The revelation of Gong Xuelan's long-term manipulation, her chilling foresight in creating the imposter, fueled a cold, burning rage within Jianyu. He was not merely a failed experiment; he was a carefully cultivated pawn, allowed to bloom only to be pruned at her will. The knowledge gnawed at him, a festering wound beneath his serene facade. He needed answers, deeper truths about his origin, about the System that had become both his salvation and his tormentor.
His thoughts turned to Rouling Shan, the Flesh Mountain. Whispers in the cultivation world spoke of it as a place of horror and forbidden knowledge, where spirit beasts evolved from failed cultivators, and ancient, unspeakable things resided. It was said a hidden relic existed there, one that granted full gender-switching without spiritual residue, a power that tantalized him. More importantly, it was rumored to house an Oracle, a being of ancient wisdom, albeit a twisted one.
Jianyu, as Niánmei, slipped away from Heifeng Cheng under the cover of a moonless night, Mei Ling'er remaining behind, entrusted with maintaining his presence within Qianci Yuan. He traveled alone, his male form, Xu Jianyu, a silent, internal companion, a watchful presence within his multiplexed spirit.
Rouling Shan was a grotesque landscape. The mountain itself seemed to pulse with corrupted life, its slopes covered in organic formations that resembled giant, petrified organs. The air was heavy, humid, smelling of damp earth, decay, and a faint, sweet scent that reminded him disturbingly of fresh blood. Spirit beasts, born from the tortured qi of failed cultivators, lurked in the shadows, their forms shifting, their cries a mournful symphony of madness.
He navigated the treacherous terrain, his Root Aspect humming, allowing him to sense the spiritual signatures of the mutated flora and fauna, to avoid their most dangerous concentrations. He sought the Oracle, following the faint, psychic hum that emanated from deep within the mountain's core.
He found her in a vast, echoing cavern, its walls slick with a phosphorescent, viscous fluid that dripped from unseen stalactites. At the center, embedded within a massive, pulsating tumor of organic matter, was a figure. It was a former matriarch, her face serene, almost beautiful, yet her body was grotesquely fused with the mountain's living tissue, her eyes milky and unseeing. She was the Smiling Dead.
Her voice, when it came, was a dry, rustling whisper, like leaves skittering across bone. "The one who wears two skins… yet knows neither. You seek truth, little bloom?"
Jianyu stood before her, his expression unreadable. "I seek answers about my origin. About the System within me."
The Smiling Dead chuckled, a sound like grinding stones. "Three truths I offer. One, you must choose to believe. One, you must reject. One, will remain a lie, no matter your choice." Her milky eyes seemed to fix on him, seeing into his very soul.
"First truth," she whispered, her voice growing fainter, "Your female form was based on a real saint's corpse, unearthed from the Moonbone ancestral tombs."
Jianyu felt a cold dread. This aligned with Yuelian's delusion.
"Second truth," the Oracle continued, a faint, unsettling smile spreading across her fused lips, revealing teeth like polished shards of bone. "Your System is not unique. Two others exist, hidden in the realm, waiting to awaken."
Jianyu's mind reeled. His System, unique? This contradicted everything he believed.
"Third truth," she concluded, her voice barely a breath, "Your original death, in Chixia Gong, was not an accident. It was a deliberate act of activation."
Jianyu's breath hitched. A deliberate act of activation. Xuelan's tears, her kiss on his dead lips. It all clicked into place.
"Choose," the Oracle rasped, her smile widening, the phosphorescent fluid on the walls seeming to pulse in sync with her words.
Jianyu considered. The first truth resonated with Yuelian's obsession. The third truth, about his death, confirmed his deepest suspicions about Xuelan. The second, about other Systems, felt like a deliberate attempt to sow doubt, to distract him.
"I choose to believe the first and third," Niánmei stated, his voice calm, resolute. "My female form was based on a saint's corpse. And my original death was not an accident."
The Oracle's smile remained, unchanging, even as her body began to bleed, slowly dissolving into fine, gray ash that drifted across the cavern floor. "You are wrong, little bloom," her voice whispered, fading into nothingness. "But the truth will find you."
Jianyu demanded details, but there was only silence, the dripping of fluid, and the faint, mournful cries of the spirit beasts outside. He had chosen, and he was wrong. But which truth was the lie? He felt a chilling certainty that it was the second, the one about other Systems. He dismissed it as a trick.
That night, alone in the oppressive silence of Rouling Shan, Jianyu dreamed. He dreamed of his own face, distorted, agonizing, giving birth to itself from a gaping, bloody wound in his chest. The image was visceral, horrifying, a prophecy of self-creation and profound, internal violation.