Crossing the Thought River Without Forgetting the Self

As Qin Yu stepped into the Silent Thought Ruins, the void beneath his feet seemed to transform into a thin layer of grayish-white dust. With a gentle tremor, he was pulled into a chaotic void that belonged neither to the myriad worlds nor to the Source of Epochless.

This otherworld Does Not Exist within any complete structure of heaven and earth, but rather floats in the gaps between thoughts. When a cultivator is pondering, the instant between the extinction of the previous thought and the Unborn of the next should be fleeting, but here, that instant is infinitely stretched out, condensing into a boundless wasteland.

The scene before him slowly unfolded. The gray sky seemed to have been wiped clean of color, leaving only an almost unreal pale white. Broken stone pillars floated in mid-air, their broken edges gleaming with a dim light, as if they had been repeatedly crushed by time.

A leaning palace is half-inserted into a crack in time, its ruins seemingly frozen in time, forever frozen in the moment of collapse; scattered around are countless statues, some with their heads bowed, some roaring to the sky, some kneeling with their fingers deeply embedded in the void, as if trying to grasp something that has vanished.

What's most chilling is that the faces of these statues are not fixed; their features move slowly, appearing and disappearing like reflections on water, as if they are still pondering, still struggling, yet forever frozen in that moment of "failing to cross the threshold."

The entire Silent Thought Ruins was devoid of wind, echoes, and the presence of any Spiritual Qi. Even the Limitless Evolving True Flow seemed extremely slow here, as if suppressed to the point of near stagnation by an invisible force; it was not ordinary stillness, but a stillness that solidified the very essence of thought.

Qin Yu could even feel that the wisp of thought that had just risen in his heart had become exceptionally heavy here, as if it were being pressed down by a thousand-pound boulder, making it difficult to flow.

In the distance, amidst the gray mist, a broad "Thought River" stretched across the void. The river was not water, but rather composed of countless solidified fragments of thought, layered upon each other, with shattered remnants of memories floating on its surface.

Some attain enlightenment atop the mountain, some laugh wildly in despair, some whisper in pools of blood... These scenes are fragmented and incomplete, yet they carry an indelible aura of obsession; and beyond the deeper gray-white mist, the outline of a ruined palace can be vaguely seen, its doors half-closed, a thin layer of dust hanging above the lintel—that is the legendary place where an ancient great being passed away, the Annihilation Hall.

Qin Yu did not rush in. Instead, he slowly raised his eyes, his mind trembling slightly. He knew that the real trial had begun.

Suddenly, a narrow passage opened in the void ahead, as if someone had gently scribbled it open on a gray screen with their fingertip. There was no light in the passage, but an almost absolute emptiness surged within it—this was the first layer, the "No-Thought Corridor."

He stepped inside.

In an instant, the surrounding ruins vanished, replaced by an extremely long gray-white corridor. The ground was as smooth as a mirror, the sky hung low and oppressive, and there were no walls on either side of the corridor. Only endless nothingness flowed slowly, like countless unborn thoughts intertwining with each other. Just as he took three steps, the void in front of him trembled slightly, and a figure slowly condensed from the gray-white.

The figure looked exactly like him.

His robes, expression, aura, and even the frequency of his Fate Soul's vibrations were all perfectly identical. However, there was an extremely deep shadow in his eyes, as if he had compressed all his unspoken obsessions into a heavy core.

"You want to save everyone," Silent Shadow said slowly, his voice low but clear, "You want to reverse cause and effect, to protect Liangyan, to safeguard Hanyan, to protect the Void Obliteration Domain... Do you think you can bear all of this?"

Qin Yu's gaze remained calm, and he did not respond.

Silent Shadow took a step forward, and the corridor beneath his feet instantly cracked with fine lines. "If you fail, they will all perish; if you retreat, you will destroy yourself. Isn't your obsession your heaviest shackle?"

Before the words were finished, Silent Shadow suddenly raised his hand, and an invisible ripple swept across the corridor. Qin Yu's sea of consciousness instantly trembled, and countless images flashed before his eyes: Ling Liangyan's gruesome death by chains, the blood-red light of countless cultivators Annihilation on the Black Sea, Jin Hanyan's solitary figure standing alone in the ruins...

These images pierced the deepest recesses of his heart like sharp blades, amplifying his obsession with "having to protect everything."

If one becomes obsessed with this place, this obsession will backfire on Fate Soul, turning him into the next statue in the outer ruins.

Qin Yu slowly closed his eyes.

He neither denied these obsessions nor tried to forcibly sever them. Instead, he allowed his Fate Soul to fully manifest. The Silent Beginning Ring Master Soul Diagram slowly unfolded in his sea of consciousness, with rings of soul rings rotating silently. The Dao intent of the Book of Fate Law flowed within them. He used his own Fate Soul as proof that he was not denying his obsessions, but facing them head-on.

"I do have obsessions," he said softly, "But obsessions are not shackles, but rather the direction in which I exist."

On the Soul Diagram, strands of gray-white light were drawn from his body and slowly intertwined with the shadows surrounding Silent Shadow; it was not a confrontation, but an alignment to pull the "obsession" away from the twisted prejudice and restore it to its original intention.

The corridor suddenly shook violently, and Silent Shadow's figure began to sway. A look of disbelief flashed in its eyes, "You... don't deny me?"

Qin Yu opened his eyes, his gaze clear as a mirror. "You are not an enemy; you are merely a thought I have not yet sorted out."

As soon as he finished speaking, the center of the Soul Map suddenly trembled, and the essence of his Fate Soul spread out like a tide, enveloping the entire Silent Shadow. The shadow did not explode or dissipate, but instead, like mist pierced by sunlight, it slowly merged into his body, transforming into an extremely fine soul pattern that was imprinted on the edge of the Soul Map.

The gray-white corridor of the No-Thought Corridor collapsed silently in the next instant, turning into dust and light filling the sky.

The ground beneath Qin Yu's feet changed the moment he took his first step.

It wasn't that the land had turned into sand, nor that solid ground had become void, but rather that the feeling of "stepping" had changed. When the soles of the feet landed, there was nothing to step on. Yet, when one looked down, the bluish-gray stone surface was still there, crisscrossed with cracks, and withered moss growing in the crevices.

He bent down and reached out to touch it.

The instant his fingertips touched the stone, the stone seemed like a reflection in water scattered by the wind, rippling outwards before flowing away through his fingers. His hand hung suspended in mid-air, empty.

"Don't try it."

A voice came from behind him. Qin Yu didn't turn around; he didn't know who was sending the echo from the void.

"This river is called the Thought River," the man's voice drew closer, "The more you try to cross it, the less likely you are to succeed."

Qin Yu straightened up and looked ahead.

The Thought River stretches out at the end of the ruins. The river appears to be no more than a hundred feet wide, like a gray-white wound casually drawn from nothingness. But the water is not water; it is a fluid formed from countless broken thoughts, dark, viscous, and silently churning. Tiny fragments of light and afterimages float on the surface, like billions of torn pages of memory rising and falling on the water.

Qin Yu on the shore, just about to gather his energy and step into the air, when the void beneath his feet seemed to be pressed down by an invisible hand. All external movements lost their meaning at this moment. He could clearly feel that this place was not supported by the laws of heaven and earth, but by the gaps in "thoughts". No matter how strong his supernatural powers were, there was nowhere to step. He could only walk over step by step.

Qin Yu lowered his eyes to look at his fingertips; the lines on his palm were so clear they were almost blinding, as if reminding him: at this moment, all he could rely on was his most primal "self."

He stepped into the river. The water didn't splash; instead, it felt like a layer of cold mist clinging to his ankles, then suddenly seeped into his consciousness. It wasn't chilling, but an overwhelming sense of "the end of others."

A series of fragmented thoughts exploded before his eyes. The sky was as hard as iron, and lightning and fire were like a sea. A powerful being at the Tribulation Transcending level sat cross-legged in the middle of the river, his robes turning to dust, his eyes withered. Ten thousand years of solitude pressed down like a tidal wave. The powerful being looked up at him, his lips moving but no sound was uttered, only a despair that seemed to drag him into eternal annihilation remained.

Qin Yu's steps faltered slightly, and the river immediately intensified, as if countless hands were gripping his legs, trying to press him into the desolate stillness of that powerful being; but in that instant, Qin Yu took a light breath, letting the despair pass through his chest, yet not letting it linger. In his heart, he nailed a single sentence into its sole framework.

Who am I? That skeleton is like a fixed needle piercing through the sea of consciousness. The tide of despair crashes against it, scattering into ashes, and the river beneath my feet loosens a little.

As the second step fell, another wave of fragmented thoughts surged forth, and the scene suddenly became sharp and jarring. A gifted young girl went mad in endless silence, scratching her face, her nails tearing at her flesh, yet no pain could be heard. Blood had lost its color here as well. Her pupils were filled with the terror of "no one responding." She screamed, but there was no echo.

Finally, she curled up into a ball, clutching her head, as if she were tearing the words "Who am I?" to shreds. Qin Yu's consciousness was ripped open by that silent scream, and his mind was almost assimilated by that madness. It was as if if he looked at her any longer, he would begin to doubt the meaning of his own existence right here.

He didn't close his eyes and run away, but instead met the girl's gaze and slowly nailed the second sentence. "Where did I come from?" He didn't recall the details, nor did he dwell on the past. He simply transformed "where I came from" into a clear cause-and-effect line, allowing his Fate Soul to stand firmly under the guidance of that line. The girl's madness, like fog that had lost its home, dissipated back into the depths of the Thought River.

The third step involves even more intense mental fragmentation. A high-ranking Buddhist monk stands in the river chanting sutras, his lips moving, yet he cannot even utter the thought of "Amitabha." His gaze shifts from compassion to bewilderment, then to fear, and finally to emptiness. That emptiness then rushes towards Qin Yu along with the river, attempting to erase the words from his heart and leave him as a mindless shell.

Qin Yu's Adam's apple bobbed, and even his breathing felt like it was being held down. He felt his "words" being taken away, but he didn't resist. He simply guarded his third sentence like a spark deep within his heart.

Where I am going is not a detail of the goal, but a direction, a Return Path that does not allow itself to collapse. The moment the spark ignites, a very faint ripple appears on the river, as if an invisible light shines into the river from his chest, forcing the emptiness back half a foot.

The Thought River was clearly only a hundred feet long, yet with each step he took, it seemed to stretch into an endless road. Sometimes, with each step, the river beneath his feet felt as light as dust, as if he had only walked for a fleeting moment; other times, with each step, the river felt as heavy as eternity, as if he had stood in the same spot for ten thousand years. The afterimages around him came and went, like countless defeated people brushing past him.

The final lament was silent. The most dangerous thing was not the fragmented thoughts themselves, but the feeling of "no end" that was slowly gnawing at his will, as if prompting him to ask himself: How much longer? How much longer can I hold on? As soon as he had this thought, the river would immediately seize the gap and drag him into some kind of cycle of fragmented thoughts.

Cold sweat gradually seeped from Qin Yu's forehead, but his steps remained steady. Each step he took was as if he were writing three definitive statements with his body: Who am I? Where did I come from? Where am I going? In the end, even the river seemed to be rhythmically shaped by his footsteps. The gray water parted at his feet, creating an extremely narrow path. The impact of his fragmented thoughts remained, but it could no longer shake the fixed needle that pierced through his sea of consciousness.

Just as he reached the middle of the river, the biggest trap finally descended. The river water suddenly warmed, as if someone were holding a soft piece of old time in their palm. Fragments of memories coalesced into an extremely realistic scene: on the Black Sea, Jin Hanyan, covered in blood, turned to look at him, softly calling out "Yu," her voice carrying the most familiar tremor and tenderness.

It seemed as if she would fall into his arms if he reached out; on the other side, the smoke of war surged in the Void Obliteration Domain, and countless cultivators struggled on the edge of Annihilation, as if silently crying for help; further away, Zhou Wanning's Fate Soul was as weak as a candle in the wind, and Zhou Yujin knelt in the void and screamed, but could not hear her own voice.

Those scenes almost precisely pierced his deepest longings. Thought River seemed to open its giant maw, ready to drag him into this cycle of illusions if he wavered even slightly, even if it was just the thought of "I have to go back," forever trapped in the regret of "too late."

Qin Yu paused for a moment.

In that half-breath, the river suddenly surged, the gray-white waves silently crashing against his chest. His consciousness felt as if it had been torn apart, and his heartbeat seemed to stop. Yet, in that very half-breath, he reassembled the three descriptive phrases into a single thought, as if reforging his scattered soul into an invisible blade—Who am I?—not someone torn apart by attachments; where did I come from?—not someone driven away by regret.

Where am I going—not the one summoned back by the phantom. He didn't deny his attachments, nor did he sever his feelings; he simply placed those feelings back on the "direction," letting them become the driving force forward, not a dragging chain. Then, Jin Hanyan in the phantom smiled gently, taking a step back as if understanding. The entire scene turned to dust and scattered, and the waves of the Thought River collapsed back to the surface, as if acknowledging that he hadn't drowned.

He took another step, and in the last ten zhang, the river suddenly became extremely heavy, as if making a final plea. Each step felt like stepping into the regrets of countless people. Qin Yu's shoulders and back tensed, his robes clinging to his body under the invisible pressure of the dampness. Whispers of "give up" kept rising in his mind, but he repeatedly pressed them back down under the three-line phrase.

The moment his foot finally touched the opposite bank, the river suddenly stilled, and behind him appeared a series of clear footprints. From each footprint slowly rose a statue, the face of which resembled his own.

Yet each carries its own distinct obsession and cracks—the "potentially lost self" that he refused to wallow in amidst his fragmented thoughts, the ones he shook off. They rise from his footprints, solidifying into a gray-white vigil, silently watching him continue on his journey.

Qin Yu didn't turn back. He walked along the silent path deep within the ruins. The lingering shadow of the Thought River gradually faded into the distance, while the outline of the Annihilation Hall became increasingly clear. When he reached the palace, the lintel of the ruined palace seemed to have been gnawed away by time, leaving only its skeleton.

The hall was shrouded in darkness. Dust motes drifted down like snowflakes, stopping mid-air as if even the thought of falling had been frozen in place. Just as he stepped onto the last broken stone step before the hall, a faint figure emerged from the crack in the doorway. It was neither a living person nor a mere remnant soul.

It's more like an echo of a question preserved by "Ji Nian." It has no clear face, only an ancient and heart-palpitating sense of existence, as if it has been sitting since time immemorial, until all thoughts have withered away.

The figure spoke slowly, the voice not loud, yet it seemed to strike directly into the depths of Fate Soul: "Later, you cross the Thought River without forgetting me, but do you know—is the 'I' you cling to truly real, or merely a thought?"

Qin Yu stopped in front of the hall, his gaze calm. He could sense that this was not a battle, but a sharper confrontation: if he answered incorrectly, it wouldn't be as simple as being injured, but rather that "my" foundation would be dismantled here, and even the right to return might be erased. He raised his eyes to meet the gaze of the Ji Nian, remnant soul. The three sentences in his heart were still there, but for the first time, they felt as if they were being tested on a knife's edge.