Chapter 74: The Lotus in the Abyss

Chapter 74: The Lotus in the Abyss

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“You spent centuries writing a perfect script for the blossoms to fall like a shooting star, yet you forgot that the wind doesn’t read your ledger.”

To breach the borders of the Seikai was an act of pure, unadulterated territorial defilement. It was a realm that did not exist on any mortal map or standard celestial grid—a closed, necrotic pocket of spacetime where the great Star Ocean had long since withered into a silent graveyard. Here, the universe knew absolutely nothing of time. There was no trajectory of dawn or dusk, only a crushing, absolute vacuum that slowly ossified the soul, trapping the discarded remnants of cosmic history in an eternal stasis.

Yet, someone was treating the boundary like a casual stroll through a local temple courtyard.

He had crossed into the domain not through a ritualistic tear in reality or a heavy, solemn manifestation of divine authority, but by walking straight through the shifting, agonizing tides of the Rokudo—the Six Paths of the Rinzai reincarnation wheel. He stepped from the realm of devas into the dark vacuum of the Seikai as if crossing a shallow stream, entirely unbothered by the crushing pressure that would instantly turn a lesser deity into cosmic dust.

In his right hand, he carried an iconic, imposing staff that clinked rhythmically against the nothingness of the void. It was a weapon of supreme, unyielding enlightenment, its crown adorned with six heavy, interlocking bronze rings that represented the absolute mastery over the Rinzai-do. As he walked, the rings shifted and clanged, casting ripples of pure, golden distortion through the dark matter of the graveyard, clearing a path through the stagnant energy of a thousand dead timelines.

Far down in the abyssal vortex where the path ended, Daishimei remained utterly immobilized. His physical manifestation floated beneath a monolithic shelf of cosmic ice, a barrier frozen to absolute zero and thick enough to bury a continent. His skin was translucent, devoid of the warm blood of a mortal vessel, and his eyelids were sealed in a self-inflicted sleep of absolute martyrdom.

Thrusting violently out of the dark void, dozens of heavy celestial chains bound him. They weren’t forged of cold steel, but of a volatile, burning indigo flare. The cosmic plasma crackled with a low, menacing hum, binding his wrists, wrapping around his waist, and tightening mercilessly around his throat. These chains were pulled taut into the infinite dark, anchored by the spectral, unforgiving remnants of the thousand vessels he had consumed across centuries. They held him pinned in a tragic, permanent crucifixion beneath the ice.

No heartbeat. No respiration. Just the suffocating silence of a cosmic tomb.

Until the frozen surface above him violently rippled under the weight of an uninvited guest.

Tap.

The traveler stepped onto the ice, propping his heavy, ringed staff casually over his shoulder with a thoroughly relaxed, almost bratty stride. He wore his brilliant golden kasaya robe slouched low, the rich fabric hanging loosely over his frame to expose a broad, sun-kissed chest that gleamed like unpolished jade. His long earlobes—the historical scars of heavy princely jewels he had tossed into the dirt a lifetime ago—swayed slightly as he eat a small piece of cosmic bun he was chewing.

Every time his bare sole pressed against the absolute-zero ice, the barrier didn’t just melt; it erupted into vibrant, pulsing rings of pure golden light. Spiraling mandala patterns carved themselves into the frost, completely burning away the lingering, stagnant stench of autumn orchids and funeral ash, replacing it with the sharp, clean scent of burning sandalwood.

The traveler stopped right above the exact coordinates where Daishimei was pinned. He leaned over, resting his forearms on his knees as he peered down through the hundreds of meters of solid ice, popping his candy bubble with a sharp snap.

“Man, look at this. A literal god-sickle,” the traveler’s voice drifted down, completely devoid of reverence. It was light, dripping with a cunning, sarcastic edge. “Completely locked yourself in a giant icebox because your conscience got a little too heavy to carry? That’s a pretty pathetic look for an Arbiter, Kagechi.”

The name cut straight through the frozen vacuum. It was his primordial true name—a title buried in the dust of the Central Plains since the golden era of the Sanjio—the Three Teachings, long before he had crossed the Eastern sea to become the keeper of fate in this archipelago.

Underneath the ice, the indigo flare chains suddenly flared with aggressive sparks, their plasma loops tightening around Daishimei’s neck as if warning the smug intruder to watch his tongue.

The golden-robed traveler didn't even flinch. He just blew another bubble, his brilliant blue eyes flashing with an untamed, rebellious fire.

“You know, back when we used to sit under that overgrown tree debating the structural balance of the universe, you were always the most annoying guy in the room,” the traveler scoffed, shifting his weight lazily. “You and your obsessive fixation on the Dao. ‘Everything must follow the ledger, everything must go according to the script.’ And now look where that rigid script got you. You’re letting a bunch of dead ghosts run your operating system. Honestly? It’s embarrassing.”

Within the absolute blackout of his subconscious mind, Daishimei’s wandering spirit felt a sharp, irritating prick of heat. The voice was infuriatingly familiar—it was the single, arrogant peer who had broken every rule in the universe just to prove he could. The one entity who had attained the peak of existence by doing whatever he wanted, entirely unbothered by the heavens.

Get one thing straight, Kagechi, the traveler’s voice poked directly into the dark relungs of his mind, sharp and intentionally provoking. Those indigo chains wrapping around your throat? They aren’t a divine judgment from the heavens. You’re holding those chains yourself. You’re the one letting your past vessels drag you into the mud because you think being a miserable martyr somehow makes you look noble. Newsflash: it doesn’t.

They are dead because of my design... Daishimei’s subconscious spirit rasped from the dark, his voice broken, heavy with thousands of years of accumulated grief. I tore their thread from the ledger. This execution is fair. Let me fade, Shidda.

“Yeah, yeah, keep whining. You really are a drag when you get dramatic, dumbass,” the traveler sighed loudly, rolling his eyes as he tapped his foot against the absolute dark of the Seikai. “If you stay down here and turn into a popsicle, then the lives of those thousand kids you’re crying over actually mean zero. You’re just wasting their sacrifice to throw yourself a pity party.”

He looked up, his sharp eyes piercing right through the metaphysical ceiling of the realm, tracking the shifting frequencies of the mortal world far above with a sly, knowing glint.

“The sky up there is completely ruined, by the way,” the traveler stated, his tone dropping its defiant edge for a brief, razor-sharp second. “Tsukuyomi has closed the loop. He’s running a zero-entropy tyranny where the sun has been completely snuffed out. If you don't get off your ass, the ledger you love so much is going to be permanently rewritten by a total lunatic.”

The man took a slow step forward, a small, mischievous grin playing on his lips. He lifted his bare foot, channeling a sudden, concentrated burst of absolute, unyielding sovereignty.

“But hey, it’s your life. Or what’s left of it.”

BANG.

He drove his heel down onto the ice with immense, localized structural force. He didn’t use a grand holy technique; it was a raw, cocky manifestation of his own unbreakable principle. The golden impact traveled through the frozen crust like a jagged lightning bolt, shooting straight down the trajectory of the indigo flare chains.

CRACK.

A massive, deep fissure tore violently through the center of the absolute-zero ice shelf, splitting the barrier right over Daishimei’s face. The golden energy violently agitated the burning indigo, causing the plasma loops to spark and loosen just enough to break the absolute vacuum.

The traveler stepped back, his physical form already beginning to dissolve into a lazy swirl of golden lotus petals. He cast one final, sarcastic glance down into the fracture.

“The door’s unlocked, Kagechi. The math is done,” the traveler murmured, his voice fading into a light, mocking echo. “Whether you want to climb out and fight that fake moon or just lay there and freeze like a coward... I literally couldn’t care less. Do what you want, buddy.”

With a soft shhh, the golden lotus petals drifted upward toward the mortal plane, leaving the abyss behind.

Deep beneath the newly fractured ice, the heavy indigo chains continued to hiss and crackle. Daishimei’s eyes did not open. He did not rise in a burst of divine light. He remained suspended in the dark, but within the deep, cosmic indigo of his frozen chest, a single, erratic heartbeat finally stuttered back to life.

The choice to bleed or to burn was entirely his own.