Spiritual Energy Anomaly

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Spiritual Energy Anomaly

Time flowed silently amid the tranquility of the Safe Zone. Spring blossoms and autumn harvests, the changing of the seasons across this Primordial Wilderness, seemed to follow an entirely different, grander rhythm. But for Chen An, the concept of days was gradually growing blurred, replaced by a rhythm closely bound to the land, to survival, and to his inner world. His life had entered a fragile balance: the vegetables in his garden grew more and more lush under the nourishment of Primordial spiritual energy, their crystalline green seeming to freeze the radiance of life; though the pottery kiln was crude, the vessels it produced were enough to support his basic needs; and the Safe Zone's invisible barrier was as natural as breathing, keeping out the dangers of the outside world.

Amid this hard-won stability, his spiritual needs became increasingly apparent. Chen An picked up a habit he had possessed even before crossing worlds—reading. The Tao Te Ching that had accompanied him through time and space had an old, worn cover, and the scent of dried grass lingered between its pages, yet it remained the most important anchor of his spiritual world. Whenever his work was done, night had fallen, or dawn was just beginning to break, he would sit before the crude "writing desk" made from tree trunks and animal hide. By the dying embers of the stove or the faint light of morning, he would immerse himself in those profound, ancient words.

The weather was clear that day. Sunlight filtered through sparse clouds, scattering mottled shadows across the ground. Chen An had just finished watering the vegetable garden. As he savored the fragrance of the damp soil and the crystalline dewdrops rolling across the vegetable leaves, his heart was filled with peace and tranquility. He returned indoors and lit a small pile of dry firewood—not for warmth, but to dispel a trace of stuffiness from the room. The flames danced, illuminating his focused face.

He opened the Tao Te Ching, his gaze falling on the opening lines that had been passed down through the ages. Perhaps it was his state of mind, or perhaps reading them day after day had given him a new understanding of the deeper meaning behind the words. This time, he decided to read aloud, letting that ancient wisdom flow between his lips and teeth and resonate with the silence of heaven and earth.

"Dao can be spoken, but it is not the eternal Dao; names can be named, but they are not the eternal names..."

His voice was not loud and carried a hint of hoarseness, yet it was exceptionally clear and steady. Every word seemed to contain the weight of a thousand jun, yet also resembled a gentle breeze brushing his face, naturally blending into the air of the Small Courtyard. He read slowly and earnestly, trying to comprehend the true meaning of the "Dao" that transcended the limits of language.

At first, everything was as usual. The vegetables in the courtyard stretched quietly beneath the sunlight, the Safe Zone's barrier remained soundless, and the distant roars of beasts were like background noise from far away. However, when his voice reached the core opening lines, "Dao can be spoken, but it is not the eternal Dao; names can be named, but they are not the eternal names," an extremely subtle yet undeniably real change quietly occurred.

Chen An did not notice it immediately. He remained immersed in his recitation. But just then, he felt the space around him seem to... twist slightly? It was not a visual distortion, but a feeling that was even harder to describe. It was as though the air, which had originally flowed steadily, had developed an incredibly tiny, nearly imperceptible "node" or "vortex." The temperature did not seem to change, but the texture of the air seemed somewhat different, becoming more "dense," or perhaps more "ethereal."

He instinctively stopped reading, frowned slightly, and looked around. The courtyard was empty, while the vegetables and stone house remained as they were. Could it have been his imagination? A hallucination brought on by excessive concentration?

However, that strange "feeling" did not completely disappear. He looked toward the center of the courtyard again. Above the trampled, hardened earth, it seemed that an extremely faint pale-green halo, almost blending into the light, flashed and vanished. Or perhaps it was more like the air itself had formed, in that instant, an exceedingly fine, slowly rotating ripple that was nearly impossible to see with the naked eye.

He could not be sure. The change had been too faint and too brief, as if it had merely been an unintentional breath from heaven and earth. He shook his head, deciding that he had simply been too sensitive and had projected his mental focus onto his perception of the environment. He took a deep breath, turned his eyes back to the pages, and continued reading: "Nameless, it is the beginning of heaven and earth; named, it is the mother of the myriad things..."

Yet at that very moment, in a distant place, atop the peak of a solitary mountain that rose into the clouds and saw few human footsteps...

Clouds and mist wound around the mountain as fierce winds howled. A figure sat cross-legged upon a massive outcropping of rock, as if fused with the entire mountain peak. His eyes were closed, and an indescribable aura, like a deep pool and a towering mountain, radiated from him. His consciousness had not fallen asleep. Instead, it spread outward in a manner beyond the mortal realm, sensing every detail of this vast Primordial World. The birth and death of billions of living beings, the transformations of mountains and rivers, and the circulation of the spiritual energy of heaven and earth all lay within his boundless perception.

His consciousness was like a massive, precise radar, sweeping across the endless void. Most of the time, all he sensed was the tide of energy, the pulse of life, and the cold operation of the laws of heaven and earth. Yet at that moment, when his vast, sea-of-stars-like spiritual perception happened to sweep across the tiny Safe Zone where Chen An was, it caught an extremely abnormal, discordant "fluctuation."

It was not the roar of Demonic Beasts, nor the thunder of heaven and earth, nor an eruption of any known form of energy. It was a... conceptual disturbance! A subtle interference with the local reality energy field, caused purely by "speech" on the spiritual level!

Within his perception, the Small Courtyard where Chen An lived had originally been a chaotic, blind area wrapped in some kind of rule force field. But in that instant, because of the recitation of those lines from the Tao Te Ching, a tiny yet incomparably clear "ripple" appeared within that blind area, like a drop of ink falling into clear water. This ripple was not a change in the strength of energy, but an imprint of "meaning," an attempt at "definition." It was so abrupt, so contrary to reason, yet it contained a power of Returning to Simplicity that pointed straight to the origin.

"Hmm?"

A question so soft and faint that it was almost merely a ripple on the spiritual level rose from the depths of this ancient being's heart. His consciousness instantly focused on that tiny Safe Zone. What is this? Someone is reciting? They can actually stir the dormant power of the rules here and produce such a strange resonance?

Yet that trace of surprise was like a stone tossed into the sea, vanishing in an instant. The other party merely cast a casual glance over and did not investigate further. To an existence capable of looking down upon billions of stars and seeing through the cycles of heaven and earth, such an insignificant, accidental spiritual disturbance perhaps did not even qualify as "interesting," much less warrant wasting energy to investigate. That strange fluctuation soon dissipated into the immense ocean of energy between heaven and earth, as though it had never appeared.

Atop the solitary peak, the figure remained, as if nothing had ever happened.

In the Small Courtyard, Chen An had finished that passage. He closed the book thoughtfully and turned his gaze toward the window. The strange "feeling" had long since disappeared, and the courtyard had returned to its usual tranquility. The vegetables swayed gently in the breeze, and everything seemed perfectly natural.

He did not know that just moments ago, his seemingly ordinary recitation had been like a tiny stone tossed into a tranquil lake. It had stirred ripples not only in the lake of his own heart, but also drawn a momentary glance and flicker of curiosity from an ancient existence in the distant heavens.

This insignificant "Spiritual Energy Anomaly," this unheard "soft exclamation," was like an invisible thread, quietly connecting two entirely different worlds and planting a seed filled with the unknown and Variables—one that might perhaps take root and sprout in the future.

Chen An rose, stretched, and walked into the courtyard, feeling the solid earth beneath his feet and the fresh spiritual energy in the air. He only felt that today's reading had deepened his understanding of the "Dao" by another trace. He had no idea that he had already become a brief and peculiar "bright spot" in the vision of a distant existence.

The Primordial Wilderness remained unchanged as the sun rose and the moon set. The course of life seemed unaffected by that momentary anomaly, but the loom of fate had already, at the finest point, quietly plucked a single thread.

(End of Chapter Twenty-Seven)