The Thirty-eighth Illustration: Master of Primordial Demons

Sangsang found herself at a loss for words to describe the person who had appeared before her. He was more beautiful than any woman, yet it was instantly clear he was a man, devoid of any feminine softness. His eyes, at first glance, seemed to carry the weight of ages, like an old man who had seen all the world’s sorrows, brimming with stories. Yet, on closer inspection, they were as clear and guileless as a newborn’s, so pure they could melt one’s soul.

“Master Yuanmo!”

A name flashed through Sangsang’s mind—Master Yuanmo, ranked among the top hundred most significant historical figures in the Divine Court Encyclopedia, a former presiding judge of the Tribunal.

Since she had decided to come to the Divine Tomb, she had naturally done her homework, reviewing the records and images of all the notable figures who had entered the tomb throughout temple history. Among them, Master Yuanmo stood out most vividly in her memory.

It wasn’t because of his unparalleled strength—his legacy ranked outside the top ten in the tomb. Nor was it due to any dazzling achievements—there were many whose legacies outshone his. Rather, his was the finest among those just below the top tier, memorable for the heartbreakingly ill fortune that dogged him in life. He was known as the God of Misfortune.

Luck deserted him, but it showered his friends and loved ones.

Of course, the reason he rose to the position of presiding judge was that anyone he deemed an enemy would fare even worse than he did.

“Someone still remembers me?” Master Yuanmo smiled, motioning for Sangsang to sit. “Don’t be afraid, young lady. Your aura of fortune is as grand as the Tree of Life itself. You won’t suffer the ill luck I did. As for that vixen Fate, I spent thirty thousand years waiting for the Child of Fortune to be born and never saw it. But you’ve already met one at your age, and even signed a soul pact. Oh? And you bear the source of time and space as well? Who was so generous?”

“Could you explain in detail, honored elder? I don’t quite understand.” Sangsang was utterly confused—fortune’s aura, Child of Fortune, soul pact! Even Grandfather Anthony hadn’t noticed she possessed the source of time and space, yet the lingering spirit before her saw through it in an instant.

Master Yuanmo stroked his chin, asking, “Do you want my legacy?”

Sangsang nodded repeatedly. “I do!”

A complete legacy was more than just a cultivation method; it included memories, experience, and everything the lingering spirit before her knew.

But Master Yuanmo only grinned, his expression sly as a mischievous child. “Unfortunately, I don’t intend to give it to you.”

Sangsang was stunned, staring at him in disbelief. “What did you say?”

This didn’t match what Teacher Aslan had told her. Hadn’t she been told that if she found a lingering spirit through the guidance of the star sand and reported her Divine Temple affiliation, most would willingly pass on their legacy? Even the exceptional ones, after some trial, would do the same.

“I’m not giving you my legacy,” Master Yuanmo said. “Nor do I intend to give it to anyone.”

Sangsang paused to think it over and replied calmly, “I understand. It’s your choice, elder.”

“You’re not angry?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m disappointed, yes, but not angry. If I put myself in your place, the temple owes you nothing. Your legacy is yours to give or to withhold—no one can force you.”

“I’m glad you understand. Sometimes, things that come for free are easy to take but hard to repay. The benefit you see now may turn to burden in the future.” Having said these ambiguous words, Master Yuanmo changed the subject before Sangsang could question further. “You seem quite unfamiliar with all of this. Have you never studied the ways of fortune before?”

“I come from a level-two civilization,” Sangsang replied directly. “I’ve only been at the temple for five months and have spent most of my time catching up with my cultivation. Aside from the Divine Court Encyclopedia, I’ve hardly looked at anything else.”

“Right. Personal strength is the foundation,” Master Yuanmo approved. “Fortune, for all its mystique, is nothing more than the favor of the world’s will.”

If one likened the universe to a tree, the source would be the roots, the primary world the trunk, the three thousand great worlds the large branches, and the lesser realms, secondary worlds, and tiny universes the twigs and leaves. The nourishment that allows the tree to grow comes from the source. Those who can bring this nourishment back are favored by the world’s will, which is what we call fortune.

Fortune is akin to good luck—the more, the better. With enough, treasures practically fall into your lap. With little, you’ll never win a prize in your life. With none, you can barely take a step forward.

Anyone whose soul seed originates from the source will carry some measure of innate fortune. But if the soul seed comes from outside, thrown into the world without passing through the source, then their innate fortune is zero, and they can never earn the favor of the universe’s will.

“Do you understand? ‘Never’ means that no matter how many good deeds you do, fortune will never attach itself to you, because the universe’s will will transfer any reward you might earn to those closest to you.” Master Yuanmo’s tone was casual, but Sangsang heard a hint of bitterness beneath it.

“I get it,” Sangsang said, offering an apt analogy. “It’s like being undocumented—without an ID, you get no social benefits. Even if you work, you can’t open a bank account, so your wages go to your friends or family. Whether you ever see that money depends entirely on their conscience.”

She recalled Master Yuanmo’s biography from the Divine Court Encyclopedia: born to wealth, cast out by his family to a garbage planet, fought his way up only to be oppressed again, his followers wiped out, barely escaping the clutches of predatory relatives, betrayed by his fiancée after finally making a little money in business, and nearly dying before a temple priest found him. Even after joining the temple, his luck never improved—others always took credit for his achievements, others were better suited for the treasures he found, and even the rarest artifacts fit others better than him. So many misfortunes—it was enough to make one weep for him.

Master Yuanmo slowly turned his teacup in his hand. “That’s not a bad way to put it.”

“Isn’t it possible to seize someone else’s fortune for yourself?” Sangsang asked, puzzled. Master Yuanmo was hardly a stickler for ethics, and his abilities were renowned for their versatility. Couldn’t he find a solution?

“It’s possible,” he said, “but when you return to the source in the next life, your debts will be settled, and your fate will be even worse. Some don’t care, but those who retain their memories after reincarnation have no choice but to care.” He looked at Sangsang with a half-smile, half-sigh. “But there is a way. If you can find a Child of Fortune and sign a soul-sharing pact, you can borrow their fortune.”

“What is a Child of Fortune?” Sangsang thought of the Heavenly Emperor and the so-called soul contract that Xiao Jin had mentioned, which allowed the sharing of insights, battle experiences, and even memories. But the Heavenly Emperor was born in Sin City; aside from his extraordinary talent, he had nothing to do with good luck, not even matching her own fortune in this life. No, in her past life, she’d fared even worse than Master Yuanmo, burned alive in the end. Only after her rebirth and meeting the Heavenly Emperor did her fate change dramatically.

The star sand guiding her here meant her soul’s talents must resonate with Master Yuanmo’s.

From the hints in his words, were both she and he “undocumented souls”?

“A Child of Fortune is a term from the temple. From the moment of their creation at the source, their fate is to shape the world, uniquely favored by the will of the cosmos. For them, fortune isn’t just good luck—it’s survival against impossible odds. As long as they live, they keep advancing, until at last they can touch the source itself.” Master Yuanmo’s lips curled. “But not every generation has a Child of Fortune. Those who stumble upon treasures or have legacies handed to them for no reason are just being fattened like pigs—sooner or later, it’s time for slaughter.”