Chapter 887: The Luo River Abyss

Luo Shen Yuan!

Ye Chen murmured, recalling a long-ago dream.

That was during the San Zong Da Bi, when he had a dream of a kind elderly man who told him to offer incense at Luo Shen Yuan.

Instinctively, Ye Chen activated his Xian Lun Yan, dispelled the barriers, and stepped inside, stopping in front of the stone stele.

"Luo Shen Yuan actually exists," Ye Chen said, staring at the stele in a daze and murmuring again.

"That dream..." Ye Chen's mind grew hazy, unable to distinguish whether it was real or illusory.

After a long while, he finally moved his feet and entered the valley.

As he walked, he looked around.

The valley was incredibly peaceful, filled with peach blossom trees everywhere, their petals drifting gently through the air.

It resembled a mortal village, with terraced rice fields, babbling streams, and rustic paths paved with stones. Deep among the flowering trees stood a few bamboo houses, and in front of them lay several hoes used for farming.

Ye Chen's thoughts wandered again—this was exactly the world he longed for. Far from the hustle of the mortal world and the chaos of society, he could cultivate a few acres of fields, rise with the sun and rest at dusk, with his loved one by his side, watching the sunset together.

Quietly, Ye Chen pushed open the bamboo door.

The inside of the bamboo house was simply furnished, with plain tables, chairs, and teacups, devoid of any spiritual aura.

Ye Chen spotted a spirit tablet covered in spiderwebs, dusted with the marks of time and an air of antiquity.

Beloved Wife Yan Fei!

Through the gaps in the spiderwebs, Ye Chen made out the four simple ancient characters on the tablet.

Yan Fei... Yan Fei!

Ye Chen's mouth fell open, and he stood there frozen.

Yan Fei was the wife of Chen Huang and one of the founding ancestors of the three sects. He had never seen her in person but had seen her stone statue.

"This place is the former home of Chen Huang and Yan Fei," Ye Chen realized in an instant.

"That elderly man in the dream must be..." Ye Chen's eyes flashed with sudden understanding—the old man in the dream was Chen Huang.

"The ancestor is still alive, otherwise how could he enter my dreams?" Ye Chen's thoughts became chaotic, his heart racing at his own guess. That was Chen Huang, the emperor of Da Chu!

"No, that's not right." Soon, Ye Chen shook his head lightly, rejecting his own idea.

He clearly remembered that when he had advanced to Zhun Tian Jing, the Demon King and Ghost King had nearly reached Tian Jing, and if Chen Huang were still alive, they couldn't have attracted that Tian Jing thunder tribulation.

He couldn't figure it out. If Chen Huang was dead, where had the dream come from?

Could it be a lingering soul imprint?

Ye Chen pondered this and felt it was the most plausible explanation. Because of his attachments to worldly ties, it had inadvertently entered my dreams.

Suddenly, he waved his hand and produced three sticks of tanxiang incense, lighting them with his fingers and gently placing them in the incense burner.

"Junior Ye Chen, here to pay respects to the two ancestors," Ye Chen said, kneeling and bowing three times as the Holy Lord of Tian Ting, showing utmost respect to his forebears.

He didn't know how much time passed before he quietly left, leaving the bamboo house untouched with its dust and spiderwebs. This was the home of the two ancestors, who had been gone for so long; everything here should remain frozen in time.

Ye Chen sat on the stone steps, quietly gazing at this serene and tranquil world.

Vaguely, he could see Chen Huang swinging a hoe, and it seemed as if he could see Yan Fei sitting at the loom, weaving cloth.

At that time, he was not the invincible Chen Huang, and she was not the renowned Yan Fei of the eight wastelands. They were just an ordinary couple, living a carefree life, unburdened by the troubles of the world.

Ye Chen watched intently, realizing that even someone as powerful as Chen Huang and Yan Fei yearned for an ordinary life, hoping to be a simple married couple.

However, with conflicts in the world, they bore the responsibilities they had to. Ordinary life was just a luxury.

Unbidden, a sense of inexplicable sorrow rose in Ye Chen's heart.

Xuan Chen was an emperor, with the world in his heart. From the moment he donned his armor, his life was dedicated to the common people. When he finally removed it, Yan Fei was gone. He had conquered the world but failed his beloved.

"The common people of the world—what does it have to do with you?" Ye Chen said, his voice hoarse and tinged with bitterness.

He laughed, a self-mocking laugh. He spoke out for Yan Fei's injustice, but was he any different from Chen Huang? For the sake of world peace and that pitiful society, he too had thrown on that cold armor.

A breeze blew, warm yet making him involuntarily curl up, and he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

The breeze continued to blow, tousling his graying hair. Through the strands, his face was faintly visible, etched with exhaustion, and the stubble on his chin bore the traces of time.

I don't blame him!

In the quiet Luo Shen Yuan valley, a ethereal voice suddenly echoed.

It was a woman's voice, gentle and soft, free from worldly impurities, utterly pure.

Ye Chen abruptly opened his eyes and saw, not far away at the loom, a woman in plain clothes sitting there. Her white hair cascaded over her shoulders as she deftly worked the silk, occasionally brushing aside a stray lock of hair.

Ye Chen was stunned for a moment, then quickly stood up and bowed with his hands clasped.

"Junior Ye Chen, greetings to the senior."

"Life is like this silk," Yan Fei said softly, still facing away from Ye Chen, creating an eternal scene, "thread by thread, it's all traces, weaving out the years and leaving behind the marks of time."

"It was Chen Huang ancestor who asked me to come offer incense," Ye Chen said, glancing at Yan Fei. "He still misses you."

"I was the one who helped him put on that armor and pushed him toward the common people," Yan Fei replied calmly, as if speaking of ancient events. The vast passage of time, with its changes like the sea turning to fields, made the memories slowly cycle like the mundane world.

"Do you regret it, senior?" Ye Chen asked quietly, watching Yan Fei.

"Not seeking a lifetime together, but just to have walked that path—that's enough," Yan Fei said with a light laugh. She took the woven cloth, picked up a fine silver needle, plucked a strand of silver thread, and sewed stitch by stitch, as if making a garment.

Ye Chen opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his lips. He simply stood at the bamboo house entrance, quietly watching Yan Fei.

At some point, Yan Fei in his eyes became blurred, though right in front of him, she seemed like a distant dream.

A breeze passed, and Ye Chen's body trembled slightly as he slowly opened his eyes, looking around in confusion.

The next second, he jumped up and turned sharply, only to see the loom empty, covered in spiderwebs, with no sign of Yan Fei weaving.

Another dream?

Ye Chen murmured.

But then he felt something soft in his hand and looked down to find a garment. It wasn't flashy or ornate; it was a simple piece of clothing, sewn with ordinary stitches.

"This..." Ye Chen stood there, his mind hazy—it was the one Yan Fei had woven in the dream.

"Holy Lord, is Yan Fei still alive?" In the grand hall of Tian Xuan Gate, Fu Ya stared in astonishment at Dong Huang Tai Xin beside him through the Huan Tian water curtain.

"She has long passed away," Dong Huang Tai Xin said with a light smile.

"Then that clothing..."

"Da Chu has truly surprised me—someone has actually comprehended that kind of transcendent secret technique," Dong Huang Tai Xin replied, not directly answering Fu Ya's question, but her words were profoundly meaningful.