At this moment, in the miniature world, in the capital of the Tang State, Chang'an, the air was filled with the weight of power and the quiet tension of a city in flux. Over a month had passed since the conquest of the Chen State, and Tang State had fully absorbed the former territories of Chen. The population of Tang, once vast but modest, now numbered six hundred million. Six hundred million souls, all under the banner of Tang, all now believers of a prince who wielded both worldly and divine influence.
The army of Tang had grown just as rapidly. Millions of soldiers patrolled every road, every hill, every city gate. The national power of Tang State had never been stronger. A military and population empire, unprecedented in its reach, yet even this vast power could not shield them from the chaos that followed.
Li Xiao, now the lord of Tang, faced a relentless storm of governance. Despite his youth, his head threatened to grey, his temples ached, and the weight of responsibility pressed on him like a mountain. The enormity of the task wasn't only in managing the newly conquered territories. No. It was in the ceaseless waves of natural and man-made disasters that struck without mercy.
Since ascending to power, Li Xiao had confronted earthquakes that tore through villages, droughts that withered crops, famines that drove people to desperation, and storms that demolished homes. Refugees swarmed into the cities, exhausted, hungry, disheartened. Starvation claimed countless lives, and the horrifying reality of children perishing from hunger became a frequent and bitter sight. Li Xiao, despite his authority, could do nothing against these relentless calamities. His power, vast as it seemed, faltered in the face of nature's unyielding cruelty.
Weeks of relentless effort had left him drained. The bureaucrats, the ministers, the generals—all tried their best, but all were overwhelmed. And then, in a moment of clarity born from desperation, Li Xiao remembered the ancient gods.
The omnipotent beings who had destroyed the Chen State. The very deities who had acted on his earlier wishes. Perhaps… perhaps they could intervene. Perhaps they could bend the chaotic world to order.
And so, Li Xiao called forth the people. The important ministers, the faithful, the generals, and the common folk—they all gathered in the grand square of Chang'an, beneath the sun and sky, kneeling with hands pressed together, eyes closed, mouths whispering the names of the gods, offering devotion and sacrifices alike.
Days passed. Three nights. Kneeling, praying, chanting—hearts and minds focused entirely on the hope that the gods would respond, that they would listen, that they would intervene. And finally, a response came.
The voice was vast. Deep. Reverberating through the sea of consciousness that Li Xiao and the other believers shared: "I have heard your prayers. I respond."
Joy erupted. The gathered multitude exhaled in relief, faces lighting up with tears of gratitude. They had feared that the gods would not answer, that the mortal pleas of millions would vanish into silence. And yet, here was the voice—immense, overwhelming, tangible in the depths of their minds.
But then a new revelation struck.
"Wait… Lord God requires me to sacrifice world items… and all knowledge of this world?"
One minister's face turned pale, a tremor in his voice betraying his horror. "Knowledge… yes, we can understand that, perhaps. But world items? Where… where are the world items? Those are national treasures. We have barely one—the Book of Wisdom. How could we possibly provide another?"
World items. Artifacts of immeasurable power. National treasures of Tang, nearly unattainable, impossible to reproduce, guarded with extreme vigilance. Li Xiao's followers had only the Book of Wisdom as a known item, and even that was rare. To ask for another world item was… a fantasy bordering on impossibility.
Li Xiao paused, considering, then spoke, his voice steady: "If there are no world items to sacrifice, then knowledge alone must suffice."
"Yes," replied one minister gravely, "to the gods, world items are the most precious offerings, but they do not always require perfection. Lesser treasures… if the gods' desire is knowledge, then knowledge must be offered. That alone can satisfy them."
The council murmured, curiosity and trepidation mingling. "But… knowledge? Why knowledge? Could it be… the god of knowledge, the one who desires all wisdom?"
"No one can know," said another minister, cautious, reverent. "To the gods, gold, silver, precious metals, rare herbs… all are meaningless. Only world items and knowledge truly matter. These are the offerings worthy of the divine gaze."
"But knowledge is vast," another spoke. "Which knowledge? There is so much… so many kinds. Do we offer the martial secrets? Cultivation manuals? Historical records? Poetry? Geography? How can we know what is suitable?"
"The only solution," Li Xiao replied, "is to offer all that we have. Every manuscript, every book, every scroll… martial arts, cultivation secrets, geography, novels, even mundane teachings. All of it. Every scrap of knowledge can be presented to the gods as an offering."
There was no objection. None. For to question the request of a god… was unthinkable.
And so, one by one, the officials returned to their homes, to their libraries, to their private collections. Dusty tomes, treasured manuscripts, meticulously written scrolls—everything was brought to the grand altar, laid carefully, reverently, in rows and stacks, ready for divine collection. Copies were made in some cases, but the gesture, the act of sacrifice, was sacred.
…And above, in a space removed from mortal sight, Xia Chuan perceived it all.
Ding Dong. A sound like a bell chimed in his consciousness: "Your believer has sacrificed the training manual 'Tianyuan Xinfa' to you."
Ding Dong. Another followed: "Your follower has offered the secret scroll 'Tian Gang Zhi.'"
Ding Dong. Another: "The sacred manual 'Tai Su Yin Gong' has been sacrificed to you."
Ding Dong. And yet another: "The cultivation text 'Feng Zhu Gong' has been offered."
Sacrifices arrived incessantly, cascading into Xia Chuan's mind, a torrent of devotion and knowledge. Each ping, each message, resonated like a note in an immense symphony, overwhelming, yet precise. The sheer volume made his eardrums ache at first, forcing him to shut off the notifications to maintain focus.
Even so, every offering was processed. Every book, scroll, and manuscript was absorbed by the Book of Wisdom. Within moments, almost every cultivation secret, martial technique, and arcane knowledge from both Chen and Tang territories had been delivered into Xia Chuan's care.
He gazed at the accumulated knowledge, feeling a thrill unlike any other. Power was now tangible. Information, wisdom, secrets—all of it available, organized within his mind by the Book of Wisdom. His extraordinary path, the road toward transcendence, was no longer distant—it was opening before him, illuminated by the devotion and sacrifice of millions.
Yet, Xia Chuan knew the principles of balance. Borrowing always requires repayment. Taking, giving, a cycle.
These believers had sacrificed greatly—knowledge, treasures, devotion—and naturally, reciprocity must follow.
"I am satisfied with your offerings," Xia Chuan said, voice echoing through the shared consciousness, resonating in the very minds of Li Xiao and others. "Tell me… what is your desire? What do you seek?"
A murmur of anticipation rose, a humming that reverberated like a chorus of worshippers in the void. The voice of the god, subtle yet commanding, wove itself into the prayers, a bridge between the mortal and divine.
Xia Chuan, seated above, his consciousness expanded, felt the weight of responsibility, the flow of knowledge, and the surge of faith all at once. The sacrifices had been made. Knowledge was his. And in return, he would grant guidance, protection, and perhaps, even tangible power.
A new chapter of extraordinary cultivation was about to begin.
And in the hearts of millions, a bond had been forged—a bond of faith, of devotion, of shared purpose, stretching across worlds, across time, into the infinite.
In that moment, Xia Chuan understood, fully, the true magnitude of believers' devotion. Knowledge, power, and faith—each intertwined, each essential, each amplifying the other. He could feel it, surging in his veins, shaping him into someone more than human, guiding him toward realms of comprehension and power that few mortals, or even gods, could ever touch.
The path had been laid. The sacrifices complete. And now, the extraordinary journey, the ascent into the divine, had truly begun.