Chapter 192 What is Being? What am I? (1/2)

Shen Lian suddenly had an epiphany. Taiwei Pavilion was the foundation of Qing Xuan. Inside it, there were generations of the exploration of Dao and the many cultivation experiences hidden in it. This was the biggest treasure for a Dao sect.

No wonder the Grand Ancestor Master would always remain in the Taiwei Pavilion.

After he succeeded as the chief, from the information that he knew, it was during Zhang Ruoxu's time as chief that Qing Xuan had three immortal Zhenrens. This was considered quite a lot. As for the other teacher-elder who have attained immortality over the ten thousand years, too many could not make it through the three trials of Dao and returned to the reincarnation of the world.

Only a very small number finally transcended beyond the mortal world and left, cutting off their involvement in this universe and got one's freedom.

The old Daoist that Shen Lian had mistaken as an elder of the sect was still at the first level of the Taiwei Pavilion. The wrinkles on his forehead were like roles and roles of runes. It was also like the years had quietly left its mark on it.

Times passes really quick like water and the power of time was not a force that could easily fend off.

But Shen Lian knew in his mind that the wrinkles on the old Daoist's body were no simple carving by time. There was another layer of cause to it.

In front of the Taiwei Pavilion was the soft grass lawn. By taking a step into the pavilion was the hard floor surface.

Even though the lawn was soft but it regenerates every year. Even though the floor surface was solid and hair but it was gradually degenerating. It was only because by being within the Celestialism that the speed of decay was not quick, it was even shockingly slow.

The old Daoist whose eyes were closed opened at the moment Shen Lian stepped into the pavilion.

With this one look, Shen Lian actually could not avert his eyes away.

He suddenly realized he was no longer in the Taiwei Pavilion but he had become an ugly caterpillar, lying on top of a leave as he crunched on the supple green leave. This leave was supple and juicy, which made it comfortable for him to eat.

With every bite of the leave, the juice and flesh that he got were digested into the energy needed to grow each day. Of course, it was not always safe when one's life depended on the leaves. Many of the same kind as him around Shen Lian, perhaps because of the rough weather, or predator, or contracting some sort of virus, perished in the end.

If there were remains of the body, it would fall to the soil and finally turn to nutrients which were absorbed through the extended roots of the depended tree to grow new branches of leaves.

Shen Lian quietly watched all of this. He had better luck avoiding many calamities and he had lived for a very long time. Of course, the time was being compared to the time of his same kind.

In essence, he was no different than the ephemeral mayfly or the summer insect that cannot be told about ice.

In actual fact, he had neither seen winter nor the snow.

With each day as he grew, it was as though he had forgotten about many things. His memories as Shen Lian, as though it was too much of a burden for the caterpillar's fragile brain to handle, were gradually rejected.

Eventually, he was only left with the instinct to chew on leaves non-stop, to sustain his life.

It was until a moment when he began to gradually feel his body becoming heavy, his limbs losing its strength. At the same time, he noticed that some of the same kind as him were quietly lying on a branch and no longer moving. They were spitting out white threads from their mouth and those white threads were wrapped around themselves.

Shen Lian was also doing to the same thing. The white threads were the combination of the consumed leaves and some special structure within himself.

He suddenly thought of an idiom, to spin a cocoon around oneself. But it was in this moment where he had forgotten about his human memories that he could not understand the meaning of it.

There were more and more white threads that wrapped around the body of the caterpillar. Finally, it was as though he had fallen into a solitary pitch black where he could no longer hear any sound and he could not even move.

He could not breathe and could not look for new food to replenish his strength.

If this continues on, it would not be long before he dies. He was not too clear on the meaning of death but just the thought of 'death' filled his heart with horror.