Cushion Overturned

Hongjun's voice as he expounded the Dao echoed through the great hall, like an ancient bell being slowly struck, its lingering resonance long and deep.

"...The Three Corpses must be entrusted to spirit treasures compatible with one's own path. Xiantian Spirit Treasures are best; Houtian Spirit Treasures are second. The quality of the spirit treasure determines the foundation of one's cultivation after severing a corpse..."

The Dao Ancestor spoke unhurriedly, every word carrying a weighty Dao rhythm. It struck the ears, dissolved, and seeped through the meridians into the depths of the Primordial Spirit. The two or three hundred people in the hall had all closed their eyes. Some frowned tightly, some showed dawning understanding, while several old monsters calculated with their fingers hidden in their sleeves, seemingly deducing something.

Those seated on the six cushions were likewise immersed in the Dao rhythm.

On the far left sat Laozi. This Taiqing Daoist had his eyelids drooping as though asleep, yet clear qi circulated around him, faintly forming a yin-yang fish diagram that slowly revolved behind his back. He sat as steady as a stone rooted for ten thousand years.

Second was Yuanshi. The Yuqing Daoist sat with his back perfectly straight, both hands resting on his knees, his knuckles clearly defined. His face was expressionless, but a point of jade light flickered between his brows, while Yuqing immortal radiance around him formed golden lotuses that bloomed and withered.

Third was Tongtian. The Shangqing Daoist sat far more casually, his body tilted slightly to one side, one hand propping up his cheek, his eyes half-open. Yet upon closer inspection, sword qi flickered around him, tracing countless fine paths through the void, each one secretly conforming to some profound principle of the sword Dao.

Fourth was Nuwa. She sat with dignified grace, her delicate hands folded upon her knees, her eyes lowered. Azure light of creation formed hanging ornaments around her, every bead slowly changing—at times becoming flowers, at times leaves, at times phantom images of birds, beasts, insects, and fish. Life and death shifted in but an instant.

Fifth was Zhunti. The second patriarch of the Western Religion, who had only just taken a cushion, now sat with his waist and back straight, his hands pressed together on his lap. A faint look of enlightenment rested on his face, his lips slightly curved upward. Dark golden Buddhist light flowed around him, accompanied by the faintest sound of Sanskrit chants—so soft they were nearly inaudible, yet undeniably there.

Sixth was Jieyin. Seated beside Zhunti, a trace of peace rarely appeared on his sorrowful face. His hands were likewise pressed together, his eyelids lowered, his lips silently reciting something. The Buddhist light around him was darker and heavier than Zhunti's, like suffering accumulated across countless years.

Six cushions, six different airs.

Hongyun had already retreated to the back, standing beside Zhen Yuanzi. He kept his head lowered, his shoulders slightly slumped, looking utterly listless. Zhen Yuanzi stood beside him with one hand pressed to his back, using the gentle mana of the Earth Immortal lineage to help regulate his breathing.

Taiyi stood where he could see all six cushions clearly.

His gaze lingered on Zhunti for a moment, swept across the other five, and finally returned to the cushion beneath Zhunti—the fifth seat. It was woven from grass and looked utterly ordinary, yet beneath Zhunti's Buddhist light, it gave off a faint golden glow.

That was it.

Taiyi took a deep breath and silently began adjusting his state.

The mana within him slowly circulated according to the route of that ancient secret technique. It was not fast, but it was steady. He had practiced that technique for over twenty days and knew it inside out—how to activate it, how to control its range, how to distort the surrounding perceptions at the instant of activation. Every detail was engraved into his bones.

But he did not dare act yet.

Hongjun was still expounding the Dao. The Dao Ancestor's voice carried a certain rhythm that could soothe the mind and also... perceive abnormalities. When Taiyi had slipped earlier, Hongjun had glanced at him. Though he had not been held accountable, the feeling of being seen through completely still frightened him when he thought of it.

He had to wait for a better opportunity.

He had to wait until Hongjun reached a crucial point, until everyone's minds were drawn in by the true meaning of the Great Dao, until the rhythms of Heaven's Dao were at their most surging and best able to conceal tiny fluctuations.

Taiyi closed his eyes and put on the appearance of listening attentively.

His ears listened to Hongjun explain the "taboos of entrusting spirit treasures to the Three Corpses," while his mind silently calculated.

One, two, three...

He counted the rhythm of the Dao Ancestor's speech, the cycles of the Dao rhythm rising and falling within the hall, and the points where his own heartbeat aligned with the rhythms of Heaven's Dao.

It was a habit he had developed in his previous life as a programmer—breaking complicated problems into countless variables, then finding the optimal solution. Now, he was applying that method in the Great Wilderness, in Zixiao Palace, beneath Hongjun's very eyes.

About the time it took to drink half a cup of tea passed.

Hongjun's voice suddenly rose slightly.

"...Remember, the spirit treasure used for entrustment must accord with the nature of the Three Corpses. The object entrusted to good thoughts should possess compassion; the object entrusted to evil thoughts should possess the might of slaughter; the object entrusted to obsessions should possess the will to persevere..."

Now!

Taiyi suddenly opened his eyes.

His foot slipped lightly—so lightly that it seemed as though he were merely moving his ankle after standing too long. Yet that tiny slip shifted his center of gravity.

He gave a low cry of "Oh!" and toppled toward the left.

Shang Yang stood to his left—one of the ten great demon sages of the Demon Race. Seeing the Eastern Emperor about to fall, he instinctively reached out to support him. "Your Majesty, be careful!"

Taiyi's hand flailed through the air as though trying to grab something to steady himself. That grab reached toward Zhunti.

Zhunti was listening to a crucial point—Hongjun was explaining the choice of objects for entrusting evil thoughts, precisely the part lacking in the cultivation method of the Western Religion. His entire mind was immersed in the true meaning of the Great Dao, and he had not noticed what was happening beside him at all.

Until Taiyi's hand "accidentally" pressed against the edge of the cushion beneath him.

"Hm?" Zhunti abruptly awoke and turned his head—

Taiyi staggered toward him, one hand pressing against his cushion, the other waving wildly through the air, his face full of panicked alarm as though he were about to fall flat on his face.

"What are you doing?!" Zhunti's expression changed as he reached out to shove him away.

But it was already too late.

The exquisitely refined force in Taiyi's palm erupted at that instant.

It was not brute force, nor was it even a surge of mana—it was simply a pure application of force. Like a butcher carving an ox along the gaps between its bones; like a master jade craftsman following the grain.

That subtle force traveled through the cushion's structure, reverberating and stacking between every strand of grass. The woven cushion had never been a single whole; it was made from countless grass strands interlaced lengthwise and crosswise. That force leaped and shook through the joints of the weave before erupting simultaneously at several of the cushion's weakest connections.

Snap!

The sound was soft, but in the silent Zixiao Palace, it was exceptionally clear.

The grass-woven cushion seemed to be lifted by an invisible breeze. It flipped over lightly and landed upside down on the floor.

The entire process was absurdly fast.

From Taiyi slipping, to his hand pressing the cushion, to the cushion overturning—not even half a breath had passed.

Everyone in the hall froze.

The sound of the Dao exposition abruptly stopped.

Hongjun sat upon the high platform, his gaze sweeping downward.

The Three Pure Ones opened their eyes at the same time—Laozi's gaze was indifferent, Yuanshi frowned slightly, and a trace of amusement flashed through Tongtian's eyes.

Nuwa opened her eyes as well and looked over, her brows faintly furrowed.

The sorrow on Jieyin's face deepened threefold.

Hongyun and Zhen Yuanzi both looked up, their faces full of astonishment.

Di Jun's expression changed. He reached out as though to pull Taiyi back, but his hand stopped halfway—by then, it was too late.

The most bewildered person was Zhunti.

He sat there staring at the overturned cushion before him, his entire body stiff. The enlightenment on his face vanished in an instant, replaced by extreme shock, followed by rage he could no longer suppress.

He slowly raised his head and looked at Taiyi.

His eyes reddened.

Not the red of tears, but the red of burning fury.

"Eastern... Emperor... Taiyi..." Zhunti ground out each word through clenched teeth, his voice cold as ice chips. "What... do... you... mean... by... this?!"

Taiyi steadied himself—Shang Yang supported him from the side. His face showed precisely the right amount of surprise and apology. He looked at Zhunti, then at the overturned cushion, and hurriedly cupped his hands. "My apologies, my apologies! I was so absorbed in the Dao that my legs went numb and I lost my footing. I accidentally knocked over your cushion, Fellow Daoist. It truly was..."

Before he could finish, he bent down to set the cushion upright.

"Don't touch it!" Zhunti shouted coldly. He reached out and righted the cushion himself, then slapped it twice as though trying to knock away bad luck. He glared at Taiyi, his eyes so cold they seemed murderous. "Inside Zixiao Palace, while the Dao Ancestor expounds the Dao, before all these witnesses—Your Majesty's 'accident' is a little too convenient!"

With those words, all pretense was torn away.

Everyone in the hall turned to look, their expressions varied—some watched for entertainment, some gloated, some frowned in displeasure, while others seemed thoughtful.

The apology on Taiyi's face deepened, tinged even with a little panic. "Fellow Daoist misunderstands. It truly was an accident. If Fellow Daoist does not believe me..."

He paused, then suddenly turned toward Hongjun on the high platform and bowed deeply. "Dao Ancestor, Taiyi was indeed careless just now and disturbed the exposition of the Dao. Please punish me."

It was a beautiful move.

He had kicked the ball to Hongjun and let the Dao Ancestor decide. If Hongjun said it was an accident, Zhunti would have to accept it no matter how unwilling he was. If Hongjun pursued the matter... Taiyi was not certain either, but he was betting that the Dao Ancestor would not personally intervene over such a trivial matter.

Everyone's gaze turned toward the high platform.

Hongjun sat there, his expression still unchanged.

The Dao Ancestor's gaze swept over the cushion that had been overturned and righted, over Zhunti's furious face, over Taiyi bowing in apology, and finally settled on empty space.

The hall was so quiet that breathing could be heard.

Every breath seemed to stretch on endlessly.

Taiyi could feel that his back was already soaked in cold sweat. He could "see" the few blurry Karma Threads around him trembling violently—not from fear, but from... excitement.

He had guessed right.

Hongjun slowly spoke, his voice calm and unreadable.

"Continue listening to the Dao."

Four words.

He neither pursued Taiyi's actions nor comforted Zhunti. He simply ordered everyone to return to normal.

Zhunti's face shifted between green and white. His hand gripping the cushion's edge clenched so hard that his knuckles turned pale. He stared at Taiyi as though intending to carve that face into his bones.

Taiyi maintained his bow until Hongjun's gaze shifted away. Only then did he straighten, cup his hands toward Zhunti once more, and retreat to his original position.

Throughout the entire process, his expression, movements, and tone had been flawless—he looked exactly like someone who had accidentally caused trouble, sincerely apologized, and was awaiting punishment.

Even Di Jun merely frowned at him and failed to spot any flaw.

Shang Yang released the hand supporting him and asked quietly, "Is Your Majesty truly all right?"

"My legs went numb from standing too long." Taiyi gave a bitter smile, shook his head, and rubbed his knee.

Shang Yang nodded and asked no further questions.

The atmosphere in the hall gradually returned to normal.

Hongjun's voice rang out once more, continuing his explanation of the methods of entrusting the Three Corpses. Yet many could no longer focus—their thoughts remained on the small disturbance from before.

Taiyi returned to Di Jun's side, closed his eyes, and calmed his racing heart.

He could feel Zhunti's gaze still nailed to his back like two blades. Jieyin's eyes also swept toward him from time to time, carrying a chill. Over by the Three Pure Ones, Tongtian studied him with great interest, Yuanshi gave a cold snort, while Laozi remained with his eyes closed.

Nuwa glanced at him, her gaze carrying a trace of confusion, but quickly returned her attention to the exposition.

Styx leaned against a pillar, and the hem of his blood-red Daoist robe stirred faintly—it was an outward sign of the violent fluctuations in his divine sense.

Hongyun and Zhen Yuanzi stood at the back, speaking in low voices. Hongyun occasionally glanced in this direction, his eyes complicated.

Taiyi acted as though he had not noticed.

He took a deep breath and refocused on the Dao exposition.

Hongjun had now reached the crucial point concerning the "entrustment of obsessions."

"...Obsessions are the hardest to sever and the hardest to entrust. If an obsession runs too deep, the entrusted object may become a shackle; if the obsession is too shallow, the entrustment will yield no result..."

The Dao Ancestor's voice flowed calmly, but as Taiyi listened, a strange feeling suddenly arose in his heart.

Obsession...

He thought of himself.

From crossing over from the modern world to become Eastern Emperor Taiyi, binding the Forbidden Sign-in System, and struggling to survive within Heaven's Dao script—did that count as an obsession?

The obsession to live, the obsession to escape fate, the obsession to... win.

If he truly had to sever the Three Corpses, what should he use to entrust this obsession?

The Chaos Bell? No. It was his accompanying supreme treasure, too deeply bound to his own karma. Entrusting it would be the same as not severing anything at all.

The core of the Sun Star? That would not work either. It was the source of his foundation.

Then what else was there?

As he pondered, he suddenly sensed a faint movement deep within his sea of consciousness.

It was not a prompt from the system, but a deeper sensation—as though something had been stirred, activated, and was awakening from slumber.

He could "see" the few blurry Karma Threads around him slowly twisting and reorganizing. Then, the newborn Karma Thread extending from between his brows suddenly flashed.

Though it lasted only an instant, Taiyi felt it.

Something... had arrived.

Here in Zixiao Palace, within this great hall, beneath the Dao rhythm of Hongjun's exposition.

It had arrived.