The Thirty-sixth Painting: Tomb of the Gods

The tender tips of the lotus have just emerged, and already a dragonfly perches atop.

Sangsang picked up her brush and inscribed two lines of verse on the side of her painting.

"Finally finished! This is it—I won't change a thing!"

Stretching languidly, Sangsang watched as Boya reached for "Early Lotus," his gaze lingering on the lines she had written. "No wonder you find runes fascinating. The script from your homeland and these runes likely share the same origin. Has there been any research on which race your civilization's roots stem from? Might it be connected to the Ancient Immortal Clan?"

Sangsang thought for a moment and shook her head. "No, the original planet was multi-racial, and there are many theories: hybrids of aliens and natives, gods molding people from clay, evolution from monkeys... Once the starnet here links up, perhaps new ideas will emerge. Some myths do resemble stories from the Ancient Immortal Clan. But that's not important. Teacher, do you think my work will pass?"

“No problem. There’s no actual harm; it should be rated yellow-green. The risk is low because some races have unique constitutions—it could potentially lead to genuine fertility, like among the Wood Tribe with lower gene grades. But that’s not a bad thing. If your work could help the Soul-Returning Tree or the Mother Tree of the Sacred Grove bear fruit, people would be begging for it.” Boya smiled. “Mainframe, please assess.”

Just as Boya predicted, the painting emitted a glow reminiscent of newly sprouted spring chives—tender yellow tinged with green.

It was a semi-impressionistic ink painting of flowers and birds, simple in composition: lotus leaves swaying by the stream, dragonflies dancing above. One, perhaps exhausted from flight, rested on the barely blooming bud of a lotus.

Visually, it was fresh, ethereal, and vibrant, imparting vitality and indeed promoting life force. Its primary effect was to condense energy and purify inner essence—Sangsang’s most practiced and skilled result.

In advanced civilizations, there are countless shortcuts for foundational cultivation. Commonly, potions are drunk or bathed in to rapidly increase one’s inner energy. As long as you don’t exceed your realm, teachers at the academy won’t object—in fact, they encourage it, since it saves time to improve your level. As for the impurity brought by potions, there are plenty of remedies: temple purification, sacred light from priests, faith-based works, and so on.

After Sangsang submitted her piece, those who saw it were disappointed, and gossip soon spread.

For example: “Of course she’s a native from some backwater; exhibitions are about creativity, not ethnic style.” Or, “Sang Hongye clearly knows her paintings lack originality, so she’s smart enough not to show up—afraid of being ridiculed…”

Boya, who personally helped Sangsang submit her work, merely smiled gracefully in the face of such rumors—his elegance was worthy of the ‘ya’ in his name, the very embodiment of elven refinement. He had reviewed all submissions at the exhibition: bizarre, varied, some bordering on prankish and should really be classified as dark works, though they were so blatant, few would get away with them.

After a thorough look, he confirmed Sangsang’s work was the most inconspicuous and least threatening, yet would likely cause the greatest stir. He decided to monitor every change at the show closely.

Sangsang, meanwhile, paid the exhibition no further mind, for the Law Stele Forest’s open day had arrived.

The Law Stele Forest was colloquially called the Divine Tomb. Its location lay in another dimension; every stele within was a legacy left by a great being after their death, encircled by a river of stars. Each star in that river was the law insight of a profound-level expert, left for future generations to study.

Strictly speaking, the river of stars was formed by insights left by living experts. All temple personnel, upon reaching the profound level, must leave a star here. If they ever fall elsewhere, the remnants of their artifacts and memories will, thanks to this link, automatically return to their law star, which then transforms into a stele in the Divine Tomb. Their treasures and cave realms are seized by the temple, awaiting an heir, though occasionally someone with enough merit can claim them.

Thousands of talents gathered in the plaza—about 3,100, of which a hundred were temple insiders. Sangsang stood among them.

Most of the three thousand were preparing to advance to the profound level; the legacies within the Divine Tomb could increase their chances. The rest were privileged children with powerful backgrounds, preparing to form their star core—each one a favored child of heaven.

Sangsang wore her academy uniform, neither disguising her appearance nor hiding. The commotion from her combat test still lingered, and she had already been recognized. But arriving late, she didn’t wait for greetings; the opening time of the Divine Tomb was upon them.

This year’s guardian of the Divine Tomb was the Nine-Radiance Dragon Emperor. Despite the name, it was actually a biological warship forged from dragon bones, possessing intelligence and capable of cultivation—a pinnacle force in the temple. The Nine-Radiance Dragon Emperor did not appear as a warship, but as a five-clawed golden dragon, its enormous form winding around the entire void plaza, its head blocking out the sun, whiskers swaying, maw gaping wide to spew over three thousand star sands, each landing precisely in the waiting participants’ palms.

"Hold tight to your star sand. It will protect you from the lingering thoughts of gods within the Divine Tomb and grant you three opportunities to draw upon innate attributes. Make good use of them. Time stands still inside; no matter how long you study, outside it’s always three days. Important: anyone who inherits the gods’ legacy must join the temple and is eligible for their predecessor’s estate. If unwilling, simply comprehend on your own—do not accept benefits only to contest later.”

The Nine-Radiance Dragon Emperor’s voice thundered in their ears, each word drilling into the mind, clear even to the deaf and comprehensible to any language.

“Time’s up—the Divine Tomb is open!”

A mysterious ripple swept the sky, as if a lament from beyond descended—vague, ethereal, penetrating the heart, so that a wave of sorrow and tears welled up, until the star sand flashed, washing away the sadness, clearing the mind.

Sangsang frowned. Even the aura leaking out was so powerful—how terrifying must the tomb itself be? The star sand’s protective effect was just a fraction late, likely intentional on the Dragon Emperor’s part, so that the arrogant prodigies might understand the gravity of the situation.

Just as Sangsang suspected, the faces of those around her became more solemn. The Dragon Emperor opened its maw and drew the entire void plaza inside, carrying everyone through countless layers of space, finally casting them into a dazzling nebula surrounded by the vast river of stars.

“Combat is forbidden within the Divine Tomb. Break this rule at your own risk.” With those words, the Dragon Emperor vanished.

Sangsang hovered in the void, scanning the area—everyone had dispersed, the nearest were miles away. Yet for cultivators, miles were within reach. She extended her domain, unhesitatingly severing dozens of probing divine senses.

Of all present, she was the weakest. The others were at least peak celestial level. Yet her academy uniform still had its uses; no one wished to offend the temple, especially as she was a candidate for Saintess. The curious only dared to probe, not snatch her star sand.

The sea of stars was vast. Meteors streaked across the sky—others had activated their star sand, leaping through the cosmos in search of fortune.

Sangsang activated hers as well, following its guidance and flying toward the direction it indicated.