The Cushion Overturned

Chapter 41: The Cushion Topples

Hongjun's voice echoed through the grand hall, like an ancient bell being slowly struck, its resonance lingering.

"...The Three Corpses are to be entrusted to Spiritual Treasures that align with one's own path. Xiantian Spirit Treasures are preferable, Houtian Spirit Treasures are second best. The quality of the Spiritual Treasure directly impacts the foundation of one's cultivation after severing the corpses..."

The Dao Ancestor spoke at an unhurried pace, each word carrying a heavy resonance of the Dao. It sank into people's ears, dissolving and seeping into the depths of their Primordial Spirits along their meridians. The two to three hundred people in the hall now had their eyes closed. Some furrowed their brows, others wore expressions of sudden enlightenment, and a few old monsters were discreetly counting on their fingers within their sleeves, as if deducing something.

Those seated on the six cushions were also immersed in the Dao's resonance.

The first on the far left was Laozi. This Taiqing Daoist's eyelids drooped as if he were asleep, yet pure energy flowed around him, subtly forming an Yin-Yang fish diagram that slowly rotated behind him. He sat the most steadily, like a rock rooted for ten thousand years.

The second was Yuanshi. The Yuqing Daoist sat with his back perfectly straight, hands resting on his knees, his knuckles distinct. His face showed little expression, but a point of jade light flickered between his brows, and the Yuqing immortal light around him condensed into golden lotuses that bloomed and withered.

The third was Tongtian. The Shangqing Daoist's posture was much more casual, his body leaning slightly, one hand supporting his chin, his eyes half-open, half-closed. But upon closer inspection, one could see sword energy faintly appearing around him, sketching countless intricate trajectories in the void, each one secretly conforming to some ultimate principle of the sword dao.

The fourth was Nuwa. She sat with grace, her delicate hands clasped on her lap, her eyes lowered. Verdant light of creation condensed around her, forming hanging necklaces. Each bead was slowly transforming—sometimes like a flower, sometimes like a leaf, sometimes manifesting as illusory birds, beasts, insects, and fish, their birth and death occurring in an instant.

The fifth was Zhunti. This second leader of the Western Sect, who had just taken his seat on a cushion, now sat with his back perfectly straight, hands clasped on his lap. His face bore a faint expression of realization, his lips slightly upturned. Dark golden Buddhist light flowed around him, with faint chanting sounds emanating—very soft, almost inaudible, but undeniably present.

The sixth was Jieyin. He sat right beside Zhunti, a rare trace of peace on his sorrowful face. His hands were also clasped, his eyelids lowered, and he silently recited something. The Buddhist light around him was dimmer and heavier than Zhunti's, as if it had settled the suffering of countless ages.

Six cushions, six different phenomena.

Hongyun had already retreated to the back rows, standing with Zhen Yuanzi. He lowered his head, his shoulders slightly slumped, looking utterly dispirited. Zhen Yuanzi stood beside him, one hand on his back, using the gentle pháp lực of the Earth Immortal lineage to help him regulate his energy.

Taiyi stood in a position that allowed him to see the entire scene of the six cushions.

His gaze lingered on Zhunti for a moment, then swept over the other five, finally settling back on the cushion Zhunti occupied—the fifth position, woven from straw, looking ordinary, yet now, under the glow of Zhunti's Buddhist light, it also emitted a faint golden hue.

That was it.

Taiyi took a deep breath and began to silently adjust his state.

The pháp lực within his body circulated slowly according to the ancient secret technique's path, not fast, but steady. He had practiced that secret technique for over twenty days, knowing it inside and out—how to activate it, how to control its range, how to distort surrounding perception at the moment of activation, every detail was etched into his bones.

But he dared not act yet.

Hongjun was still preaching, the Dao Ancestor's voice carrying a certain rhythm that could soothe the mind, and also... perceive anomalies. Just now, when he slipped, Hongjun had glanced at him. Although he wasn't held accountable, the feeling of being completely seen through still made him fearful.

He had to wait for a better opportunity.

He would wait until Hongjun reached a crucial point, until everyone's minds were fully absorbed by the true meaning of the Great Dao, until the resonance of the Heavenly Dao was at its most intense, capable of masking the slightest fluctuation.

Taiyi closed his eyes, feigning diligent listening.

While listening to Hongjun speak on the "Taboo of entrusting Spiritual Treasures to the Three Corpses," he was silently calculating.

One, two, three...

He counted the rhythm of the Dao Ancestor's speech, the cycles of the Dao resonance within the hall, the points where his heartbeat synchronized with the Heavenly Dao's rhythm.

This was a habit formed during his previous life as a programmer—breaking down complex problems into countless variables and then finding the optimal solution. Now, he applied this method to the Great Wilderness, to Zixiao Palace, right under Hongjun's nose.

About half a cup of tea later.

Hongjun's voice suddenly rose slightly:

"...Remember, the Spiritual Treasure entrusted must align with the nature of the Three Corpses. That which is entrusted with a good thought should possess compassion; that which is entrusted with an evil thought should possess the might of slaughter; that which is entrusted with a persistent thought should possess the will to persevere..."

Now!

Taiyi's eyes snapped open.

He gently slid his foot—the movement was so subtle, as if he were just shifting his ankle after standing for a long time. But this slight slide shifted his center of gravity.

He let out a low "Ouch!" and stumbled to the left.

Standing to his left was Shang Yang—one of the ten great demon saints of the Demon Race. Seeing the Eastern Emperor about to fall, he instinctively reached out to help: "Your Majesty, be careful!"

Taiyi's hands flailed in the air, as if trying to grab something to steady himself. In doing so, he reached towards Zhunti's side.

Zhunti was currently listening to a crucial point—Hongjun was discussing the choice of "that which is entrusted with an evil thought," which was precisely the part lacking in his Western Sect's teachings. His entire mind was immersed in the true meaning of the Great Dao, completely unaware of what was happening nearby.

Until Taiyi's hand "accidentally" landed on the edge of the cushion beneath him.

"Huh?" Zhunti jolted awake, turning to look—

Taiyi stumbled forward, one hand pressing on his cushion, the other waving wildly in the air, his face a mask of panicked "Oh crap, I'm falling!"

"What are you doing?!" Zhunti's expression changed, and he reached out to push.

But it was too late.

The incredibly precise force in Taiyi's palm erupted at this moment.

It wasn't brute strength, nor even a pháp lực impact—it was a pure application of "force." Like a master butcher dissecting an ox, striking along the gaps in the bones; like a skilled craftsman carving jade, following the grain.

This subtle force was transmitted along the structure of the cushion, resonating and amplifying between each straw stalk. The straw-woven cushion was not a single piece to begin with, but woven from countless warp and weft straw stalks. This force leaped and vibrated between the interwoven nodes, finally erupting simultaneously at the most vulnerable connection points of the cushion.

"Crack!"

A soft sound, not loud, but exceptionally clear in the quiet Zixiao Palace.

The straw-woven cushion seemed to be lifted by an invisible wind, lightly flipping over and landing upside down on the ground.

The entire process was astonishingly fast.

From Taiyi's slip, to his hand landing on the cushion, to the cushion flipping over—less than half a breath's time.

Everyone in the hall froze.

The lecture stopped abruptly.

Hongjun sat on the high platform, his gaze sweeping down.

The Three Pure Ones opened their eyes simultaneously—Laozi's gaze was indifferent, Yuanshi frowned slightly, and a hint of amusement flashed in Tongtian's eyes.

Nuwa also opened her eyes and looked over, her brow furrowed.

Zhunti's already sorrowful expression turned even more bitter.

Hongyun and Zhen Yuanzi both looked up, their faces filled with astonishment.

Di Jun's expression changed. He reached out to pull Taiyi, but stopped halfway—it was too late now.

The most bewildered was Zhunti.

He sat there, staring at the meditation cushion overturned in front of him, completely stiff. The look of enlightenment on his face vanished instantly, replaced by extreme shock, and then by suppressed rage.

He slowly raised his head and looked at Taiyi.

His eyes turned red.

Not the red of crying, but the red of burning anger.

"East... Emperor... Tai... Yi..." Zhunti enunciated each word, his voice squeezed through his teeth, as cold as ice shards, "What... is... the... meaning... of... this?!"

Taiyi steadied himself—Shang Yang was there to support him. He displayed a perfectly calibrated look of shock and apology. He glanced at Zhunti, then at the overturned cushion, and quickly clasped his hands: "My apologies, my apologies! I was so engrossed in the lecture just now that my legs went numb, and I lost my balance, accidentally knocking over fellow Daoist's cushion. Truly..."

He didn't finish speaking and bent down to pick up the cushion.

"Don't touch it!" Zhunti snapped. He reached out himself, righted the cushion, and patted it forcefully twice, as if to ward off bad luck. He stared at Taiyi, his eyes as cold as if he wanted to kill him: "Inside Zixiao Palace, with the Dao Ancestor lecturing, and everyone watching—Your Majesty's 'accident' is a bit too coincidental!"

This was a direct confrontation.

All eyes in the hall turned, their expressions varied—some were watching for entertainment, some were gloating, some frowned in displeasure, and some were lost in thought.

Taiyi's apologetic expression deepened, even tinged with a hint of fear: "Fellow Daoist misunderstands, it was truly an accident. If fellow Daoist doesn't believe me..."

He paused, then suddenly turned to Hongjun on the high platform and bowed deeply: "Dao Ancestor above, it was indeed Taiyi's carelessness just now that disturbed the lecture. I beg the Dao Ancestor's punishment."

This move was brilliant.

He kicked the ball to Hongjun, letting the Dao Ancestor decide. If Hongjun said it was an accident, Zhunti would have no choice but to accept it, no matter how unwilling; if Hongjun pursued the matter... Taiyi was unsure, but he gambled that the Dao Ancestor wouldn't intervene personally for such a trivial matter.

All eyes turned to the high platform.

Hongjun sat there, his expression unchanged.

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

The hall was so quiet one could hear breathing.

Each breath was drawn out.

Taiyi could feel that his back was soaked in cold sweat. He could "see" the few blurry karma threads on his body vibrating violently—not from fear, but from... excitement.

He had gambled correctly.

Hongjun spoke slowly, his voice calm, devoid of emotion:

"Continue listening to the Dao."

Four words.

He neither pursued Taiyi nor appeased Zhunti, merely telling everyone to get back on track.

Zhunti's face flickered between pale and ashen, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of his cushion. He stared intently at Taiyi, as if trying to carve his face into his bones.

Taiyi maintained his bowing posture. Only after Hongjun looked away did he straighten up, clasped his hands towards Zhunti again, and then retreated to his original position.

Throughout the entire process, his expression, actions, and tone were impeccably perfect—he looked like someone who had accidentally caused trouble, sincerely apologized, and was awaiting judgment.

Even Di Jun merely frowned and glanced at him, seeing no flaws.

Shang Yang released his hand supporting Taiyi and asked in a low voice, "Is Your Majesty truly alright?"

"My legs were numb from standing too long," Taiyi said with a wry smile, shaking his head and rubbing his knee.

Shang Yang nodded and asked no further questions.

The atmosphere in the hall slowly returned to normal.

Hongjun's voice rang out again, continuing his explanation of the method for the Three Corpses to find a repository. However, many people could no longer focus—their minds were still dwelling on the minor disturbance that had just occurred.

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

He could feel Zhunti's gaze still fixed on his back, like two knives. Jieyin's eyes also swept over occasionally, carrying a coldness. On the Three Pure Ones' side, Tongtian observed him with interest, Yuanshi snorted coldly, and Laozi remained with his eyes closed.

Nuwa glanced at him with a hint of confusion in her eyes, but soon turned her attention back to the lecture.

Styx leaned against a pillar, the hem of his blood-red Daoist robe twitching slightly—an outward manifestation of his violently fluctuating divine sense.

Hongyun and Zhen Yuanzi stood in the back row, whispering to each other. Hongyun kept looking over here, his expression complex.

Taiyi pretended not to see.

He took a deep breath and refocused his attention on the lecture.

Hongjun was currently explaining the key point of "entrusting obsessions."

"...Obsessions are the hardest to sever and the hardest to entrust. If the obsession is too deep, the object of entrustment will easily become a shackle; if the obsession is too shallow, the entrustment will be in vain..."

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

Obsession...

He thought of himself.

Transmigrating from modern times to become the Eastern Emperor Taiyi, binding the Forbidden Sign-in System, and struggling to survive within the Heavenly Dao's script—could this be considered a form of obsession?

An obsession to survive, an obsession to break free from fate, an obsession to... win.

If he truly had to sever the Three Corpses, what should this obsession be entrusted to?

The Chaos Bell? No, that was his companion supreme treasure, too deeply intertwined with his own karma. Entrusting his obsession to it would be the same as not severing it at all.

The Sun Star core? That wouldn't work either; it was tied to the script's origin.

Then what else was there?

As he was thinking, he suddenly felt a slight stir deep within his Sea of Consciousness.

It wasn't a system notification, but a deeper sense—as if something had been touched, activated, and was awakening from its slumber.

He could "see" the few indistinct Karma Threads on his body slowly twisting and reorganizing. And the new Karma Thread extending from his brow suddenly lit up at this moment.

Although it was only for a brief moment, Taiyi felt it.

Something... was coming.

Here in Zixiao Palace, in this grand hall, under the Dao rhythm of Hongjun's sermon.

It was coming.