Chapter 53: The Fox Has Fallen

When Zhang Kai once again saw the light of day, even with his current level of cultivation, he felt somewhat dizzy and mentally fatigued.

He had simply seen too much.

A month of uninterrupted reading, absorbing all kinds of knowledge and information—if he’d devoted himself to study like this during his school days, he could have boasted about getting into the top universities.

Yet what he gained during this month was transformative, as if he had been reborn.

He had mended the gaps in his foundational knowledge.

Most importantly, he would no longer be bewildered by the unknown; now, when faced with something he didn’t recognize, he knew what it was and how to handle it.

The many secret records preserved by the Wudang Sect’s esoteric tradition also opened his eyes to the world.

Though this world had followed the path of science, there was once a time when cultivation flourished, a golden age when gods and buddhas ruled the three realms, and humans and all other beings were but mortal spirits enslaved by the higher powers.

Enslaved—there was no better word for it.

To the gods and buddhas, humans were useful only as sources of faith and as disciples to spread their teachings.

Even the pursuit of immortality among humans had been manipulated by the gods, who, within the bounds of the world's laws, engineered tribulations to ensure that only those who survived countless trials could attain enlightenment.

The highest echelons among gods and buddhas were born sacred, aloof, gazing down from above at the three realms.

The more Zhang Kai learned, the more he began to suspect the origins of the world’s tribulations.

Perhaps this so-called “reset” was just a reshuffling of the cosmic order.

Those who once stood above all would be cast down into the mortal world.

Thus, whether divine or mundane, all within this world might have a chance to start anew.

But if so, what was the significance of his own emergence?

Moreover, his ascent to godhood and the revival of spiritual energy seemed to follow the same old cycle—once the energy grew strong enough, those gods who had escaped disaster would return to their thrones, and the hierarchy would be restored, contradicting his suspicions.

He could not untangle these thoughts.

Still, Zhang Kai felt that the matter of godhood was not so simple. The revival of spiritual energy must have facets he did not yet understand.

With a thousand thoughts swirling in his mind and no clear answers, he could only set them aside and wait for the future to reveal itself.

After emerging, Zhang Kai went to find the old fortune-teller, but instead encountered a young Taoist he had never seen before.

The youth had delicate features, a pleasant appearance.

“You must be Uncle Zhang,” the young Taoist said respectfully. “My master told me that if you emerged from seclusion, you needn’t look for him. You should instead seek your own path.”

Zhang Kai smiled. “And you are?”

“My name is Yun Chuan. I’m my master’s newest disciple.”

“Where is your master, then? Isn’t he here?”

Yun Chuan nodded. “Ten days ago, my master left, instructing me to guard this place.”

“I see. Thank you, then,” Zhang Kai said, preparing to leave.

“Uncle, wait!” Yun Chuan called out hurriedly.

Zhang Kai looked at him quizzically.

Yun Chuan appeared a little embarrassed, as if he wanted to say something but hesitated.

“What is it? Do you have something else on your mind?” Zhang Kai asked.

“It’s actually about myself,” Yun Chuan replied. “Some of my senior brothers say that my master is nothing but a lecher, irresponsible, and other than his seniority, spends his days teasing young girls and has no real skill. You’re my uncle—so I wanted to ask, is my master really like that?”

He looked at Zhang Kai with hopeful eyes.

Zhang Kai laughed. “Don’t you know what kind of person your master is?”

Yun Chuan shook his head, embarrassed. “I haven’t been here long. It was my master who approached me and took me as his disciple. But he assigned me reading tasks—various secrets, Daoist classics, and said that only if I passed his tests would he teach me to cultivate. I’ve looked—there are hundreds of books, each one thick. I came to learn martial arts and cultivation, not to read endlessly. I can’t help but feel uncomfortable about it.”

Zhang Kai looked at Yun Chuan with some surprise.

This boy was quite fortunate.

He had just arrived and was already valued by the old fortune-teller. Judging by the reading list, he was being groomed for something important.

Yet, the boy’s mind had been shaken by outsiders’ words.

Having considered this, Zhang Kai smiled. “And what do you think?”

Yun Chuan answered seriously, “I trust my master. My chance to join Wudang is thanks to him.”

“Then trust him. Don’t pay attention to outsiders’ idle talk. Be patient and study well. After all, to cultivate, you need to understand what the Eight Extraordinary Meridians are, the transformations of the Five Elements, what the Eight Trigrams mean. If you know nothing, even if you were given a secret manual, could you comprehend it?” Zhang Kai replied with a gentle smile.

Yun Chuan paused, then muttered, “That makes sense—if I received a martial arts manual but didn’t know the theory, I’d probably end up harming myself! So, reading really is important.”

He turned to Zhang Kai and bowed deeply in gratitude. “Thank you for your guidance, Uncle.”

But after speaking, he heard no response. Looking up, he was dumbfounded.

The uncle who had just been standing before him had vanished without a trace.

The area was wide open, beyond which lay only forests.

Such speed—if not flying, it was certainly an extraordinary feat of lightness skill.

A true master!

With this realization, Yun Chuan’s heart pounded with excitement, his face flushed.

He thought, if my uncle is this amazing, how could my master be any less so?

Those who mock me must simply be jealous of my good fortune.

Wait and see—I’ll make them look at me with new eyes.

But that’s another story.

After his words of encouragement, Zhang Kai soared away, crossing through the forest to the place where he had first cultivated.

It was here that he had encountered his first cultivator—now reduced to bones, whom he had buried to give proper rest.

There was also a fox.

But when Zhang Kai saw the fox, he froze.

It was crouched in the cave where he stored the secret manuals, miscellaneous items, and the Great Palm of the Tathagata scrolls he had taken from the film world. The fox was lifeless.

Zhang Kai reached out—its body was cold to the touch.

“Don’t bother looking. It’s as dead as can be,” Madam Liu emerged from Zhang Kai’s pocket, propping herself up with her paws.

Zhang Kai frowned. “How did it die? There are no visible wounds.”

“It simply reached the end of its life. It was, after all, just a mundane beast. Though it had a touch of the extraordinary, it never crossed the threshold to become a true spirit. Its time was up, so it died,” Madam Liu replied carelessly.

Zhang Kai was at a loss for words.

He had thought to bring the fox along this time, to help it advance after their brief friendship.

He hadn’t expected that before he could offer a hand, it would have already died of old age.

In a way, he felt he owed the creature.

He had left it here to guard his belongings, yet it had never gotten the chance to walk the path of cultivation.

Fate is such—encountering an opportunity doesn’t guarantee one can seize it.

Oftentimes, people are simply not destined.

After a moment of silence, Zhang Kai looked around. He didn’t see the fox’s soul, but was not surprised. He could only sigh, “A mundane beast—how pitiful.”

Madam Liu laughed. “You know, humans truly are the darlings of heaven and earth. When they die, their souls can linger. But animals have it much worse—their souls are forcibly taken, unless they’ve crossed the threshold to become spirit beasts. Only then can they have enduring souls and some measure of choice. But plants fare even worse—they don’t even have souls. Once dead, that’s it. Such is the fate of all beings, the power of the Six Paths of Reincarnation.”

Zhang Kai said nothing.

But he disagreed with Madam Liu’s assessment—it wasn’t that humans were favored by heaven and earth, but rather oppressed by gods and buddhas.

There had been debate: If reincarnation existed, so many people have died over the years, yet the current population doesn’t correspond. Where did all the surplus souls go?

That was the most chilling part.

Because the Six Paths of Reincarnation didn’t only lead to rebirth as humans; there were six options: the Deva Path, the Human Path, the Animal Path, the Asura Path, the Hungry Ghost Path, and the Hell Path.

This cycle of six paths was, in Zhang Kai’s view, the fundamental reason humanity was enslaved.

For the choices in reincarnation were not made by humans themselves, but determined by the Book of Life and Death.

Out of ten thousand souls, some might return as humans, some would be demoted to animals, some taken to the Asura realm, some held in the netherworld as ghosts, and others cast into hell.

They were divided up completely.

Yet, in the secret archives Zhang Kai had found in the hidden chamber’s computer, he had seen an ancient record, written on some beast hide in an old script—with a translation, fortunately, so he could understand.

That ancient record stated that in the beginning, humans were born with their own souls, able to thrive under heaven and earth, needing no reincarnation.

The emergence of the Six Paths of Reincarnation was, in truth, a shackle placed upon humanity.