Chapter 1302: Only State

Chapter 1307: The Singular State!

A cold wind blew through the window, making the candlelight flicker as pages of the "Cycle of Civilizations" were turned. The chronicle recorded the rise and fall of all dynasties, and under his organization, they converged into a closed circle, like the moon's trajectory across a long night. Gazing at this circle, he suddenly understood that every word and every regnal year in historical records were merely tracks left by a wheel, and the wheel itself never stopped turning.

So, he endured his illness, using the last moments of his life to engrave his lifelong insights onto twelve bronze slips. Even though he knew that the truth he had pursued his entire life, and these twelve bronze slips capable of resisting the erosion of time, were merely small ripples in the long river of reincarnation, still, he proceeded. The overlapping timelines blurred by imperial historians under some force, the truths of destruction obscured by myths, and the identical prophecies disguised by different languages — all revealed their true forms under his carving knife.

As the final stroke carved the eight characters, "All things cycle, eventually returning to stillness," a thunderous roar suddenly erupted outside the window! The booming sound rent the sky and earth, and rain poured down, hitting the ground and striking the glazed tiles. The rhythm, the cadence, left Chen Mo in a daze. He vaguely felt that it shared the same rhythm as the rain of destruction recorded in "Feng Gong" a thousand years ago.

"I am about to depart..." Chen Mo murmured, his life beginning to fade, the world before his eyes blurring. His life had been like a boatman adrift in a sea of history, misunderstood by the world, yet leaving behind some traces. "Still, there are some regrets..." Chen Mo whispered. So, in these final moments, as he awaited death, he arduously lifted his head and gazed at the thunderstorm outside the window.

Perhaps due to his lingering regrets, for a brief instant, he was unsure if it was an illusion, but he saw his shadow cast on the wall by a flash of lightning. It overlapped perfectly with the records on the bronze slips, the Nine Luminaries hexagrams of Empress Ling, the ancient bone script engravings, and the coiled dragon patterns on the current dynasty's gold leaf edicts, forming a single, identical outline. Chen Mo froze, then a bright light shone in his eyes.

"Everyone who attempts to grasp the trajectory of history eventually becomes part of that trajectory." Chen Mo smiled. Letting the cool rain wash over the wrinkles on his face, he suddenly felt that he was no longer a boatman trapped in the sea of history, but had transformed into the lamp held by the boatman. This lamp might not pierce the eternal mist, but at least it would let those who came later know that in the intervals between countless destructions and rebirths, someone stubbornly held a lamp, carving a faint yet clear mark in the long river of time.

Perhaps a millennium later, another historian, while organizing ancient texts on an autumn night, might suddenly discover this mark, perceiving the light within time and space. And ultimately, like himself, come to understand that it was a faint yet eternal signal passed between countless civilizations amidst destruction and rebirth. These signals would become another version of himself, forming spiritual kinship with someone in the future. "It is enough!"

The understanding he felt at this moment was not the euphoria of a sudden enlightenment, but rather the quiet stillness of melting spring ice. He had come to understand that every word in historical records was a scale of reincarnation, and the truth he had pursued his entire life was never about forcing all civilizations to conform to a single answer. Rather, it was about seeing all answers circulate on the same circle. This was unification.

At this moment, the inn's candlelight flickered erratically, as if shadows of countless dynasties overlapped in the light and shadow, forming a single silhouette of reincarnation. Candlelight and starlight illuminated each other, and amidst their interplay, a jade cicada seemed to gleam within. And Chen Mo, smiling, closed his eyes.

The cicada's song persisted. As did its wings. Scene by scene, bit by bit, piece by piece, all reflected the colorful lives of different individuals across various time-spaces, sharing the same origin yet evolving differently due to diverse trajectories. A myriad of colors, each blossoming into one "unification" thought after another.

These thoughts rose from time and space, returning to Xu Qing's consciousness, constantly expanding it. They allowed him to experience various lives and, moreover, transformed his aura into an invisible hand, plucking the strings of the constitution again and again. More and more musical notes were played, eventually weaving a melody, poised to perform a masterpiece named "Rhythm." But... though this resonance continued to brew, the sound could never fully emerge. Because...

"One is still missing." Xu Qing opened his eyes and looked into the void. That was himself in the last time-space, who had yet to form the "unification" thought. Even the guidance of the God of Pain's authority could not sway his mind. He was a painter. Once, an old man who burned all his paintings and drew only the character "One" on a piece of Xuan paper. And now, five more strokes had appeared on the Xuan paper. "One" had become "Come." That first stroke was originally the initial stroke of the character "come." This was an invitation, transcending time and space.

So, after gazing for a moment, Xu Qing stood up and stepped into the void. This step carried him through time and space, through parallel realms, appearing inside the old painter's study. The moment he appeared, the old man, whose brush tip was poised on the Xuan paper, looked up, his wrinkled face creasing into a smile as he gazed at Xu Qing.

"This stroke, I have waited for you for a long time," the old man said. "And you, do not speak. Just listen to me. In my youth, I studied painting and reached its pinnacle. I used painting as a boundary, and in my old age, I came to understand the workings of heaven and earth. Moreover, in my paintings, I saw all beings, I saw everything — for example, Liu Xuanji, Chen Mo, and even you. After that, I burned everything and sat here, for I understood that I and the world I inhabited perhaps never truly existed; we existed because you needed us to. As for what you need, I saw it in my paintings twenty years ago."

Having spoken, the old painter raised his hand, took out a new piece of Xuan paper, and after a deep breath, he ground some ink. Finally, he picked up his brush, dipped it in ink, and abruptly made a stroke on the Xuan paper before him. It was not a grand masterpiece, but a few simple strokes sketching out many small grids. Then, he paused, dipped his brush in fresh ink, and directly drew a line! This line connected all the small grids! These strokes seemed to consume his remaining strength. As the final stroke landed, his aura began to dissipate, and he could barely hold the brush. Only his old, hoarse voice echoed through the study.

"Unification is not just about space, but also time. Time is a line; it has no present, no past, no future. Space, on the other hand, consists of individual grids. They were originally static, but due to a line of time, once connected, they began to move. Like this painting, each of those small grids represents our own being, containing everything from beginning to end. A single timeline connects all these small grids; this is the complete parallel life across all time-spaces. Therefore, our path is to extract and absorb this line of time, making ourselves time itself. Next, it is to absorb all the small grids that have become static. Once these are done, you will have achieved parallel unification; you will become singular. This singular state, I choose to call it... Dimension! Which is our Tenth Extreme!"

The old painter, having spoken his last word, closed his eyes. Inside the study, Xu Qing stepped forward, gazing at the Xuan paper, and the world... began to shatter!