NHWSG chapter 47

Before today, Sheng Zhao’s knowledge of Chinese historical and mythological stories was limited to basic common knowledge subjects, at most hearing stories like Jingwei Filling the Sea and Houyi Shooting the Sun. If it weren’t for Xing Yingzhu mentioning it to him, he wouldn’t have been able to distinguish the complex and intricate narrative systems of those myths.

Xing Yingzhu didn’t seem to have much patience, but when he started telling a story, he did so eloquently, with every word and sentence clear and understandable. Sheng Zhao could almost understand his meaning without much thought.

According to Xing Yingzhu, in the extremely distant ancient times, there were no distinctions between gods, humans, and demons, nor was there any separation between heaven and earth.

At that time, the world was in chaos, and the nascent deities were born from the essence of heaven and earth, taking on flesh and blood upon the earth’s surface, bringing the first glimmer of life to the barren and desolate land.

During the ancient times, racial distinctions were simple and crude, divided into humans and beasts. At that time, the human race gave birth to the divine and shamanic races, while the beast race, like Xing Yingzhu, gave birth to intelligent and supernatural beasts as well as ordinary creatures.

“At that time, the world was in chaos, without order, without morality… nothing at all,” Xing Yingzhu said. “This situation lasted for a period of time—about a few hundred years.”

As someone who had received a scientific education from childhood, Sheng Zhao couldn’t truly understand what Xing Yingzhu meant by “a long time ago.”

He had a clear understanding of history, from the Yuanmou Man to the Opium War, and there didn’t seem to be any random “few hundred years” gap to squander in between.

Moreover, according to Xing Yingzhu, these “human races” he mentioned looked exactly like modern humans from birth, as if they had never undergone biological evolution.

Although Sheng Zhao understood that seeking scientific explanations in mythology was a foolish thing to do, it wasn’t easy to completely overturn more than twenty years of understanding.

So he thought about it and asked.

Fortunately, Xing Yingzhu was very tolerant of this and didn’t mock him for asking stupid questions or show impatience.

“That’s another story,” Xing Yingzhu said lightly. “The ‘humans’ I’m talking about are different from you.”

“How are they different?” Sheng Zhao asked.

“Nuwa, Fuxi, Shennong… and the Queen Mother of the West on Kunlun Mountain,” Xing Yingzhu said in a casual tone, as if picking out a cabbage at the market. “They’re all called humans.”

Sheng Zhao remained silent for two seconds, then said earnestly, “Boss, in the common understanding of us ordinary people, these should be called gods.”

“After you guys appeared, for the sake of distinction, that’s indeed what they’re called,” Xing Yingzhu didn’t deny, he just said, “But you guys aren’t actually true ‘humans’ because you don’t have flesh and blood.”

Sheng Zhao: “…”

He silently looked down at himself, then reached out and pinched the back of his hand— he pinched quite hard, and it did hurt.

His hand had a slight red mark, and Xing Yingzhu looked at him speechlessly, then lightly brushed it with his finger.

A cool breeze swept away the hot pain from Sheng Zhao’s hand, and even the red mark disappeared.

Sheng Zhao blinked, staring at the back of his hand, somewhat bewildered.

“So what are we?” Sheng Zhao asked.

“Earth,” Xing Yingzhu said.

“You mean, the story of Nuwa creating humans from clay is true?” Sheng Zhao quickly reacted. “So the ancestors of modern humans were all formed from clay?”

“You can indeed understand it that way,” Xing Yingzhu said. “The human race molded their bodies from clay, but used spiritual energy to create flesh and blood. That’s why they were born with intelligence, but because their bodies were unstable, they only lived for a mere hundred years or so. After their souls dissipate, their bodies turn back into earth. In the end, it’s all the same lineage.”

“I see,” Sheng Zhao unexpectedly accepted this new worldview with ease, but still subconsciously translated it, saying, “So the body has an expiration date.”

“Yes,” Xing Yingzhu smiled. “So the human race’s bodies perish, but their souls reincarnate endlessly, never perishing.”

Sheng Zhao rubbed his fully recovered hand, not struggling much in his heart, and subconsciously accepted this brand new perspective.

“So, what happened later?” Sheng Zhao asked.

“Afterward—” Xing Yingzhu paused, clearly intending to omit some parts, and casually continued, “After the chaos gradually subsided, a distance formed between heaven and earth. The divine race moved to the more spiritual-rich heavens, leaving the underworld to you little earthlings.”

Sheng Zhao didn’t know if he had somehow put on some subtle boyfriend filter for Xing Yingzhu, as he momentarily felt that Xing Yingzhu was a bit cute when he said “little earthlings.”

“Later, the human race developed its own order and morality, gradually forming social groups, breaking away from the original status of being mere ‘toys’ for the divine race, and began to stand on its own,” Xing Yingzhu said. “As the distance between heaven and earth grew larger, it created more complex layers. As a result, there were immortals, demons, and ghosts—eventually becoming what you know today, with various races integrating into society and not disturbing each other.”

“What about the hierarchical system from the ancient times?” Sheng Zhao asked. “The gods, or the mythical creatures?”

“Most of them died out,” Xing Yingzhu said lightly. “A small number of those who are still alive hide away, like the Kirin and the Bai Ze, who rarely appear once every one thousand or eight hundred years. Who knows where they reside.”

Sheng Zhao glanced at Xing Yingzhu, thinking that he had the nerve to talk about others when he himself was a scarce species hiding in plain sight.

But obviously, he couldn’t really say such things out loud, otherwise, Xing Yingzhuo could decisively end the storytelling class, leaving him itching to hear more.

“So, what does this have to do with me?” Sheng Zhao finally couldn’t help asking.

Xing Yingzhu glanced at the new pendant hanging around Sheng Zhao’s neck and slowly said, “So, people are different from each other—like you.”

“Like me?” Sheng Zhao was puzzled.

“Just like Zhang Jian’s ancestor Zhang Daoling could attain immortality, some people are naturally more spiritual, and are therefore closer to the path of metaphysics,” Xing Yingzhu said lightly. “Zhang Jian’s case is a matter of family inheritance, but there are also some people who are destined to deal with demons and ghosts in their lives. Even if they know nothing and live their lives as materialists, one day they might suddenly have a flash of insight, gaining some strange skills and turning towards the path of metaphysics—usually, this is commonly known as talent.”

Sheng Zhao: “…”

Feeling somewhat implicated, Sheng Zhao thought, why bother saying “some people”? You might as well just say my ID number.

But then Sheng thought, Xing Yingzhuo is always busy with work, he probably doesn’t even remember my ID number.

He understood what Xing Yingzhu meant. He recalled his reaction when struck by lightning and realized that indeed, as Xing Yingzhu said, everything came from instinct. Even after he had done something, he was completely confused about what he had done and what consequences it had led to.

“Oh, really?” Sheng Zhao scratched his face awkwardly and chuckled, “I thought I got hit by lightning radiation and suddenly mutated.”

Xing Yingzhu: “…”

He couldn’t rely on Sheng Zhao’s thought process for any sensible and reasonable guesses.

“But…” Sheng Zhao quickly seized on another point, obviously amusing himself, his eyes shining, “Are you saying I can become immortal?”

“No.” Xing Yingzhu ruthlessly shattered his fantasy, “The Celestial Ladder collapsed during the Song Dynasty.”

“What’s the Celestial Ladder?” Sheng, the ‘Questioner,’ asked subconsciously.

“That’s another story.” Xing Yingzhu reclined on the sofa lazily, saying, “It’s gonna cost you.”

“How can you stop a story halfway!” Sheng Zhao felt very aggrieved, even wanting to demand a refund on the spot. He sat up straight, trying to protest with body language, “So you basically didn’t say anything!”

“I want to tell you that this is not a good thing for you.” Xing Yingzhu said indifferently, “Be mentally prepared.”

Sheng Zhao suddenly became alert and asked, “What do you mean?”

“It means that when your abilities are not enough to match your talent, it’s a disaster.” Xing Yingzhu frightened him, “Otherwise, why do you think that dragon specifically wanted to lure you over?”

Sheng Zhao: “…”

Goosebumps rose on his back, feeling like Xing Yingzhu had just described him as a piece of braised pork, ready to be eaten by anyone who encountered him.

“Of course, this talent might also make you more sensitive to these matters concerning demons and ghosts.” Xing Yingzhu, oblivious to Sheng Zhao’s stiffness, continued, “At first, you could intuitively find Diao Leyu, and now you can see my true form with your own eyes. Maybe someday you’ll develop clairvoyance and see ghosts everywhere…”

“Boss, stop it.” Sheng Zhao, in pain, rushed over and hugged his thighs, saying with a distressed face, “This is too scary. I’d rather not have this talent. Please, help me sell this talent—”

Seeing that he had really scared Sheng Zhao, Xing Yingzhu enjoyed a moment of mischief fulfilled, then contentedly patted Sheng Zhao’s head lightly, reprimanding him gently.

“With me here, what are you afraid of?” Xing Yingzhu said softly, “Am I going to make you cry on the street? Don’t disappoint me.”

Sheng Zhao swore that these three words were the most wonderful he had ever heard from Xing Yingzhu’s mouth, like celestial music or an unmovable needle in the sea, instantly dispelling most of his fear.

Half embracing Xing Yingzhu’s waist, his mind suddenly became agile, so he raised his head, blinked, and tentatively asked, “By the way, speaking of stories from the past… Is Xing Yingzhu your real name?”

“Hmm?” Xing Yingzhu glanced at him, seeing through his little tricks.

“Did you look me up?” Xing Yingzhu asked.

Sheng Zhao didn’t deny it, nodded hesitantly, and asked, “In the Classic of Mountains and Seas, it says there is only one Yinglong.”

“It’s fake,” Xing Yingzhu said, “Don’t believe it. These kinds of mythical stories are more or less flawed.”

He didn’t deny the issue of racial origins, and Sheng Zhao had a rough idea in his mind.

Xing Yingzhuo could be described as granting all requests today, answering all questions asked. Consequently, even Sheng Zhao’s speech became more casual than usual. He thought for a moment, jokingly asking, “So, which one are you?”

“That’s another story.” Xing Yingzhu patted his head again, laughed lightly, and said, “I’m not telling you.”