Chapter Ninety-Three: The Emperor

All the energies surged together, a hundred hues unfurled in clarity. Luozu merely inscribed the character for "Emperor," and the heavens and earth underwent a transformation. This change was beyond his expectations, yet it was wondrous beyond compare. The moment Luozu perceived it, he hurried to record the phenomenon.

He withdrew the divine consciousness he had scattered across the mortal realm, letting it envelop the entire Immortal World. Thus, he bore witness to each extraordinary sign as they unfolded. Three hours passed, the myriad colors settled, revealing beams of radiant light that washed over every corner of the Immortal World, pacifying its volatile spiritual energy.

Yet, within the Immortal World now stood a colossal pillar, forged from pure spiritual energy. It pulsed with a mysterious rhythm—the very essence of the character "Emperor." But was this truly the Emperor? Luozu harbored doubts.

He was certain of one thing: this character could gather spiritual energy and quell the wild, primordial forces. Considering the Immortal World’s untamed energy, far more savage than that of the primordial wilds, yet subdued by the Emperor character—how much more easily would it pacify the energies of the wilds themselves?

Thus, the character's purpose on the flying artifact became clear: to absorb the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, calming it so other characters might harness its power.

At last, through the calculations of his thirty-six incarnate minds, Luozu peeled away the majesty of the Emperor character, exposing its true nature. It was, in fact, astonishingly useful—too useful. This brought to mind the ancestral rites of the Witch tribe. If only he could grasp their meaning, it would be even more marvelous.

Alas, the Witch tribe’s civilization was more guarded than the Demons', and without their bloodline, those ancestral texts could scarcely be comprehended. The Demons were more open; so long as one possessed sufficient wisdom, their script could be deciphered.

But to possess such wisdom was not easy. Luozu himself had relied on thirty-six incarnate minds to understand it. The intelligence among the Demons, therefore, left Luozu somewhat awed.

Of course, this was because he lacked a lineage. With one, he would not have needed such effort, nor the exhaustion of mind and spirit—merely reciting a few lines would suffice.

To stir that rhythm, to inscribe the Demon script—it would have been simple.

Yet Luozu still needed to investigate one matter: how the Demons managed to inscribe their script onto those magical artifacts. To him, it seemed impossible, or at least extremely difficult. Perhaps they used special methods and materials, enabling the inscription.

While pondering this, Luozu withdrew his divine consciousness from the Immortal World and returned to the mortal realm.

He also returned to himself.

At this moment, the bright moon had slipped behind the western mountains, and the sun rose in the east. The sky was clear and vast. Luozu opened his eyes and took in the magnificent scene, his already buoyant mood lifting even further.

He burst into a gentle song:

"The sun has come out..."

His melody echoed across the land, rousing everyone at once.

"You frightened me, Chief!" Ironhead, a burly man, clutched his chest in exaggerated alarm, exhaling deeply.

Luozu ceased his singing and laughed, "You never flinch at wolves, tigers, or leopards, but my song scares you?"

"Chief, when people come to me, they bring food. When you sing, you threaten my life," Ironhead protested.

"Chief, what’s that song called? It’s got spirit," called out Owl, emerging from a haystack, swinging his bronze arms.

Luozu replied, "It’s called ‘The Sun Has Come Out.’"

Clap, clap, clap.

He rose and brushed off his hands.

"Alright, let’s cook. After breakfast, we still have work to finish." Luozu summoned everyone.

They responded in turn, and soon the day began anew with vibrant energy.

The work no longer required Luozu’s constant supervision. After giving Ironhead some instructions, he bid farewell and returned to Luoxiang.

Everyone knew he was busy; none tried to detain him, only sending well wishes as he soared away.

"When will I be able to fly?" some youths dreamed aloud.

"Just work hard and diligently practice the Chief’s teachings," Ironhead said, clapping a boy’s shoulder.

Hearty laughter followed, and the group focused on their tasks.

Meanwhile, on his journey back to Luoxiang, Luozu pondered another matter.

His own forging used runes—not Demon or Witch script, but Chinese characters. Yet, under the joint suppression of both tribes, Chinese characters held no meaning, mere scribbles. If others wished to forge with them, it would be nearly impossible.

As for other scripts, Luozu did not know which might still convey meaning under the joint blockade of the Witch and Demon tribes. And even if such scripts existed, it was unlikely Luozu could learn them now.

This was a significant issue. If he alone could forge artifacts, it would not bode well.

Aside from this, Luozu thought of something else as he drifted through the sky.

Roads!

The "Cave People" now wandered freely, but no roads linked the villages. This would not do. Although paths would form with frequent travel, they were just wild trails, not proper roads.

Luozu yearned for a concrete road, so horses and goods could travel easily. This would greatly aid the Cave People’s development—for prosperity, one must first build roads.

Yet, constructing roads in the primordial wilds posed many challenges.

First, vegetation grew rapidly; in a single night, lush grass and trees could engulf the road, even break it apart.

Second, there were countless dangers and giant beasts. A road laid one day could be trampled to rubble by monsters that very night.

Third, the weather was unpredictable. Heavy rains could turn roads to mud pits, hail could smash them to ruins, meteors could block the path, or earthquakes could turn roads into deep chasms.

These were the reasons Luozu had never built a road.

Nevertheless, after much consideration, he resolved to construct the nearest route—from Luoxiang to Tigerhead Village.

It wouldn’t be a concrete road, but a gravel one.

With this idea, he needed a plan, and wanted everyone’s input to find the best solution.

So, upon returning to Luoxiang, Luozu sent for Creek, the chief of Tigerhead Village.

After all, the road would connect Luoxiang and Tigerhead, and the opinions of those involved were essential—especially Creek, who often traveled the route.

Creek arrived in a hurry, accepting Luozu’s invitation.

"Chief, you wanted to see me?" Creek asked, her urgency clear.

"It’s about this matter," Luozu explained his plan.

The others gathered listened intently, each considering the proposal.

"This is a good thing, Chief," Creek stood up first.

"But there are many difficulties," Luozu continued, outlining the challenges he foresaw.

"That’s not easy to solve," they agreed.

Everyone pondered deeply.

How could the road be built? How could these problems be avoided?