Volume One: The Hidden Dragon in the Abyss Chapter 20: Providence

Thus arises the so-called shattering of the void—an act of transcendence. Many grandmasters seem not to understand this, never truly grasping it, and thus they remain trapped. Yet Wang Chuan cannot reveal the truth to them, for that would surpass mere cheating—it would be as if someone, heading south with determination, is warned that their direction is wrong. They reply, “I have plenty of money, my carriage is fast,” but still proceed the wrong way. Even if Wang Chuan assumes the role of the one who points out the error, telling another their martial path is flawed—would they ever doubt themselves, would they believe Wang Chuan? Such efforts are futile; therefore, Wang Chuan has always chosen not to interfere.

“I was summoned by Lord Yu, visited the palace, and saw him. Such a man, chosen by fate, cannot easily have his destiny stolen, let alone the dragon veins that have been stable for millennia...” Wang Chuan spoke again. “If there truly exists such a method, it must belong to one who has become a saint or deity—far beyond what you or I could influence. At that level, we are as fragile as infants, utterly unable to withstand a single blow. Yet such power is rejected by heaven and earth.”

Lady Yue nodded. “If they do not come for the dragon veins, what else in Yu Kingdom is worth scheming for? Upon seeing these circumstances, which grandmaster in the world would not show themselves in Yu? So the one stirring these winds behind the scenes must possess tremendous audacity—turning their hand to summon clouds, reversing it to bring rain.”

The currents of destiny were converging upon Fucheng, a grand design capable of attracting all grandmasters in the world.

It was indeed astounding.

Wang Chuan had been perplexed earlier.

“I think I know why, since the appearance of the Ill-star guarding the heart,” Wang Chuan said.

“Why?” Lady Yue was startled once more.

“Heaven shows anomalies, and monsters are born,” Wang Chuan sighed. “Perhaps the celestial signs are never wrong; it may be foretelling the fall of a nation—war, calamity, chaos.”

After he spoke, Wang Chuan prepared to leave. Lady Yue, sensing something in his demeanor, realized his realm far surpassed her own.

“Wait.” Lady Yue called after him, pulling out a secret manual. “Your mother left this for you. I’ve pondered this for a long time, and seeing you today stirs complex feelings. She could never have imagined you would become so accomplished. Well, since I was entrusted with this, I will fulfill my duty—today is the day.”

Wang Chuan frowned slightly, accepting it from her hand.

He glanced at the cover, upon which three bold characters were written: The Art of Creation.

His heart was immediately shaken, as if waves were surging within him.

“You understand,” Lady Yue sighed. “Such a technique is profound, unrivaled, and ordinary people can hardly cultivate it.”

This child’s temperament is exceptional.

When he saw her, he neither flinched from honor nor disgrace.

Now, upon receiving a priceless treasure, he remains calm and unmoved.

Lady Yue truly felt he bore the shadow of the Princess Royal.

Wang Chuan nodded; it was indeed a supreme divine art.

Most people might never fathom even a fraction of it in their lifetime.

Wang Chuan understood better than most—this was one of the three ancient divine arts, originating from the Innate Divine Art of Creation.

Mysterious and unfathomable, a supreme method leading directly to divinity.

Legend held that if one could comprehend any of the three divine arts, they could transcend the suffering of the world and truly reach the other shore.

This was the ultimate pursuit of all martial artists, the path countless grandmasters seek to reach the other side.

Shatter the void!

Many martial fanatics lamented never witnessing these three divine arts firsthand.

Now, it rested in Wang Chuan’s hands.

It was indeed useful.

Lady Yue could be so generous because to her, it was as tasteless as a chicken’s rib. She had her own martial path; to change would mean all her previous cultivation would be wasted, and cultivating this technique might not succeed. Otherwise, it would not have been shrouded in such mystery.

“How did my mother acquire such a thing?” Wang Chuan could not help but wonder.

Such supreme divine arts are rare and elusive.

Almost impossible to obtain.

“There are rumors she was a sage reborn, born with divine powers. Wang Chuan, you might say you’ve awakened at last,” Lady Yue said. “Many claim her rise began when the Martial Academy arrived, but that’s not true. I know—when she gave me this manual, the Martial Academy had not yet sent anyone.”

So if she was truly a sage reborn, possessing a few supreme techniques was natural.

Everyone believed this about the Princess Royal.

Moreover, the legends of the Martial Academy were not baseless; over thousands of years, they have appeared again and again, taking away extraordinary talents, prodigies unseen for centuries.

Thus, the Martial Academy does exist.

The peak of all beings is the grandmaster.

The Martial Academy stands above all beings, possessing powers that transcend the mundane.

Those who become gods or saints, unable to remain in the world, depart from the secular realm.

For this reason, countless people yearn for it, yet spend their lives searching in vain.

“Do you know what else your mother told me?” Lady Yue asked.

“I don’t know,” Wang Chuan shook his head. “I’ve spent so many years in Wei hearing stories about her. I’ve wondered what kind of person she was. But I’ve never considered what kind of mother she was, nor do I have any memory. I’ve only lived under that name. I never imagined she left something for me.”

The Empress Dowager, in the end, gave Wang Chuan a trump card, one that ensured his safe departure from Wei.

At that time, his calm heart had stirred.

Now he met his mother’s friend.

“I came late, never expected so much would happen in that time. I had intended to find you after you came of age,” said Lady Yue. “Your mother said, aid if possible, protect if not... Wang Chuan, you were born as a royal heir, perhaps to become a ruler of the world, or perhaps to live an ordinary life. I investigated your situation; in the capital of Wei, it seemed you hid your talents, feigned madness. If your life was truly in danger, I would have taken you away, far from the Central Plains, so you could live safely and healthily all your life... That was your mother’s entrustment.”

She had arranged everything before leaving.

“Then I accept,” Wang Chuan nodded. “If I see her again, perhaps there will be much to say.”

The Ill-star guarding the heart—the omen had finally passed.

Late in the night, the moon was pale, with dark clouds drifting by.

“Master, I’ve found a place to stay.”

Wang Chuan returned to Fucheng, where Loyal Uncle was waiting and hurriedly greeted him.

He nodded, appreciating Loyal Uncle’s efforts.

Finding a local household willing to host them for a few nights at this late hour was no easy feat.

“Rest early,” Wang Chuan said.

“Yes,” Loyal Uncle went to make preparations.

“Loyal Uncle,” Wang Chuan seemed to recall something and called him.

“Yes?” Loyal Uncle stopped. “What is it?”

“The calligraphy I showed Qi Hao the other day—did you know there were two more lines?” Wang Chuan said.

“I think there were,” Loyal Uncle was uncertain.

He had little education, lacking opportunities in his youth.

Now, trying to catch up was like the sun nearing the horizon.

Fortunately, Wang Chuan had helped him “rejuvenate,” and Loyal Uncle had begun studying seriously whenever he had time.

“In the Art of War: ‘Difficult to know as the shade, swift as thunder,’” Wang Chuan explained. “In the capital of Wei for over a decade, we remained low-key and cautious, though not as hidden as clouds covering the sky. When we acted, it was like the force of thunder—bold and swift, leaving the enemy nowhere to retreat. That’s the meaning of those two lines; in the end, we departed safely. Now, here in Fucheng, we must continue.”

Remain low-key?

Loyal Uncle was half-comprehending.

But Wang Chuan surely had his plans; tonight, with the Ill-star guarding the heart and the world’s fortunes converging on Fucheng, momentous events were imminent.

May he not bring misfortune upon the prince.

As night deepened, Wang Chuan continued to study the Art of Creation.

Anyone could see at a glance it was a treasure, impossible to counterfeit.

Thin as cicada wings, perfectly square, dark blue; the cover paper felt soft as water in his hands, with black script seeming almost alive.

There were rumors it came from the Martial Academy, for only they could possess such supreme legacies.

Yet this divine art had circulated for at least a thousand years, passed through many hands; among them, there was no shortage of brilliant talents, but none seemed to have succeeded in cultivating it—at least none Wang Chuan had ever heard of.

A genuine treasure, without question.

It seemed this divine art was not easily practiced or comprehended.

But Wang Chuan was not like the others.

He laid a simple mat on the floor, sat cross-legged upon it, gazed up at the sky, and silently memorized it three times.

Then he abruptly closed his eyes, formed seals with his hands, and summoned his spirit.

From the heavens, starlight poured down, entering his crown, permeating his body and safeguarding his soul.

The path of creation—creation and deduction, human law follows heaven, heaven follows earth, the way follows nature, infinite mysteries and secrets, encompassing fate, embodying the ultimate principles of heaven and earth, unmatched mysteries, endless.

Wang Chuan’s spirit contemplated the universe and all its myriad things—birth, aging, illness, death, renewal and decay, deducing all things under heaven.

In his contemplation, he became as the Creator himself.

Everything arose and perished with his thoughts, rising and falling, cycling endlessly.

All things in heaven and earth were born and vanished in his soul, again and again...

Time seemed to flow, its passage unknown, as if infinite and boundless.

Success!

When Wang Chuan opened his eyes, he suddenly felt a coolness throughout his body, as if bathed in a gentle breeze, as if immersed in a hot spring, every pore breathing pure air. He felt as if he could soar away at any moment.

Such comfort he had not felt in ages, so deep it bordered on pleasure; the sensation penetrated to his marrow, like an addiction, irresistible even for the most resolute grandmaster.

Wang Chuan promptly tapped his spiritual platform, hearing only a sigh; suddenly, all the energy in his body dissipated, as if scattered to nothing.

His soul cleared, everything restored, as if nothing had happened.

“I nearly fell into illusion and was consumed by inner demons.”

Wang Chuan sighed inwardly—no wonder it was an ancient divine art, truly extraordinary.

No wonder so many failed to cultivate it.

So that’s how it is.

Wang Chuan had already discovered the method within this manual; from now on, practicing it, he could easily spot and dismantle its flaws.

...

The next day.

“Wang Chuan, Wang Chuan...”

Someone knocked several times, then pushed the door open, bursting in with a whirlwind of energy, only to cry out and flee. “Why aren’t you up yet?”

Wang Chuan was too lazy to lock the door; it was merely closed.

He had trained late into the night, then slept for a while in the early morning hours.