novelraw Chapter 190, More About Ascendancy (1)
Chapter 190, More About Ascendancy (1)
Lin Yi stepped forward, the door behind him closing without a sound. She was already there, seated and waiting. He had been certain of her presence before he even crossed the door, and now that certainty solidified into fact. It was not her appearance that confirmed her identity; she was a young girl with black hair falling loosely over her shoulders, dressed in a simple white robe with a frame that was small and unassuming. Nothing in her physical form made her unique.
It was her aura. That same Celestial presence he had sensed on Floor 33—not overwhelming in the way raw power dominates a space, but refined, absolute, and fundamentally different from everything else in the expanse. It was the same quality that had lingered within the Celestial Emperor’s Abode. She looked up at him.
"Level 230," she said immediately. "So even you fell short of the goal."
Lin Yi stopped. That was not what he had expected. The statement was too direct, too certain. There was no probing or estimation; she had simply seen through him. He narrowed his eyes slightly.
"The goal? Are you implying there was another purpose to this event?"
The girl didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stood. Up close, the contrast became even more apparent. Her physical age could not have been more than twelve, but the moment she moved, the space around her shifted subtly as if acknowledging her presence. It was power—not loud or aggressive, but undeniable.
Then she extended her hand.
"Hand it over."
Lin Yi paused. "Hand what over?"
Her gaze remained fixed on him.
"The note," she said. "Hand over the Celestial Emperor’s Note."
There was no hesitation in her tone, no doubt. Lin Yi held her gaze for a brief moment longer, then reached into his inventory and retrieved the note. The familiar fragment of Celestial intent materialized in his hand, its presence unchanged from the moment he had acquired it.
He handed it to her.
The moment it touched her fingers, something shifted—not outwardly, but within the space itself. She took it with both hands and then, she hugged it. She held it tightly, as if it were something fragile, as if it were something she had long since lost.
Lin Yi’s expression changed slightly.
Because she was crying.
It wasn’t loud or dramatic; just quiet tears slipping down her face, falling without restraint or any attempt to hide them.
For several seconds, she said nothing, and the entire white space seemed to hold still around her.
Then, she lifted one hand and flicked it lightly.
The note disappeared, gone completely.
She exhaled softly.
"That note..." Lin Yi said, his voice calm. " I never got to truly understand it."
Before Lin Yi could say anything further, she straightened, and something in her changed. The softness vanished, replaced by something sharper and much older.
"Heaven’s Dao..." she began, almost to herself. "Always incomplete in the eyes of those beneath it."
Her gaze shifted, no longer fully focused on him, as if she were looking at something far beyond the white space.
"Men seek meaning in fragments—a single note, a single phrase—and they believe they can grasp the whole of Heaven. When a blind man touches the elephant, he believes the leg is the pillar of the world."
Her eyes returned to Lin Yi.
"You saw the note. You carried it. And you thought it was guidance."
A slight tilt of her head followed.
"But tell me... did it guide you?"
Lin Yi did not answer immediately, but she didn’t wait.
"Heaven does not guide," she said, her tone sharpening. "It observes. The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao. For Heaven’s net is vast, sparse yet nothing escapes it. Those beneath it mistake coincidence for intention and fragments for truth."
She began pacing slowly, her steps light, yet each one carrying a strange sense of weight.
"The Celestial Emperor... people speak that title with reverence as if it means permanence. It doesn’t. Even emperors fall. Even heavens change. When the mandate of Heaven shifts, even immortals are reduced to dust. The sky does not favor one forever."
Lin Yi watched her carefully now, recognizing that this was no longer casual speech; it was something else entirely.
She turned back to him.
"You want to know the purpose of the event?" she asked, not waiting for a reply. "It wasn’t just to gather jades. It wasn’t just for sub-class awakening. It was selection. When the river floods, only the highest ground remains visible. The rest is washed away. Heaven chooses not with words, but with action. What happens... is the answer."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"You reached 230. That means you were close."
A brief silence followed.
"Close," she repeated. "But not enough."
Lin Yi’s gaze sharpened.
"Enough for what?"
For the first time, she smiled—not kindly or cruelly, but knowingly.
"To see what others cannot."
She turned away from him again, her voice lowering reflectively.
"The Heavenly Dao is not what people think it is. They treat it like a set of rules, or something that governs fairly. Heaven is not benevolent. It is not cruel. It simply is. The heavens are high and the emperor is far away; those below create meaning where none was given. And those who try to understand it... rarely do. To glimpse the Dao is fortune. To believe you have grasped it is delusion."
She stopped moving and then, slowly, turned back to him one final time.
"The note you carried," she said. "Did you ever wonder why it was you that found it and no other?"
Lin Yi said nothing.
She looked at him for a long moment before she spoke:
"When the heavens fall silent and the emperor departs,
The throne remains, but the crown returns to dust.
Seek not the ruler within golden halls,
For the dragon has long since left the sky.
Only those who walk beyond the gate unseen
Shall glimpse the path where immortals once trod."