I Might Be a Big Shot — Chapter 64

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 Yin Changkong returned to Kunlun unscathed to resume command, lifting the spirits of the entire righteous sect. Although many sects resented Kunlun’s status as the leader of the righteous path and sought to unseat them in the Daoist Tournaments, Kunlun’s place as a pillar of the cultivation world remained unshakable. Recently, the breaking of the Kunlun Divine Formation and the disappearance of Sect Master Yin had thrown the righteous factions into turmoil. If not for Changkong Zhuoyu awakening the Twin Swords of Purple and Azure to reseal Mount Shu’s sword tomb, allowing Mount Shu to serve temporarily as leader, the righteous path might have splintered into chaos.

For millions of years, Kunlun’s dominance was begrudged, yet never truly threatened — especially in the past century, when the weight of the name Yin Changkong far exceeded that of the title "Sect Master of Kunlun."

Centuries earlier, during the Great War between Righteous and Demonic, Yin Changkong had led the righteous cultivators to turn the tide and drive back the demonic path. To many cultivators, the Kunlun Sect Master embodied hope — the hope of victory. Even those in the demonic path, upon hearing of his return, acknowledged inwardly his terrifying strength. With him present, the chances of overcoming the catastrophe increased.

Thus, when Kunlun sent out paper cranes announcing that both Yin Changkong and the Kunlun artifact had returned, sect leaders from across the righteous and even demonic factions traveled to Kunlun — both to confirm his safety and to attend a joint conference concerning the impending calamity.

Yin Changkong did not reveal Changkong Zhuoyu’s true identity. He remained Kunlun’s honored guest, attended personally by Wanqi Xian, the Sect Master’s direct disciple.

By now, Changkong Zhuoyu was well known in the cultivation world. In just a few short years, he had drawn the Twin Swords of Purple and Azure, single-handedly challenged the Heaven-Shaking Peak, and — it was said — ventured into the legendary Mystic Fog Yao Valley to join forces with yao cultivators against the calamity. His deeds had spread far and wide, and everyone knew of this enigmatic expert whose origins and true power remained a mystery.

Mount Shu disciples claimed he had the bearing of a sword immortal, with sword energy so sharp none could approach within three zhang. Kunlun disciples described him as a profound Daoist master, nearly attaining unity with Heaven and Man, so still in meditation that ordinary birds would land upon him, mistaking him for a stone. The Hundred Flowers Sect Master — visiting Kunlun with jade pendant in hand — declared that Changkong Zhuoyu was the most beautiful man in the world, beyond comparison with any mundane beauty in the Central Plains. Demonic cultivators of the Heaven-Shaking Peak said he was as ruthless as their former sect master, Xue Qianjie, able to punch the Azure Dragon, kick the White Tiger, and tear apart a Great Ascension cultivator with his bare hands. Hearing he was in Kunlun, demonic cultivators huddled together in fear, lamenting how many days they had left to live, wondering if they should quickly seek reincarnation before their souls were scattered with not even a wisp remaining.

Those who had not met him, hearing the countless contradictory versions of Changkong Zhuoyu’s image, were left baffled. Just what sort of expert was he?

At present, that "expert" was pacing anxiously, on the verge of tears.

It had been three days since his disciple left and had yet to return. Back in Kunlun, Changkong Zhuoyu wandered restlessly around the side hall arranged for him by Yin Changkong.

“Senior Changkong, don’t be anxious. Junior Brother went to an unknown time in the past — perhaps even the Primordial Wilderness. If he comes back a day or two late, that’s perfectly normal,” Wanqi Xian reassured him.

Fine — he would be strong. Though he longed to cry, he held back, showing only a trace of true feeling before the familiar Wanqi Xian. After all, this was the child he had raised. Yin Changkong had already exposed his background, so there was no point pretending.

“But… I only taught him for three years. Now he’s gone to the past. He may be away for thousands, tens of thousands of years. Will he still remember me then?” Changkong Zhuoyu’s lips trembled. He wanted to cry again, but without his disciple’s shoulder to feign sleep upon, he had to be strong.

Wanqi Xian too frowned at the thought. As a cultivator, he understood well that time eroded all bonds. Ordinary people might retain a faint impression, but cultivators immersed in comprehending the Dao could forget the smallest of things in no time.

The Dao is emotionless. The stronger one becomes, the less they hold onto worldly ties. How strong must Li Xinglun’s obsession be to remember their bond after thousands of years in the past — especially when his memory was already gone?

“Even without memory, there is still cause and effect,” Wanqi Xian said. “Cultivation values karma above all, especially before one attains enlightenment. Senior Changkong led Junior Brother into the Dao — that karma will bind him across lifetimes.”

“Karma!” Changkong Zhuoyu’s eyes lit up. “I remember — when I returned to Kunlun three days ago, Master Wuyin said he found the Karma Lamp in the holy lands of Buddhist cultivation?”

“Yes,” Wanqi Xian nodded. “I went with my master to see it. He said it was the final of the nine artifacts — lit by the first flame between Heaven and Earth after the Tribulation, by the Tathagata Dingguang. Since then, there has been light in the world. It doesn’t harm people, but burns karma to sever past ties. Could it be used to repel demons? The Buddhist sects must have many powerful treasures — why would Master Wuyin choose this lamp?”

“He chose well.” At the mention of serious matters, Changkong Zhuoyu grew solemn, regaining his expert’s bearing as he explained. “Remember where demonic energy comes from? The demon realm was not originally so powerful. According to the ancient gods’ plan, under the suppression of the three divine formations, it should have vanished millions of years ago. But human desires are endless — all the negative qi born in the human realm has nourished the demon realm. Now, ninety percent of the demon realm’s energy comes from the human world.”

“And the Karma Lamp’s role in this?” Wanqi Xian asked.

“All love and hate, all grudges and enmities are karmic bonds. Demonic energy arises from these unbroken ties. The Karma Lamp burns karma, severing the root. Without karma, demonic energy is a rootless fruit, easily destroyed. More importantly, by burning the karma between the demon and human realms, and between demonic energy and the three great artifacts, no resentment from the human world will ever again feed the demon realm. Only then can the demon realm truly vanish. The ancient gods left long ago — the three realms and six paths are now separate. The human realm’s sins should be resolved by humans themselves, not dumped into the demon realm.”

“I see!” Wanqi Xian exclaimed. “My master and I worried that if demonic energy comes from the human realm, then even if we dispel this calamity, a new demon realm could form in millions of years. Now we need not worry. If this calamity can be resolved, the Karma Lamp will be the greatest contributor!”

But as soon as he finished, he noticed Changkong Zhuoyu once again wearing that barely-holding-back-tears look. To outsiders, his expressionless face and cold aura gave him an untouchable air, the bearing of a true master. Only those who knew him well saw he was on the verge of crying — even his lips drooped. Wanqi Xian had to admire it: Changkong Zhuoyu was a natural at keeping a straight face, hiding a lively nature so completely.

Wait… he used to be a stone figure, expressionless for millions of years. Even with emotions, he couldn’t show them. No wonder his face betrayed nothing.

Wanqi Xian felt he had just uncovered the truth.

“If my disciple and I share deep karma, then the Karma Lamp should help me find him,” Changkong Zhuoyu declared firmly. “Waiting like this is useless. For all I know, he may have fallen into slumber after birth. I can’t just sit and wait.”

“Agreed!” Wanqi Xian said. Though Senior Changkong could be playful, his grasp of the big picture was impeccable — truly worthy of the title Star Lord of Tribulations. “I’ll take you to see Master Wuyin at once.”

Master Wuyin was, after all, abbot of Tianyin Temple. Wanqi Xian alone could not meet him. Fortunately, Yin Changkong was now free enough to listen to Wanqi Xian’s explanation, and he nodded immediately. “Very well, let us visit Master Wuyin together.”

Li Xinglun was the key to saving Changkong Zhuoyu. Without him, the calamity could still be ended — but only at Changkong Zhuoyu’s sacrifice. Yin Changkong would never allow him to vanish from the world. That was why he had been willing to hold up the Jade Pool Palace at the cost of his own life — even for a sliver of hope.

At Tianyin Temple’s guest quarters, they found that the monks were not in their assigned rooms but all gathered in Master Wuyin’s, chanting sutras around the Karma Lamp. This ancient divine object deepened one’s insight far more than ordinary meditation — just as Yin Changkong had gained profound understanding from contemplating the Kunlun Divine Formation.

Upon knocking and entering, Yin Changkong saw the monks sitting in silent meditation around the lamp, and felt a pang of sorrow.

After the calamity, all nine divine artifacts would vanish from the world. Even if they saved Changkong Zhuoyu, the other eight sentient artifacts would be lost forever. Tianyin Temple’s reverence for the Karma Lamp was the same as his own feelings — unwillingness to see it disappear.

“What business brings Sect Master Yin here?” Master Wuyin opened his eyes, though he looked at Changkong Zhuoyu.

For some reason, under that gaze, Changkong Zhuoyu felt utterly seen through.

Previously, at Mount Shu and Kunlun, Master Wuyin had seemed merely a virtuous and skilled monk — nothing more. Now, his eyes held the enlightenment of one who had awakened completely.

Given another century with the Karma Lamp, Master Wuyin might well achieve Buddhahood.

“To borrow the Karma Lamp to find someone,” Yin Changkong said bluntly.

Master Wuyin smiled knowingly. “You may borrow it — but you may not find the one you seek.”

His words made Changkong Zhuoyu’s heart sink. The old monk’s eyes seemed to hide many secrets. He feared the man would speak the truth, feared that Li Xinglun had met misfortune. Since his disciple had left, Changkong Zhuoyu had realized that Li Xinglun meant far more to him than just a student.

He… worried for him, relied on him, and… missed him.

This longing felt unlike that between master and disciple — it was tangled with more complicated feelings. Changkong Zhuoyu’s thoughts were usually straightforward, but this emotion was too complex. He didn’t understand it — only that he wanted Li Xinglun to live well. Whether or not he grew stronger didn’t matter; even if he himself became the calamity’s sacrifice, it didn’t matter — as long as, in that final moment, he could be with his disciple.

Even if only for an instant.

“Fellow Daoist Changkong,” Master Wuyin said softly, “not finding someone does not mean they are gone. There are many possible reasons.”

He rose to his feet, sending the other monks back to their rooms, and took the Karma Lamp in both hands, letting its faint glow shine upon Changkong Zhuoyu.

“To illuminate Fellow Daoist Changkong’s karma is itself a blessing for the lamp,” Master Wuyin said.

With just that sentence, Yin Changkong and the others understood that Master Wuyin already knew much — perhaps seen when he first obtained the lamp.

Changkong Zhuoyu reached out and took the lamp. At the moment his fingers touched the bronze, the flame seemed to swell. As the foremost of the Nine Divine Artifacts, he exerted a pull on other such treasures. Though the Karma Lamp, born of the first light in Heaven and Earth, was even older than the Kunlun artifact, it was still affected by his presence.

Without needing instruction, Changkong Zhuoyu knew instinctively how to use it. Feeling a pang of reluctance, he plucked a single hair, pictured Li Xinglun’s face in his mind, and dropped the strand into the flame.

A single hair from Changkong Zhuoyu was pure condensed spiritual energy. The instant it touched the fire, the flame leapt from a bean-sized flicker to a blazing three-meter column, flooding the room with daylight.

Yet within that blaze, no figure appeared. Nothing.

“What…” Wanqi Xian blurted out, feeling a weight in his chest as if something had lodged there.

If the lamp could not show the person in one’s heart, it meant either that they had been reduced to dust — or that the karmic bond was severed. Could it be that Junior Brother was already…

Changkong Zhuoyu’s face froze. The man whose emotions were always worn so openly now revealed nothing at all. It was as if he had erased every trace of feeling — becoming like the emotionless Azure Bird.

“Fellow Daoist Changkong… no — Star Lord,” Master Wuyin said, palms pressed together, “not seeing him does not necessarily mean he is gone. It may also mean the karma is broken.”

Some color returned to Changkong Zhuoyu’s face in the lamplight. “How can karma be broken? Between Li Xinglun and I there is the debt of life saved and the debt of instruction — in any sect, such bonds are considered profound. He has not returned, we haven’t even met again — how could it be severed?”

“Not meeting him now does not mean you never met in the past,” Master Wuyin replied. “All unfolds according to fate. I cannot pierce its mystery, but I sense the answer lies in your own memory. Even before you took human form, once you gained sentience, you would have memory.”

When the lamp had burned his hair to ash, the flame shrank back to its tiny bean-sized glow, flickering weakly but refusing to go out.

Changkong Zhuoyu set it down, thanked Master Wuyin, and slowly walked from the room.

“Senior Changkong…” Wanqi Xian called after him, worried.

But Yin Changkong seemed to understand something. He stepped forward, patted Changkong Zhuoyu’s shoulder, and said with a warm look, “Shall we take a walk?”

Changkong Zhuoyu nodded and made his way toward where the Kunlun Divine Formation had stood.

Three days earlier, when he had ascended the mountain, he had left his true essence in the formation’s core to keep it functioning a while longer — enough to accommodate the flood of visitors to Kunlun. He had not returned here since.

Now, revisiting the place where he had lived in a daze for millions of years before waking, he entered alone. Since awakening, he had been with Li Xinglun constantly, never apart. The only way to repay his disciple’s karmic debt was in the past.

After taking human form, he had remembered nothing of his life as an artifact — which made no sense. Any sentient object retains its memories. Though he had only just gained a human body, his spirit had long been awake. By rights, he should have remembered Yin Changkong and Wanqi Xian, both of whom had been close to him. Yet he did not.

For such memories to be missing, there had to be a reason — one he would have to find himself.

The moment he stepped into the formation, familiar energy embraced him. This place was his body. The wind was his, the water his, the stones of the array his, the clouds in the sky his. They could be his features, his limbs. With eyes closed, he could see all within it; with a thought, he could send the wind sweeping over the land.

This was his domain — and it held his memories.

He came to a stone worn smooth, touched it with his fingertips, and knew: this was where Yin Changkong had sat for years in meditation. He recalled a young Daoist scrambling up the then-sharp rock, sitting until the discomfort in his backside drove him to stand — only to be pushed back down by a gust of wind.

That had been Changkong Zhuoyu’s doing.

How could one seek the Dao without patience? The Queen Mother of the West’s array was exquisitely subtle; to grasp its truth required the endurance to smooth the stone with one’s own body.

So the Kunlun Divine Formation had plopped the not-yet–Foundation Building Daoist back onto the stone — a little roughly, perhaps. The boy had toppled, face-first, reddening his nose like someone bullied.

From then on, no matter how much it hurt, the Daoist never left that seat. Centuries later, the rock had become a comfortable chair. The youth’s face remained unchanged, but his eyes were deeper, the confusion gone, replaced by clarity.

This was Yin Changkong. I remember, Changkong Zhuoyu thought, lifting his hand from the stone. He had not forgotten. He had sealed these memories away, but they were still there, shaping him.

That was why he could slip into Yin Changkong’s persona so easily — they were close.

Continuing on, he came to a brook — mountain spring water, clear and sweet.

He cupped it in his hands, recognizing the sweetness not from his own taste, but from Wanqi Xian.

As a child, Wanqi Xian had loved drinking here, belly-down on the ground, gulping straight from the flow. Whenever the boy cried, Changkong Zhuoyu would bring him here, and the stream would rise to wash away his tears. The child would fret at the waste of good water, then open his mouth, and the spring would pour in. No matter how upset he was, a sip of that sweetness brought a smile.

Changkong Zhuoyu swirled a finger in the stream, lifted a mouthful, and drank. Sweet as ever.

He had never raised a child before, but the mountain’s spirit beasts understood his intent and brought the boy food — else Wanqi Xian might not have survived.

He closed his eyes, recalling those ten noisy years. The child was always playing or crying — a headache, but… those ten years had been full.

Farther on, toward the edge of the formation, countless faces flashed through his mind — visitors bearing invitations, attackers to Kunlun alike. He remembered none of them clearly, only that he had absorbed their techniques, learning both demonic and righteous arts.

Yet still, something was missing. One person he could not recall, someone from long ago, kept deep in his mind like a treasure.

Until he reached the center, where the stone figure had once stood, and the wind carried a voice —

“But why is it I feel the one I’ve forgotten… is you? Did I fall in love with you in a dream?”

An impossibly handsome face appeared in his mind, its owner holding the stone figure’s hand, the stern features softened in a gentle smile. The blood-reeking aura had nearly dissipated within the Kunlun Divine Formation, leaving only a man gazing at him with deep, tender longing.

Xue Qianjie…

This was Changkong Zhuoyu’s earliest memory.

~ Chapter End ~

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