Chapter 51: The Cataclysm of the Ancient Heavens

The legend of the Wandering Sage of Redstone was well known. Not only was he a beacon and hope for the itinerant cultivators of the wilderness, his origins before reaching Foundation Establishment remained shrouded in mystery. It was as if he had simply appeared, sixty-some years ago, out of thin air.

Some claimed he hailed from the northern Immortal City—a disgraced scion of a celestial bloodline, exiled from his clan, who swore never to return without making a name for himself, intent on one day cleansing his honor. Others said he had been a promising disciple of a renowned sect, only to commit a grave transgression and be cast out, left to wander the wilds.

Yet, the version most revered among the wilderness’s unaffiliated cultivators was that he had always been one of them—a humble rogue cultivator from a small gathering, a life of hardship behind him, who only managed Foundation Establishment by a twist of fate, thus becoming a role model for all.

To all these stories, the Wandering Sage of Redstone had never given a direct answer. And, given his cultivation, there was no one upon the wasteland who could press him for the truth.

There were, however, rumors that he had once been apprehended and examined by a Core Formation master from the Azure Cloud Sect, who found nothing out of the ordinary—only lending credence to the theory that his success was due to a fortuitous encounter.

“How strange! How very strange!” the Wandering Sage of Redstone exclaimed, following his compass to a low-lying hollow, his spiritual sense extended and probing for quite some time, clicking his tongue in astonishment.

“Master, what’s so strange here?” Chen Qingling glanced around as well, but perceived nothing amiss.

Suddenly, the Wandering Sage’s face lit up in excitement. “No wonder my spiritual sense yielded nothing after several attempts—there’s some sort of soul-absorbing art at work here!”

With that, he slapped his spirit beast pouch, and the treasure-seeking golden-furred mouse, once gifted to him by Chen Zhaohu, emerged.

“Little ancestor, quickly now—find treasure for this old Daoist, and I won’t shortchange you,” he said, gently stroking the mouse’s head, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

The golden-furred mouse, though bound by his beast control talisman, retained its wild nature from being captured in the wild, baring its teeth at the Wandering Sage.

“Oh, my little darling, be good now. I’ve got something nice for you—just help me find it,” the old Daoist coaxed, his tone exceedingly kind, without a hint of coercion, even bordering on humble supplication.

Chen Qingling sighed helplessly at the scene, evidently accustomed to such displays.

“Master, you could simply command it with the beast control talisman. It’s just an animal—you’re its master. There’s no need to go to such lengths.”

The Wandering Sage shook his head vigorously. “No, no. Precisely because I am its master, I must treat it well. If its master does not, who will? Only by empathy can the heart be won.”

Chen Qingling could only shake his head, but said no more.

After another round of patient persuasion, and feeding the mouse a generous number of high-grade beast pills, the golden-furred mouse reluctantly burrowed underground.

Witnessing this, Gua Gua, the frog spirit, was visibly affected. Li Ji’an hastily sent a soul transmission, explaining that appearances could be deceiving—who knew how the old Daoist treated the mouse in private, perhaps it would be eaten once it outlived its usefulness. Only after much effort did he manage to calm Gua Gua.

“Three mountains encircle five peaks, facing the celestial currents, with the mists of Mount Wu at their back, and fortune amassed beneath—what a prime site of geomancy! To think I’ve roamed these lands for a century and never discovered it... What kind of spiritual restriction is at work here?” The old Daoist, riding his spiritual arc, spent several hours examining every inch of the hollow from every angle, sighing in admiration at last.

Li Ji’an watched the entire process, never doubting the old man’s expertise, but growing all the more wary. As the Sage had said, this place was extraordinary. The presence of the Soul-Binding Ants here seemed more likely to be the result of human design rather than chance.

What might be a fortuitous stroke of luck for others was, in Li Ji’an’s eyes, a risk not worth taking. Having entered this world of cultivation, armed with the “Rebirth” technique, he possessed the greatest opportunity of all: should he fail in this lifetime, he could simply begin anew. There was no need to court danger.

Any situation with uncontrolled risks, he would avoid.

He steeled himself, gripping a minor teleportation talisman purchased for twelve spirit stones, ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

As for the queen ant he had spent six years feeding, expending much vital energy, and which might be tamed in another three years, he felt no attachment. If the queen was not fully domesticated and attuned to his blood essence, it would not survive three days outside the nest.

“Master, is there truly a great fortune here—a tomb or ancient relic?” Chen Qingling asked, elated.

The old Daoist drew a deep breath. “A site of such geomantic power must be a tomb. One interred here would surely be a master of the hidden arts. Qingling, we are about to strike it rich.”

He quickly recalled the golden-furred mouse with the beast control talisman.

He led them to the southernmost edge of the hollow, near the rear mountain slope.

“This must be the tomb’s entrance. Come, my little treasure, work harder—if there’s a divine medicine, half of it shall be yours.”

“Master, from when do you think this tomb dates? The ancient era, or later?”

“Of course, the ancient era! After that age, this region has been wasteland, seldom touched by man—who would bury themselves here?” the Wandering Sage replied with confidence.

“The ancient era!” Chen Qingling was all the more excited.

“Master, what truly happened in the ancient era? Is it as the legends say—that six thousand years ago, the Heavenly Dao collapsed, the great age of cultivation ended in cataclysm, and all began anew?”

Seeing them move away to the far southern side, away from his position, Li Ji’an relaxed slightly, but Chen Qingling’s question renewed his attention.

Having spent thirty-six years in this cultivation world, he had always sought to understand the larger context, but the wall of information was thicker than he imagined; many things remained obscure.

From rumors and old texts alike, it seemed this world’s cultivation era began only six thousand years ago. Anything before that was lost to the sands of time—no records, no surviving sects, no direct inheritances.

Yet, occasionally, ancient ruins would surface, tombs unearthed, confirming the presence of cultivators six millennia prior—and that it had been a flourishing era. Many of today’s great clans and sects owed their prominence to luck in stumbling upon such legacies.

The history of this world, as Li Ji’an perceived it, was that six thousand years ago saw a golden age of cultivation—prosperous and powerful—until, in a single night, all cultivators were wiped out, the world transformed, and only a handful of mortals survived to begin anew, step by step, to the present day.

“Six thousand years ago... six thousand years ago...” At Chen Qingling’s question, the Wandering Sage’s expression gradually stiffened, drained of all emotion.

“I... I cannot remember. Truly, this old Daoist cannot remember!” Suddenly, he clutched his head, his whole body shaking violently.

“Master, master, let’s not talk about it,” Chen Qingling hastened to reassure him. He was long accustomed to such episodes; many claimed his master’s soul had been damaged in some ancient tomb, leading to these moments of instability.

Just then, a loud rumble erupted from the spot where the golden-furred mouse had burrowed.

The sound brought the Wandering Sage back to himself at once. “The Dragon-Severing Stone! The tomb has been found!”