A figure in a blue robe sat atop the city wall, not fishing, just simply sitting there.
While recovering from injuries, one couldn't make any big movements, so Chen Xia spent each day sitting quietly, watching the battlefield above as it entered its final stages of slaughter.
He estimated that this battle would end in about half a year.
The fighting here had taken a devastating toll on both the frontline forces and the dark remnants, with neither side gaining any advantage.
Of the eleven Great Emperors who had been on the frontline, only seven remained, and most were wounded. They hadn't planned on returning alive anyway, so they fought with reckless abandon.
Though not as fierce as Chen Xia, they were close enough.
Most of the cultivators who had come earlier were dead, while the few survivors had opportunities to break through their boundaries, advancing from Saint to Great Saint, and from Great Saint to Zhun Di.
Many of the newcomers had also perished, like water trying to extinguish a great fire - endless yet seemingly futile.
But at least the fire had finally paused for a moment.
The blue-robed figure sat alone atop the city wall for half a year, witnessing the end of the slaughter and the return of the few surviving cultivators.
The returning cultivators were silent, unable to speak, the scenes of life-and-death battles still fresh in their minds.
To lighten the mood, Chen Xia would smile and invite cultivators to play chess, promising not to start with the knight move.
This was a major concession from him.
But the cultivators showed little interest.
The entire frontline battlefield was shrouded in silence, with cultivators unable to speak, often staring blankly ahead, wondering when their time to die would come.
This silence persisted for thirty years until the vigor of new cultivators finally dispersed the heavy atmosphere.
Laughter and chatter returned to the city walls.
This was a good time for the frontline to recover and rebuild, focusing on recruiting new cultivators and producing medicinal pills for logistics and supplies.
Chen Xia wasn't in a hurry to refine pills; he wanted to save all his fortune to create an Imperial Elixir using the power of two realms.
An Imperial Elixir that could serve as a second life!
For this, Chen Xia specifically sought guidance from The Saint of Alchemy about various medicinal theories, which left the saint feeling quite honored.
Chen Xia's daily routine consisted of sitting atop the city wall, his fishing rod casually placed nearby, fishing for wandering souls while studying medicinal theories from books.
There were countless wandering souls, densely packed, but none would take the bait.
Chen Xia sat alone atop the wall, his eyes clear.
He had comprehended the Time Dao, first by observing things, then people, and finally himself.
These three insights represented three different stages of the Time Dao.
Now he had observed something else.
In the midst of slaughter, he observed the life and death of all beings.
As he fished for wandering souls now, he viewed the area below the city wall as The River of Time, with the wandering souls as fish of time. If he could catch one, it would prove his dao comprehension was correct.
Comprehending the dao would be a long process.
Fortunately, the period of peace after this battle would be lengthy.
The dark remnants no longer appeared, remaining dormant in the dark interference beneath the heavenly dao.
Every hundred years, a new batch of cultivators would arrive at the frontline, knowing nothing, waiting for battle.
Cultivators came in endless streams.
The blue-robed figure sitting atop the city wall remained motionless.
A newly arrived Saint asked curiously.
"Who is this person, why can he sit atop the city wall? Isn't he being too conspicuous? And what is he fishing for? Can he actually catch anything?"
The veteran cultivators who had survived the battlefield hurriedly waved their hands and said sternly.
"Do not speak of Saint Chen this way! Saint Chen's battle achievements are legendary, comparable to the Great Emperors. Don't speak nonsense!"
This statement surprised many.
It was the first time they had heard of a Saint being compared to an Emperor - wasn't this disorder?
But with Chen Xia, it seemed possible.
Many surviving veteran cultivators spoke of Chen Xia in this way.
The only strange thing was that this so-called Saint Chen never moved, just staring blankly at the bottom of the city wall.
People couldn't help but frown in confusion.
Were there really fish below the city?
No one knew the answer, and time slowly passed.
Chen Xia's body became like that of a mortal, turning into a white-haired fisherman after several decades.
This continued unchanged thereafter.
The Great Emperors were busy with their plans, cultivators were busy with their cultivation, and no one paid him any attention.
Eventually, weeds grew on Chen Xia's body, making him look like a statue, motionless atop the city wall.
"This isn't right. No matter how still a Great Saint remains, weeds shouldn't grow on them," a Great Emperor wondered.
"He must be comprehending the dao through mortality. Though whether we should praise his insight or his boldness for choosing to do so atop the city wall is unclear."
"To comprehend two daos in such a short time - it seems the frontline battles truly inspired him greatly."
"..."
The Great Emperors would occasionally make such comments about Chen Xia's back.
But after a thousand years, they stopped speaking of this.
No one introduced Chen Xia to new cultivators anymore; he was treated as an ancient statue atop the city wall.
As time went on, more and more new cultivators arrived to reinforce the frontline, while the Great Emperors became increasingly reclusive, their presence within the city walls becoming rare.
Chen Xia sat alone, ignoring everything around him. Before his eyes stretched a long river with many fish swimming in it.
He waited for a fish to take the bait.
He didn't know why he waited, but he knew he would stop once a fish was caught.
He vaguely remembered the name of this river before him - it was called The River of Time.
As he fished here, he waited for the fish to come.
Or perhaps he was fishing for all of eternity?
Chen Xia wasn't sure. His gaze lowered, and he suddenly blinked as he seemed to hear someone calling him.
"Old uncle, old uncle!"
Chen Xia turned his head to see a young man smiling at him, asking curiously.
"Old uncle, what are you fishing for? You've been fishing for so many years, but nothing seems to bite."
Chen Xia remained silent for a long time, because the youth before him was himself - Chen Xia as a young man.
When one questions oneself, it could be either the voice of the heart or a mental barrier.
"Old uncle, what exactly are you trying to catch?" the youth persisted.
Chen Xia turned back to look at his fishing rod, still dangling in The River of Time, having caught nothing.
Chen Xia looked back at the youth and asked.
"Is it possible that I've actually caught The River of Time itself?"
With these words.
All of eternity fell silent.