Dreaming to Become a Creator-Chapter 0092 – The Fate of the God of Decay

Chapter 92: The Fate of the God of Decay
Zuo Meng had already claimed the Liuhe Sect as his own. Naturally, he wouldn’t let the Heavenly Lord slaughter its elders—these people would help manage the sect, freeing him to act as a hands-off leader. But the Heavenly Lord’s next words filled him with unease.
“Heaven? Awakened?”
Others might not grasp the meaning, but Zuo Meng did. In the Dream World, he’d played the role of “Heaven” for its inhabitants. But that was the Dream World. Why did the real world mirror this?
Zuo Meng glanced upward.
Only endless blue met his gaze.
“Follow me, friend in the Dao.” The Heavenly Lord, perhaps sensing words were insufficient, stepped into the sky.
After a brief pause, Zuo Meng followed.
The two soared upward, shrinking to distant specks above the mountains.
“Look! They’re flying!”
“Immortals!!”
“The Liuhe Sect will reign for millennia! Even immortals bless us!”
Their flight ignited chaos among the disciples awaiting the Headmaster’s lecture. All stampeded toward the vanishing figures, elders included. The planned lecture was forgotten, along with the Headmaster and Teaching Elder’s absence—their frenzy mirrored ordinary people spotting a UFO. None knew these “immortals” had just killed their Headmaster. Truth revealed, their cheers might die.
Unaware of the commotion below, Zuo Meng trailed the Heavenly Lord until his bearings faltered. An invisible barrier halted him. The Heavenly Lord flicked his whisk, rippling the shield. Mist brushed Zuo Meng’s skin, revealing a floating island ahead.
Swathed in rainbow-hued clouds, the island echoed with spiritual creatures’ songs and darting fish—a celestial paradise. Beside it, the Liuhe Sect seemed a shabby village, devoid of a big shot’s grandeur.
“This is my cultivation site. Enter, friend in the Dao.”
They landed.
“I thought ‘Heavenly Lord’ was a title, not a literal dwelling,” Zuo Meng mused, recalling his nominal master Zuo Han Sheng, who’d infiltrated the Earthly Lord’s domain. If the Heavenly Lord ruled the skies, did the Earthly Lord lurk underground?
Likely.
Zuo Meng once saw this as a martial arts world—as most did. But elevation revealed its true nature: a world of immortals. Perception defines limits, a universal truth.
“Heaven, Earth, and Man guide our cultivation. ‘Lord’ honors our achievements,” the Heavenly Lord replied, accustomed to the query. They reached the island’s center, where a vast training ground bore an ancient, indecipherable script—likely the Heavenly Lord’s meditation spot.
“I pursue Heaven’s Dao. The Earthly Lord seeks life and death. Human Respect walks the path of ten thousand spirits.”
Ten thousand spirits? Spirit-devouring?
Zuo Meng understood Human Respect’s portraits now—remnants of consumed spirits. That mirror probably aided the feasting. But how many spirits could one swallow in centuries? Human Respect’s disciple habits hinted at limits. The Heavenly Lord and Earthly Lord’s paths differed little—all trapped within this world’s rules, destined to become Ancient Deities like Black Shadow.
Worldly wisdom mattered. Zuo Meng’s vast experience let him unravel the Three Great Lords’ paths from mere hints. In a devoured era, Emperor of Chu and his chancellor had trodden similar roads.
“And your path, friend Zuo?”
The Heavenly Lord sought reciprocity.
“Fate.”
Zuo Meng answered truthfully—fate mastery ended his prior era.
“Fate! A profound domain. Might you demonstrate?”
Intrigued, the Heavenly Lord leaned forward. None among the Three Great Lords had touched this.
Zuo Meng tapped the tiles twice.
Internal energy seeped through his finger, vibrating a translucent thread below. The Heavenly Lord marveled. Though versed in rules, such effortless control eluded him.
Demon Suppression Town
This northern frontier town, named after a Demonic Sect leader’s downfall, now harbored desert bandits and outlaws. City lords’ decrees died at its borders; lofty clans avoided it.
Here dwelled Zhu Jiu, a beggar all avoided—not for strength, but his cursed Fate. Touch him, and misfortune followed: lost wealth, ruined families, silent deaths. Skeletons of past challengers littered the sands.
Today, Zhu Jiu ate from a communal box—townsfolk’s compromise to keep him from their doors. None dared expel him; those who tried perished swiftly, unknowingly and unwept.
Above
“The Decaying Fate?” The Heavenly Lord peered through the tiles at Zhu Jiu. His cultivation revealed the truth: a vortex of misfortune, warping all near it. Even a Lord shunned such taint.