Chapter 169

The original premise of the novel was flawed from the start.

It wanted Sheng Chengli to take the throne, yet cast Su Huaijing as the main villain. It sought to justify the protagonist’s rise to power, yet burdened Emperor Renshou’s ascent with such disgrace that it reeked of usurpation.

If Sheng Chengli had possessed the ability, the nerve, and the moral fibre, it wouldn’t have been impossible for him to ascend. But the most ironic thing was that he had none of it. Not his scheming, nor his methods, nor even his character passed muster.

There was no way he could win against Su Huaijing. And once the characters in the novel began to gain awareness and move towards their own ends, the so-called “Creator” could no longer dictate the outcome.

Which is why “The Emperor’s Journey” was destined to stray from the author’s original intent.

And now, the one sitting before Rong Tang, demanding answers. The so-called “Heavenly Way” was, at best, merely trying to survive. In doing so, it had repeatedly defied the World Consciousness and its rules, spawning disaster after disaster, bug after bug.

Rong Tang rose, walked over to Him, and calmly reclaimed the materialised cloud that was the system. Gazing down at Him, he spoke without emotion, not a trace of regret… just a simple fact, as if stating what had been lost: “You could’ve survived, you know.”

The Heavenly Way flinched, staring at him in disbelief.

Rong Tang said softly, “After I’m gone, this world will still need a Heavenly Way.”

The World Consciousness and the Heavenly Way were not the same.

The World Consciousness was this world’s primordial, indestructible being. The Heavenly Way was merely its temporary custodian—a mechanism of maintenance and balance.

They were meant to complement and restrain one another.

In the beginning, Rong Tang truly had been this world’s Heavenly Way.

The World Consciousness, compared to the little system in his hand, was even dimmer. Born too soon, feeble in strength, and fundamentally misaligned with the Creator’s ideology. All it could do was reach across dimensions and pluck the soul of a reader who instinctively sensed something was wrong with the story’s premise. That single act had drained it. It no longer had the strength to send him into the proper time or space.

Realising he had arrived hundreds of years too early, it could only meekly ask him to wait, to linger in this world until the narrative caught up.

What choice did Rong Tang have? He’d fallen to his death in the real world. If he refused, it would’ve meant oblivion.

So he wandered this vast land, year after year, alone, centuries passing in silence. At last, wearied by it all, he reached out and stole a wisp of cloud to keep him company.

When the little prince was born in the palace, Rong Tang excitedly brought the system to Fengqi Palace and conjured a spectacle of brilliant clouds for him.

He was fond of the child. He wanted to see him live a joyful life, to grow up free of worry and pain.

There was no need to become emperor or king. Just peace, just safety. That would have been enough.

But even that simple wish proved too much to ask.

In theory, the Heavenly Way should have been nothing more than the eyes of the World Consciousness, watching the birth and death, the joy and sorrow of all living things with equanimity. So long as no cataclysm threatened the path of the world’s fate, He was not to interfere.

Which meant that even though Rong Tang had been summoned to this world to correct its trajectory, he was only permitted to intervene the moment Sheng Xuyan took action to rebel.

Thought determines action. But thought alone is no crime.

So long as Sheng Xuyan had not acted, Rong Tang was bound by the rules, unable to do anything of his own accord.

And naturally, by the time he was finally free to move, this so-called Heavenly Way had already formed and wandered the world for many years.

So came the deception, the brainwashing, the attempts to detain him…

It all made perfect sense. The only thing Rong Tang had managed to do in time was quietly unlock a side gate between the Eldest Princess’s residence and Duke Xian’s mansion, moments before falling into the water.

And so Duanyi saw Su Huaijing.

——

Rong Tang lowered his head. His thoughts returned at last from the vast, distant tide of memory. Eyes downcast, expression calm and cold, he looked at the Heavenly Way and said quietly, “A pity. You’ll never be the Heavenly Way again.”

You interfered in the mortal realm, broke the rules, and handed out ‘golden fingers’ that should never have existed.

How could someone like you lay claim to the name of ‘Heavenly Way’?

The other’s eyes flew wide open. Only now, it seemed, did He realise what exactly had been lost. With a jolt, He shot to His feet, as if going down with a sinking ship. Eyes bloodshot, He seized His brush, lunging straight for Rong Tang.

Rong Tang stepped back.

At that moment, the doors to the hall were slammed open from outside. Liuyun leapt in, placing himself between them, and caught the outstretched hand.

With a gentle twist of the wrist, the old figure before them began to wither and crumble. In an instant, all life was gone. He collapsed without a sound. No struggle, no resistance. Just death.

Even Liuyun was briefly stunned, watching as the figure fell to the floor, then disintegrated into ash so quickly one could scarcely react. All that remained was the official court robe of a palace scribe, and the sharp blade that had fallen from His writing brush. A single trace proving He had been there at all.

Liuyun stood frozen, then turned slowly to face Rong Tang.

Rong Tang looked down at the pile of ash for two seconds, then stepped to the desk and picked up the paper the Heavenly Way had been writing on.

It did not record any dialogue with Sheng Chengli. Instead, it bore only one line… neither a prophecy, nor a curse, yet somehow both:

In life, we do not meet; our fates move like stars apart.

Liuyun frowned. “What does that mean?”

Rong Tang said nothing. He simply held the paper to the flame of the candle and let it burn.

Liuyun stared at him, confused, then glanced at the ashes on the floor.

Rong Tang said, “He’s not dead.”

Liuyun’s eyes widened at once, falling into high alert.

Rong Tang: “He has something else to do.”

Wasting time on someone like me, someone who’s no longer, and can never again be, the Heavenly Way… would serve him little purpose. If there’s even a sliver of hope, he’ll move faster trying to stop the final arc from playing out.

Rong Tang walked out of the hall.

The palace was ablaze with torchlight. On the distant city wall, smoke curled up from the beacon tower.

He gave it a glance, then looked away, and asked Liuyun lightly, “How many men has Su Huaijing assembled?”

Liuyun froze, surprised by the question. But as always, the change in his expression was barely perceptible… just the faintest shift in his gaze.

And it was this subtle shift that, for no apparent reason, eased the heaviness that had weighed on Rong Tang’s chest all day. He gave a low chuckle. “You really thought you could keep it from me, didn’t you?”

It wasn’t that Su Huaijing couldn’t speak of it, he simply chose not to. And it wasn’t as though Rong Tang had no means of finding out for himself.

The troops approaching the city were most likely led by Sheng Chengming, carrying a confidential letter penned by Emperor Renshou himself. The letter would almost certainly allege Sheng Chengli’s treachery, calling upon Prince Rui to rally forces along the way and hasten back to the capital to “protect the throne”.

Such a campaign would be entirely justified: a righteous mission to quell rebellion. Su Huaijing had no doubt employed some clever trickery to keep Sheng Xuyan convinced that his second son remained loyal. But once this so-called “righteous expedition” was won, the realm would be restored to its rightful master.

Liuyun opened his mouth, wanting to speak, but ultimately bowed his head and murmured quietly, “Three hundred thousand.”

Rong Tang couldn’t help but laugh. He felt much more at ease. “Can you get me out?”

Liuyun nodded reflexively before asking, “Master, are you returning to Yong’an Lane?”

“Don’t call me that,” Rong Tang replied. “Just call me Shizi, or Young Master. That’s enough.”

He glanced at the lifeless cloud in his palm, then towards the area of the imperial palace burning brightest with torchlight. “Take me to Wentian Tower.”

Better not to add to Su Xiao Qi’s chaos… for now. He could settle accounts with him afterwards.

Liuyun didn’t fully understand his choice, but obeyed without question. He first sent a message to Su Huaijing, then quietly escorted Rong Tang out of the palace through a hidden route.

Watching him move with practised ease through the palace’s many side paths, Rong Tang couldn’t help but grumble inwardly: if Su Huaijing hadn’t taken the opportunity some midnight to sneak in and kill Sheng Xuyan, that would be the true miracle.

Such patience was absurd.

But grumbling was grumbling. He didn’t waste a moment on their journey.

Unlike the feeble, laughable rebellion staged by Sheng Chengxing and Xia Jingyi one New Year’s Eve years ago, this time Rong Tang was immediately met by the blinding flare of flames as soon as he stepped outside the palace gates.

The army marched through the capital’s streets in full armour, open and unafraid, ranks tightly drawn, just waiting for the order to storm the palace in the name of the emperor.

Rong Tang raised an eyebrow, boarded the carriage, and headed for Wentian Tower.

Unlike the tension simmering throughout the capital, the Buddhist tower stood tranquil, as though it belonged not to Yu capital, but atop some distant mountain beside a quiet monastery.

The main door at the base was open, eternal lamps flickering on either side. A young novice monk approached with a faint smile, pressing his palms together in greeting. “Shishu instructed me to lead the devotee upstairs.”

Hearing those words again, Rong Tang found himself thinking that Huimian might truly be a living Buddha in this world.

He smiled faintly and offered a quiet word of thanks before following the boy up the steps.

The acolyte climbed steadily without pause. Only when they reached the sixth floor did he stop, bowing and gesturing towards the staircase leading to the top. “Shishu awaits above. Please, devotee, proceed.”

Rong Tang nodded his thanks once more and made his way up towards that locked upper level that only opened in times of national mourning.

There was none of the eerie mystique rumoured by the outside world. Merely an empty loft, ringed with wooden railings. A great bronze bell hung ancient and solemn, suspended in the centre. Bamboo mats lay scattered on the floor, along with a few meditation cushions.

Wind drifted through from every direction. Gazing outwards, the whole of Yu capital lay visible beneath him.

As Rong Tang stepped into the space, the figure seated by the railing looked up.

With just a glance, the man smiled. “Have you remembered where you came from, and where you’re bound for, devotee?”

Rong Tang lifted a hand and pointed to the sky.

The two exchanged no further words. They understood each other perfectly.

He walked over, seated himself across from Huimian, poured a cup of tea, and drank to soothe his throat before speaking. “Not chanting tonight, Master?”

Huimian replied gently, “A sight like this… if one does not witness it with their own eyes, there won’t be another chance.”

Rong Tang met his gaze.

The first time they met, Huimian had said he saw no desire in Rong Tang’s eyes. But now, looking into the monk’s, Rong Tang saw no trace of a Buddhist’s compassion.

An eminent monk, once away from the Buddha’s side, is still someone’s son, someone’s brother.

He looked up at that silken-white hair and asked quietly, “Do you still plan to take vows, xiong zhang?”

Huimian faltered for a moment. He withdrew his gaze from the capital below and looked at Rong Tang. Then, with a wry glint in his eyes, he replied, “Your Highness seems fated with the Buddha. Would you like to shave your head and join me in renunciation?”

Rong Tang blinked, caught off guard. When he finally understood, he raised an eyebrow and retorted, “So xiong zhang doesn’t plan to acknowledge your brothers?”

Huimian was momentarily speechless. Then he chuckled softly, lifted his teacup and gently clinked it against Rong Tang’s. “This poor monk misspoke. Devotee, I beg you not to report me.”

The monk, too, had entered the dust of the world, seeking ordinary bonds, simple kinship.

Beyond the tower, signal fires raged across the city walls. The imperial palace gates would soon swing wide open.

Rong Tang finished half his cup, then drew from his sleeve the orb of light he had kept hidden, placing it solemnly on the low table. “I came for two reasons. First, to seek xiong zhang’s protection. Second, to ask: do you have a way to restore its consciousness?”

Mu Jingxu had once said that on the day the second prince was born, auspicious omens appeared in the sky.

At the time, Rong Tang had not yet descended into this world. He hadn’t remembered the omens as having anything to do with him. But now… perhaps they pointed to something else entirely.

Rong Tang thought perhaps he might not be able to recover the system on his own. But Huimian might.