Refuse to trample on the pride of heaven

As the divine sword fell, the brilliant celestial light, which gathered the wishes of all living beings, completely purified and cleansed the Demon Lord Shi Yubai and the ancient filth he represented.

The sword light flowed like mercury onto the ground, or like the sun melting snow. Wherever it passed, the resentment that had entangled them for centuries and the turbid evil that had accumulated for millennia all vanished silently, turning into wisps of smoke and ultimately returning to nothingness, as if it had never tainted this world.

Under the pure and flawless sword light, the Demon Lord's enormous and twisted body crumbled like a weathered sandcastle, collapsing inch by inch and falling silently to the ground, merging with the scorched earth below, indistinguishable from the original.

The once invincible Demon Lord is now nothing but a desolate pile of dust.

Standing atop the mountain, Lu Wensheng's gaze pierced through the void, and he saw Shi Yubai's almost transparent remnant soul emerge from the disintegrating demonic body, filled with resentment and bitterness, attempting a final struggle or escape.

However, before he could react, the remnant soul was seized by an invisible force and vanished without a trace—faster than his reaction! Another expert?! Whose subordinate is this?!

"[Heaven has been watching the whole thing,]" the system's thought arrived at the opportune moment, carrying a hint of understanding. "[He abducted it to vent his anger. How can such a wicked creature, defying heaven and earth and poisoning all living beings, be allowed to dissipate so easily?]"

After a pause, the system chuckled again, a hint of excited anticipation in its mind: [Give me some pointers then; it's time to show off my abilities as the Minister of Justice!]

Upon hearing this, Lu Wensheng said nothing, but the corners of his mouth turned up almost imperceptibly. The smile was faint, yet it seemed to convey a thousand words—the cycle of karma is real, and good and evil will eventually be rewarded.

Feeling the still surging, boundless power within the "Huangji" divine sword in his hand, as if it could control the universe and overturn the stars, Lu Wensheng felt no lingering attachment or greed.

He knew clearly that this power did not originate from himself, but was born from the purest prayers of all living beings, embodying the desire of all creatures for light and peace.

Since the divine sword was born from the common people, its power, which is capable of changing the world, should also be returned to the common people, to nourish this wounded human world.

Once the mind is made up, there is no more hesitation.

He slowly raised the divine sword in his hand, its inner radiance shining forth, not to strike it down, but to... return it.

"Disperse."

He uttered a single word, his voice low, yet as gentle as a spring breeze and rain, carrying a soothing will to comfort all things.

In an instant, the vast radiance of willpower surrounding the sword and gathering around him seemed to receive a final command. It stopped condensing and transformed into billions of warm light spots, like fireflies breaking free from their restraints, or like a galaxy flowing backwards, drifting and falling from the high heavens to the vast and boundless earth below.

This rain of light is not a cold infusion of energy, but a life-giving drizzle, containing seeds of hope and revival.

They gently blend into the scorched earth, seep into the rocks, fall into the rivers, and brush past every living being that has endured calamities and is exhausted in body and mind.

Miracles happen quietly where the rain of light falls.

On the barren land stained by demonic blood and corroded by malevolent energy, tender green shoots, at a speed visible to the naked eye, stubbornly pushed through the ashes and darkness covering them, broke through the soil, stretched out their tender leaves, and greedily breathed in the air of rebirth after the calamity.

The touches of green, like the brushstrokes of the most skilled painter, quickly spread across the ravaged land, connecting to form patches that dispelled the desolation and brought forth vibrant life.

An invisible, seemingly overhead view from the top of the sky, takes in all the myriad aspects of life.

From the highest halls of the court to the farthest corners of the martial world, from cultivators of celestial sects in the clouds to commoners in the mortal world, whether spiritual or demonic, all are now gazing up at the same sky, feeling the warm, comforting light that permeates their bodies.

The powerful and wealthy abandoned their reserve and embraced their servants; the monks cast aside their social status and patted each other on the shoulder with their former rivals, laughing loudly; the people were even more overjoyed, holding the hands of strangers, pointing to the lingering glow of the sunset and the new green shoots on the ground, expressing their excitement and ecstasy incoherently.

The once stark class divide and deep-rooted prejudices about different paths were seemingly wiped away by an invisible hand after they had gone through life-and-death trials together, witnessed the arrival of miracles together, and basked in the light of redemption together.

With a smile, all grudges vanished, leaving only the burning bond of shared life and death in their hearts.

"Long live the leader!" On the battlefield, a cultivator covered in blood and leaning on a broken sword used his last strength to shout hoarsely at the figure on the mountain peak, his eyes filled with endless gratitude and reverence.

The sound waves, like pebbles thrown into a calm lake, quickly resonated.

Lu Wensheng stood amidst the rain of light, his robes fluttering. Upon hearing this, he gently shook his head, his clear voice resonating in everyone's ears: "No, it is 'Long live the people!'"

He raised his hand and pointed to the countless excited faces looking up below, to the earth that was recovering its vitality, his tone firm and profound: "It is you, every living being who has never given up hope and is willing to lend a helping hand, who have created today's miracle together."

The crowd was taken aback at first, then erupted into even louder cheers.

"Yes! It's Long Live the People!" Someone immediately realized and echoed loudly.

"Long live all living beings!" More people joined in, their voices converging into a torrent.

"The victory in this great battle belongs to everyone who fought! It belongs to all living beings!" Shouts rose and fell, echoing through the sky, filled with pride and joy.

With the Demon Lord destroyed and the leader gone, the remaining demon army, under the combined attack of the immortal sects and demon cultivators, had long lost its will to fight and scattered like headless flies.

The epic war between immortals and demons, which lasted for centuries and overturned the world several times, seems to have finally come to a close.

After the euphoria of victory, a huge, almost empty sense of bewilderment quietly crept into the hearts of some.

Especially those "old-timers" who personally experienced the fierce battle a century ago, or who grew up listening to their ancestors' stories of fighting demons.

Their entire lives seemed to be spent striving, struggling, and sacrificing for the goal of "ending the evil scourge."

Now that the Demon Lord has been defeated and the calamity has ended, the tension that had been building up has suddenly eased, and they seem to have lost their compass and the mission they were entrusted with.

Where should the road ahead lead?

However, before these confused thoughts could even linger in my mind, my body reacted first with the most honest response.

My eyes felt uncontrollably sore and hot, and my vision was quickly blurred by the tears.

Through their blurry, tear-filled eyes, they seemed to glimpse, through the dust of time, those familiar figures who had long since passed away—their teachers who fought valiantly, their fellow students who bravely faced death, and their ancestors who offered their earnest teachings…

Our predecessors braved hardships and sacrificed their lives for righteousness; what they did was meaningful! The peace they could not witness is finally being built by the hands of future generations!

Looking down at the cheering, jubilant young disciples brimming with youthful energy and boundless potential, the Supreme Elder, Daoist Jun Ning, Shen Wenxin, Wu Zhi, and other powerful figures, though slightly weary, exchanged glances. They all saw the same sentiment and relief in each other's eyes, and a gentle yet complex smile unconsciously appeared on their lips.

Yes, they are no longer the reckless youths who once charged forward without hesitation, wielding their swords to slay demons.

The years have given them deeper wrinkles and heavier responsibilities, and they have become "elders" who need to shelter the younger generation from the wind and rain and guide them with painstaking care.

Ending the scourge of evil is not the end of our responsibility, but another beginning—to pass on the spirit of our ancestors, their fighting spirit, and their deep love for this land, and to cultivate and educate generation after generation of people who can protect this hard-won peace and create a better future.

This is their new, and eternal, mission.

Amidst this atmosphere of relief and mixed emotions after surviving a catastrophe, a familiar lark puppet flapped its wings and flew somewhat hesitantly to Lu Wensheng's side.

It was no longer as agile and cunning as before, and its eyes had lost their anthropomorphic sparkle. It was as if it were just a dead object with a pre-programmed sequence of events, hovering precisely at Lu Wensheng's fingertips.

The bird opened and closed its beak, and a rolled-up note was gently exhaled.

Lu Wensheng unfolded the scroll, revealing the familiar, childlike scribbles, with crooked strokes and uneven force.

However, unlike before, this time, those distorted lines seem to be infused with an indescribable seriousness and heaviness, making it possible to barely discern the outline and artistic conception they are trying to express.

The paper contained only a few words, yet each word carried immense weight:

"This place is desolate and lonely. I am buried away from the mountain. I am a solitary traveler with nowhere to return."

There was no signature, no further explanation, but Lu Wensheng instantly understood the owner of the handwriting and the resolute sorrow behind the words.

The betrayal by his fellow disciples and the sect was like a cold file, slowly grinding away the warmth of humanity in Qu Yanhui's heart, pushing him into the treacherous and cold demonic path, and obliterating his original true self.

Now, Master Qingxuan's unwavering concern, Lu Wensheng's fair words "This is very important," and this great cause concerning the survival of all people, like a faint but persistent spark, have miraculously rekindled the conscience deep within his heart that had not been completely extinguished.

For Qu Yanhui, whose hands are already stained with blood and who has gone too far astray, this awakened "conscience" may not be salvation, but rather a heavier shackle and more pain.

He could not turn back, nor could he stand calmly in the light, and he had no face to face those who had treated him sincerely in the past.

Lu Wensheng's mind stirred slightly. Now that his divine sense was so powerful, he could sense with a sweep of his mind that the life force belonging to Qu Yanhui in the distance had been completely extinguished, like a candle flickering in the wind.

I never expected Qu Yanhui's "gift" to be so substantial.

Lu Wensheng's gaze fell once again on the spot where the Demon Lord's body finally dissipated and merged with the earth.

Beneath that nascent greenery, he keenly sensed a faint yet incredibly pure trace of demonic essence—a trace that felt very familiar...

“That’s fine too,” Lu Wensheng gently closed her eyes, then opened them again, her eyes filled with clear understanding, and a very faint smile appeared on her lips. “This… is not bad either.”

The dawn's light pierced the last vestiges of gloom, casting golden rays upon the devastated land.

On the scorched earth, new green shoots stubbornly spread, intertwining with the lingering embers of war to create a mottled landscape.

The survivors stood up, supporting each other, their gazes fixed on the figure in the sky, a mixture of post-disaster disorientation and near-faith fervor.

Lu Wensheng stood amidst the swirling dust and light, his flowing sleeves fluttering gently in the morning breeze, the patterns of mountains and rivers shimmering with a soft, clear glow.

He lowered his gaze to the increasingly rustic wooden statue in his hands, his fingertips tracing the carved, compassionate eyes—the hearts of the people were now silent, leaving only the warm, smooth feel of the wood itself.

“Little Deer…” Yan Qingshu’s voice was slightly hoarse. The silk ribbon that held her hair back was nowhere to be found, and her messy black hair fell over her shoulders, but it couldn’t hide the bright light in her eyes. “We…really did it?”

Ji Yanli silently sheathed his sword, the sound of metal scraping together being particularly clear in the silence.

He looked at his fellow disciples in the distance who were clearing the battlefield. The young disciples carried their wounded comrades while looking up at the mountain peak. Their faces were still wet with tears, but the corners of their mouths had already turned up in a bright smile.

“Yes, we did it.” Lu Wensheng turned to look at his companions.

Song Wen was grimacing as Zhang Zhixu bandaged his arm wound. Li Ruixi was about to give him a pill when Song Wen noticed her gaze and immediately put on his signature lazy smile. Jin Jianxian squatted on the ground, carefully counting the few remaining talismans, his profile particularly serene in the morning light.

Liu Jiqian lightly wiped the sword sheath with his knuckles. His snow-white eyebrows and eyes reflected the sunlight. He stood firmly by his side. When he looked up, his eyes met Liu Jiqian's. Their affection was burning brightly.

No further words are needed.

They traversed mountains of corpses and seas of blood, braved a bottomless abyss of demons, and grasped each other's hands at the edge of despair. Standing here now is itself the most resounding vow.

Scattered cheers gradually rose from the foot of the mountain, like sparks falling into a barren plain, quickly igniting into a deafening roar.

The surviving cultivators tossed aside their broken magical artifacts and embraced each other, weeping. The demon cultivators revealed their true forms and roared in the clouds. The demon cultivators stood at the edge of the battlefield, looking at the specks of wish power merging into their palms, wiping their eyes helplessly.

Lu Wensheng landed, his footsteps making a faint sound on the scorched earth.

Wherever he went, crowds parted and gathered like a tide, countless hands tried to touch the hem of his clothes, and countless gazes were imprinted on his figure.

When he stopped in the center of the battlefield, the world suddenly fell silent.

Tens of thousands of eyes were fixed on him, awaiting the final words of the decisive battle.

"A century ago, our ancestors built a barrier with their blood and flesh; today, we support the sky with our backbone."

His voice was clear and melodious, like jade striking each other, and carried far in the morning breeze.

"This is not the end, but the beginning—the beginning of learning how to sow seeds on the scars, the beginning of rebuilding smoke from the ruins, and the beginning of letting today's blood and tears water tomorrow's peace."

He raised his arm, his fingertips brushing across the budding leaves swaying in the wind, across the blood-stained clothes of the crowd, and finally pointing to the dawn breaking in the sky.

Look—

As dawn breaks and the clouds gather, countless tiny golden rays pierce through the clouds, bathing the majestic mountains, winding rivers, and even every blade of grass glistening with dew in a warm hue.

The earth, nourished by the power of will, is recovering at a visible speed, with greenery spreading like ripples, carrying vigorous vitality to the horizon.

"Gentlemen, it's dawn."