Chapter 138 - CHAPTER 138:

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At long last, His Majesty Emperor Lian stepped out of Novelty Village, the threshold between anonymity and destiny.

"From this moment forth," came the resounding proclamation, "His Majesty Emperor Lian shall soar like a bird unfettered across the boundless skies, dive like a fish through uncharted seas, and clash with dragons that roam the wilderness beyond mortal reach."

"Go forth, Emperor Lian!"

Amidst the chorus of cheers, a whimsical voice rose above the clamor, noting with delight, "That little monkey is absolutely adorable!"

Throughout the heavens and across the myriad worlds, powerful beings engaged in fervent discussion. Their tones brimmed not only with fascination but with a patience born of reverence, their expectations for Shen Lian layered with mythic weight.

Meanwhile, across the vast, shimmering expanse of the universe, atop the sacred pinnacle of Daluo Divine Mountain—

"What an endearing little monkey," Di Ji murmured, her voice soft as moonlight as she gently covered her mouth. Her eyes sparkled, reflecting the flickering image displayed through the projection—a black-haired monkey whose every expression brimmed with mischief and innocence.

"Your Majesty... who exactly is that monkey?" asked Xuan Ba, scratching his head in confusion. As Shen Lian's long-time companion and trusted follower, he had never once encountered this curious creature in their many years together. But he understood Shen Lian better than most. Shen Lian was not the kind of person who forgot the past or abandoned those who offered him kindness in times of weakness. To Shen Lian, every act of compassion was sacred—each one repaid with a spring's flood of loyalty and grace.

That monkey had been Shen Lian's first true friend—his earliest companion during the days when he was still powerless and insignificant. And now, though Shen Lian had transcended those early trials, attaining a level of enlightenment far beyond mortal comprehension, he would never abandon the one who walked beside him at the start.

"Little monkey…" Shen Lian whispered, eyes fixed on the screen. In that quiet utterance, nostalgia surged, mingled with a sorrow that could not be hidden.

Had that tragic accident never occurred, Little Monkey 653 might have stood by his side today—not as a memory, but as a Quasi Emperor in his own right.

Xuan Ba noticed the flicker of grief in Shen Lian's gaze and, feeling an uneasy tremor in his chest, dared not press for details.

The recording continued to play.

Shen Lian was seen traversing mountain paths, taking a full day on foot before finally reaching the massive city that had loomed faintly on the horizon since morning. Known as the Horse Vault, the city stood like a fortress carved into the gates of the 100,000 Mountains—an intersection of continents, a nexus of trade, and a sanctuary for those traveling between the northern and southern lands.

Once merely a quiet village clinging to the mountain's edge, the Horse Vault had, in less than a century, transformed into a metropolis pulsing with commerce and life.

Careful to avoid the patrolling guards at the gates, Shen Lian slipped through an overlooked side passage and entered the city unseen. As he walked through the packed thoroughfares and weaved among hawkers and caravans, his heart hardened with quiet determination. Beneath his calm exterior, he made a vow—a silent declaration that one day, in this very city, his name would be remembered.

But the world, ever cruel in its indifference, does not bend for those who dream.

At first, with the knowledge retained from his past life and a mind sharpened by experience, Shen Lian adapted quickly to his new circumstances. He had once passed the Zhonghua Qing University entrance exam despite growing up in Qingshui City, where the educational conditions bordered on the primitive. Compared to that, the mercantile systems of this new world proved little challenge.

Within three short months, he rose from penniless obscurity to amass nearly a million taels. He became, in the eyes of the city, a powerful merchant—an emblem of success forged through intellect and ambition.

But fate does not reward cleverness alone.

Despite his planning, despite his intellect and growing influence, Shen Lian failed to grasp a truth that governed this world more than any economic principle: strength is the highest law.

In a realm ruled by cultivation, power was not measured in coin, but in qi and bloodline. A single cultivator could overturn courts, topple clans, and reduce vast fortunes to dust with the wave of a hand.

And one day, they did.

Without warning, everything he had built was stripped away. His estate was seized, his wealth consumed in the blink of an eye by forces he could not touch, let alone fight.

That day, thick snowflakes fell like goose feathers from the iron-colored sky, blanketing the Horse Vault in white silence.

He walked alone through the frigid streets. Each gust of wind pierced his clothes with ruthless clarity, scouring away the last remnants of warmth. The night deepened, and still the snow thickened. Each flake landed on his shoulders, dusted his eyebrows, and clung to his lashes like frostbitten reminders of loss.

It was as if the old saying had been written for this moment: "Three-foot mink robes, traded for frost-white hair."

As he trudged down Qingshi Royal Road, he passed homes aglow with stove fires, their light golden and warm against the frost-covered windows. Inside, families huddled together, their laughter muffled by glass.

Shen Lian pulled his hands deeper into his sleeves, his breath steaming as he exhaled into the bitter air. But his eyes—those eyes—only grew brighter. Hardened. Focused.

In a single evening, he had fallen from the height of wealth to the pit of desolation. And yet, amidst the ruin, came clarity. In this world, only the strong survive.

No crown, no title, no empire held meaning unless backed by cultivation. True sovereignty rested not with kings nor ministers, but with those who could mold heaven and earth with their will.

He reached into his inner pocket and retrieved a crumpled piece of parchment—a worn admission letter, now nearly torn at the edges. Clutching it tightly, he whispered with a voice hoarse from wind and hope:

"Father… Mother… Little sister… I will return to you. I swear it."

Then, like a blade slicing through silence—

Hum—!!!

A sonic boom exploded overhead, splitting the sky like a thunderclap from the divine.

Startled, Shen Lian looked up.

There, slicing through the heavens, were figures robed in immaculate white, their hair bound with ceremonial ribbons. Each stood tall upon a flying sword, arms crossed behind their backs as they soared in ghostlike silence. Their forms radiated such unassailable majesty that even the falling snow dared not touch them; every flake simply evaporated within the invisible field of aura surrounding them.

"Master Sword Immortals…"

"They're here!"

"They've arrived!"

The hushed murmurs along Qingshi Royal Road gave way to awe. Traders, passersby, and cultivators of lesser rank fell to their knees in reverence as the Sword Immortals passed silently overhead.

The immortal figures, aloof and elegant, spared only a glance downward—a flicker of frost in their expressions—before disappearing into the starlit sky, swallowed by clouds and distance.

As the crowd dispersed and life resumed, one figure remained rooted in place.

Shen Lian did not move. His eyes, wide and unblinking, followed the path the immortals had taken. The snow whipped around him, but he did not feel the cold.

No one present could understand the impact this moment had on his heart. In truth, had that snowy night never occurred, perhaps there would never have emerged the future Emperor of the Universe—a man whose hand would eventually weigh upon time itself, past and future alike.

It was then, beneath the frozen sky, that Shen Lian made his decision.

He would walk the path to immortality.

For in that moment of stillness, he came to a realization that shattered all worldly illusions. The red dust of mortal existence—its thrones, its beauties, its vanities—meant nothing. Kings would crumble. Empires would fade. Even the most exquisite flesh would turn to loess and bone.

Only through cultivation could one rise above that cycle, escape the chains of time and death, and find the road home.

He lifted his gaze, framed by narrow rooftops, and stared at the rectangle of sky boxed in by buildings—a pale patch of gray that once seemed infinite.

Now, he knew the truth.

What he had once believed to be the world was nothing more than a speck. A sliver. A caged illusion.

The dream he had chased—the dream of success, of safety, of carving a name into this bustling city—now seemed pitiful in comparison to what he had witnessed.

He didn't want a name carved on this street anymore.

He wanted to leap beyond it.

And as the old saying went, thirty years were enough to turn all beings into beasts of burden; sixty years were enough to forge Buddhas and awaken dragons.

So on that snowy night, amid frost and flame, eighteen-year-old Shen Lian made a silent vow.

After living like a beast for two lifetimes…

This time, he would become a dragon.