Who Says One Cannot Become A God By Cultivating he Path of Ruthlessness in Jinjiang?! - Chapter 1

“What? The Heavenly Dao says you can never attain godhood for all eternity?”

Before the morning star could even set in the east, a shriek pierced the lingering darkness of night. As the first slanted rays of dawn spilled into the Jueqing Palace, they illuminated this corner of the Celestial Realm.

“If you speak any louder, you might as well summon all the immortals in the vicinity to listen in.”

The man sitting at the head of the table, holding a wine cup, said this coldly. He paused, his dark hair flowing over his blue robes, and cast a chilling glance at the man who had spoken, effectively cutting off the Water Deity Ningbo’s outburst.

The man who spoke was of such ethereal beauty that it was difficult to distinguish his gender. Between his brows was a silver, star-shaped immortal mark. When he lowered his eyelids, a faint, blood-red tint clung to his long, dark lashes; it was so subtle that one could only notice it when he lowered his gaze.

“This should not be.” Ningbo ignored the icy tone in Shu Yang’s voice. He walked over, clutching his robes, leaned over the table, and looked up at Shu Yang’s composed expression. He looked truly baffled. “You attained immortality in just four hundred years! Four hundred years! There are many who do not become immortals even after a millennium. In this entire Celestial Realm, there is no one younger than you.”

“And your point is?”

“The point is, we have all witnessed how much the Heavenly Dao favors you!”

Ningbo slammed the table, causing the immortal nectar in the cup to splash out. “Should you not have become an immortal at four hundred, a god at eight hundred, then reached enlightenment to become an incarnation of the Heavenly Dao itself, eventually becoming the next successor?”

Shu Yang’s red-tipped lashes flickered gently. He bowed his head, staring at his own grave reflection in the clear wine. Silently, he drank the contents of the cup.

For some reason, this wine, which should have been the sweetest, tasted bitter.

In truth, it was no wonder the Water Deity Ningbo harbored such bold and incredible thoughts, because just a few days ago, Shu Yang had thought the exact same thing.

Back when he was still in the mortal realm and had yet to attain immortality, he had realized he was different from others. He possessed an incredibly powerful aura of fortune. This boundless destiny helped him stand out among countless cultivators, succeed in becoming the lead disciple of a grand sect that everyone envied, and receive guidance from masters even when trapped by malicious schemes and dire crises. He had forged a path through life-or-death situations, stumbled upon countless ancient manuals and magical artifacts, and even gained a century’s worth of internal energy simply by falling off a ten-thousand-foot cliff.

This immense good fortune, where he could find supreme techniques just by stepping outside, allowed Shu Yang to rise rapidly. He even surpassed his own master, who was nearing the Tribulation Stage, making him the only person in the cultivation world to become an immortal in the last five hundred years.

However, Shu Yang had become an immortal, but he had hoped to finally enjoy a peaceful life. Instead, he discovered that life after immortality was not as simple as he had imagined.

Once an immortal, one has duties: to protect the people and have them willingly build temples in one’s honor. Only by gathering more offerings and faith could an immortal maintain their powerful fortune, accumulate merit, and eventually ascend from an immortal to a god, and finally, to the successor of the Heavenly Dao.

Immortality was not the end. Above the immortals were the gods, and even gods had to continue cultivating to eventually become the Heavenly Dao. Only then could one achieve the realm of being ageless, deathless, disease-free, and pain-free.

Otherwise, an immortal who failed to accumulate enough merit would see their immortal soul dissipate. The worst fate was becoming a Fallen Immortal, unable to enter the cycle of reincarnation, slowly fragmenting into consciousness-less shards, and drifting aimlessly through the Three Realms forever, with no home and no return.

Now that Shu Yang had learned from the Heavenly Dao that he could never become a god, it was a death sentence. To never become a god meant he would eventually become a Fallen Immortal. All his efforts over the centuries would become a joke.

“Damn the Heavenly Dao!”

The two words slipped from his thin, red lips unconsciously. Ningbo was stunned and turned to stare at Shu Yang, thinking he had misheard. “You are cursing the Heavenly Dao?”

Shu Yang did not deny it.

“Keep your voice down, or He might hear you.” Ningbo looked at his friend with trepidation, desperately trying to offer comfort. “It is okay. Even if you cannot be a god, immortals have lives lasting tens of thousands of years. You can still—”

“I do not care about not becoming a god. I care about why I cannot.” Shu Yang interrupted, his voice low. “The answer the Heavenly Dao gave me is not convincing.”

“When you put it that way, I am curious too.” The Water Deity turned his head, looking at Shu Yang’s cold, perfect profile. He hesitated, gulped, and whispered, “Why did He say you cannot attain godhood?”

Shu Yang glanced at him. He was exceedingly beautiful, refined, and elegant. Yet, the silver mark between his brows softened that allure, transforming it into a high and unreachable coldness. “He said my love root is lost, and thus I cannot become a god.”

“Love root?” Ningbo froze. “You do not have a love root?”

“I do not.” Shu Yang shook his head. “I cultivate the Way of Supreme Forgetfulness. Since the beginning of my cultivation, I severed all emotions. That love root was cut away completely before I faced the nine heavenly thunderbolts to attain immortality. By now, I do not even know where it is.”

“The Way of Supreme Forgetfulness is indeed a shortcut to immortality, which explains why you advanced so quickly in the mortal realm.” Ningbo frowned. “But did no one tell you? Its only flaw is a low ceiling; it prevents one from ever becoming a god.”

“Because possessing a love root is a prerequisite for divinity,” Ningbo said. “That is the rule set by the Heavenly Dao. Did He not tell you that sooner?”

Thinking of this, Shu Yang grew even more furious.

When he was in the mortal realm, he had been sheltered by the Heavenly Dao every step of the way. His ascent to immortality had been so smooth that he assumed his path to godhood would be equally obstruction-free. Yet, suddenly, a love root he had discarded ages ago became the obstacle. More importantly, when he had chosen the Way of Supreme Forgetfulness, the Heavenly Dao had never warned him of this limitation. It made Shu Yang seethingly angry.

Even so, he did not show it. At least not in front of other immortals. He did as he always did, never revealing a trace of being wounded.

But not showing it did not mean he did not care. The thought of inevitably becoming a Fallen Immortal and dissipating into nothingness made his blood boil.

He went into seclusion, turned away all visitors, and got himself dead drunk.

In his muddled state, a bold idea suddenly struck him. Since his end was to become a Fallen Immortal with no hope of reincarnation, why not simply jump from the Executioner’s Platform now? He could reincarnate as a mortal, find his love root, and while he was at it, gather enough offerings to build more temples. Not only would he become an immortal again, but he would also accumulate enough merit to ascend to godhood. It was killing two birds with one stone!

Though the path of cultivation was irreversible, and abandoning one’s chosen path to reincarnate privately was a betrayal of one’s core that would surely bring heavenly punishment, the Heavenly Dao had favored him so much. Surely, compared to such a small mistake, the Heavenly Dao would forgive him?

Alcohol had clouded his mind. He did not realize how reckless his plan was, defying the Heavenly Dao itself. He staggered to his feet and made his way toward the Executioner’s Platform.

“Immortal Lord Ziwei.”

The guard on duty at the Executioner’s Platform had always had a crush on Shu Yang. However, because Shu Yang was of a much higher rank and followed the cold, unfeeling Way of Supreme Forgetfulness, the guard had never dared to confess. His face flushed the moment he saw Shu Yang. “Why are you here?”

Shu Yang did not answer. He stumbled into the restricted area of the platform and tripped over the steps, nearly falling face-first. The guard rushed forward to catch him. “Immortal Lord, be careful!”

Shu Yang opened his hazy eyes, staring at the guard in close proximity. He mumbled something unintelligible, and as the guard leaned in to listen, Shu Yang grabbed his shoulders to pull himself up.

“You are good.” Shu Yang said, looking down at the guard kneeling at his feet. “Stay there.”

Dazzled by Shu Yang’s beauty, the guard forgot that the Executioner’s Platform was not a place for any random immortal to intrude. He sat frozen. Another guard, who was slightly more immune to Shu Yang’s charms, tried to stop him, but Shu Yang pointed his toe, swiped a handful of clouds with his fingers, and with a wave of his palm, knocked that guard half a mile away.

The commotion caught the attention of the commanding officer. By the time he rushed over, he only saw his subordinates lying on the ground. Shu Yang had already leaped into the void of the Executioner’s Platform, so fast that the officer could not even catch a hem of his robe.

“Immortal Lord Ziwei!”

The officer’s pupils constricted. He lunged forward to intervene, but when he reached the edge, there was not a trace of Shu Yang left.

The officer felt his vision go black, nearly fainting on the spot.

At that moment, as Shu Yang—the Ziwei Star—jumped from the platform, the eternal Ziwei Star in the heavens suddenly lost its luster. The stars orbiting it were thrown into disarray, scattering like meteors, one of which struck the Sun Deity, who was on patrol.

The sun in the center of the Celestial Palace shook violently and slipped, causing the heavens to lose color in an instant. The earth cracked, floods devastated the land, and many immortal temples were destroyed. The people suffered, the faith and merit belonging to the various immortals dropped instantly, and even the Heavenly Dao itself was severely wounded.

Before Shu Yang could realize what he had done, the Heavenly Dao—furious at this unfilial son—already knew the truth. Several warning thunderbolts struck the Nine Provinces, their pale, blinding light lighting up the world and causing cultivators and mortals alike to flee in terror.

High-level cultivators, whether they were friends or foes of Shu Yang, stared at the falling Ziwei Star in total shock. Shu Yang had actually fallen!

After the thunder dissipated and the clouds cleared, in Xuanling Prefecture—the largest gathering place of the Dragon Clan in the Nine Provinces—a person covered in tattered, scorched rags and grime appeared in a pile of firewood.

He lay there, his face obscured by dirt, appearing so bedraggled that no one would want to look twice.

Shu Yang slept in total ignorance, completely unaware that inside the main palace of Xuanling Prefecture, a beauty in white stood under red curtains. His delicate butterfly bones were visible through his clothes, and he was idly changing. His crimson eyes, however, were fixed firmly on the stars above.

His beauty was extreme, more delicate and feminine compared to Shu Yang’s refined elegance. Yet, his expression was icy, his thin lips pressed tightly together, radiating an air of untouchable coldness.

“Young Palace Master.” A star-gazer, guided by a handmaiden, walked behind Ruan Wei and knelt. “For some reason, the Ziwei Star has fallen.”

“Fallen?” Ruan Wei’s fair fingers, hidden beneath his wide sleeves, gripped the fabric, trembling neurotically. “Are you certain?”

“Certain,” the star-gazer replied. “It fell right here in our Xuanling Prefecture. However, the fate of the Ziwei Star is not something we can easily divine, so I do not know his exact location.”

“Find him for me.” Ruan Wei lowered his eyes, his gaze pitch black. “Even if only a hair remains of the fallen Ziwei Star, the immortal runes upon it are treasures cultivators would die for. Moreover, he owes many debts of love. I suspect others are already on their way to Xuanling Prefecture to find him.”

“Send men, offer rewards, do whatever it takes to dig three feet under! I want the fallen Ziwei Star found before anyone else gets to him!”

“Yes!”

As his subordinate left, Ruan Wei finally lifted his head and turned around. Only then was a striking, jagged scar visible across his chest—a grotesque blemish that ruined the aesthetic of his body, making him look unexpectedly fierce and savage.

“Shu Yang…”

His fingertips caressed the scar with a lingering, possessive touch. His tone was deeply obsessive, sweet yet chilling. He stood as if mired in a swamp, his voice heavy and cold. “I told you, the day you become a Fallen Immortal and descend to the mortal realm is the day I will tear you into a thousand pieces.”