valley, faintly accompanied by the clash of weapons and the neighing of warhorses. For a moment, ghostly shadows crowded the scene, their voices wailing—these were the fallen souls of warriors.

The deity reached out, and since the poem was its own creation, a wisp of green aura from the inscription was drawn into its body. The deity’s form flickered, then golden light shot forth, shining upon the war souls.

Bathed in this golden light, a dozen or so black shadows rolled on the ground, transforming into human shapes, regaining their senses, and kneeling on the spot, calling out, “General!”

Though the literary aura was pure, imbued with poetic resonance, without official rank or fame, this was its limit. The green aura on the wall flickered, clearly unable to last much longer!

The deity sighed, waved its hand, and those who had awakened were swept into its sleeve—over a hundred in total—while many more remained dazed and confused.

Almost immediately, they instinctively dispersed.

Moments later, the first rays of sunlight shone down, quietly illuminating its body, merging with the golden light that enveloped it, and forming a complete set of ancient golden armor. Beneath the helmet was a dignified bronze mask, glinting coldly in the sunlight.

Yin spirits fear sunlight and cannot appear by day; even ordinary underworld deities are bound by this rule, but this deity was clearly an exception.

It gazed regretfully at the wall inscription, confirming that the green aura was exhausted and could not quickly recover without being passed down through generations. Only then did it slowly pace to stand before Edward Clark, observing this body.

In the deity’s eyes, the youth before it had only faint, dim white aura—clearly of thin fortune. Yet within that dim fortune, there was a trace of pale green spiritual energy, a sign of talent.

But lacking the nourishment of red or yellow aura, it was as dim as a candle in the wind!

“This child’s talent is noble, but his fate is as thin as paper. Ordinarily, he would not amount to much, but after eight hundred years, to think someone still remembers and passes down my work—such grace must be repaid.”

With that, it formed a seal with its fingers and bent down to touch Edward Clark’s brow.

In an instant, a flash of golden light passed.

……

A gust of wind swept through the temple. Edward Clark awoke, but everything before his eyes was different.

It had been late autumn, but now the climate felt mild. Everything around him was changed. Edward Clark looked carefully and saw that the surroundings were dim, yet unlike night—more like the dusky gloom of sunset.

After a few steps, he saw a palace, shrouded in clouds, with guards and maidservants on either side, all handsome and beautiful, and unknown flowers blooming everywhere.

Looking farther, there were layers of pavilions within. Just then, a man in a general’s uniform, with a long sword at his waist, stepped forward and said, “The General invites you to the hall!”

He then led the way inside. Edward Clark saw the palace was magnificent, bright on all sides, resplendent in gold and jade, and suddenly understood—this was the so-called dream of meeting a deity.

He felt his body and sensed the Chuanlin Notes hidden within his mind, dormant like a seed, faint yet present. Edward Clark relaxed and proceeded quietly.

The curtain slid aside, revealing a golden-armored deity seated upright in the main hall. Just by sitting there, Edward Clark felt a murderous aura pierce his brow, cold and sharp.

Instinctively, Edward Clark raised his head, but did not retreat a step. After a moment’s pause, he simply stared at the golden-armored deity before him.

“Such courage!” After a moment, the golden-armored deity remained motionless, its voice cold, but the murderous intent vanished at once. “Few scholars can withstand my battlefield aura. You have a strong character!”

After a pause, it seemed puzzled, thinking, “This child’s literary talent is upright, his wisdom clearly extraordinary, able to comprehend the Dao. I had thought his nature would be weak and unsuited for the Dao, but now it seems otherwise. Even if his physical aptitude is lacking, it can be remedied. Why, then, is his fortune so thin?”

“If he bore any guilt, that would explain it, but there is none. It’s as if something has been stripped away?”

While pondering, Edward Clark stepped forward and saluted: “May I ask how to address the honored deity, and for what reason have you summoned me?”

“It is I who was discourteous…” The golden-armored deity returned to itself, not offended, and apologized: “This temple is desolate, but thanks to your writing, the walls shine with brilliance. I have come especially to express my gratitude.”