Huh? It seems that the strings that were guiding started dissipating. No, not quite, they changed. Nearly all of them have simply disappeared from existence; only the ones connecting to me are left.

As I calculate their approximate intent, I come to the conclusion that they seem to mirror my own thoughts. This leaves me intrigued, as the power they hold transcends let alone my understanding, even my very own being.

What am I supposed to do?

I try my hardest to verbalize my thought process, to be reflected in the strings, since they used to leave behind very clear intent of their actions, never changing by the river of time, invisible to almost all.

I have to slow down, since I am unable to change marks they leave behind. Let me rephrase that, seemingly never changing by the river of time. Five times has the flow of the river of time reversed and changed the marks, my name would change, civilizations would change, and even the omnipresent Qi would have its properties changed. Well not necessarily five times, as it could have been more, so at least five times. From the intent left by the marks, I should not have been able to register the change.

The first time I remembered it, I had too low of a realm to even notice the existence of the strings, yet for some reason I was aware of them and also of the weaver of these strings and also observers outside of this brane that could make weaver weave whatever they desired.

From what I could remember of that time, I would sometimes interact with these observers, or more accurately with sort of shadows weaver used to represent them with. That single version gave me a more understanding of these observers and weaver than sum of all the other versions.

I was a tool for their entertainment, and this whole brane served as a storybook of sorts. Understanding this was the source of my despair. Of these five versions, I have been daoist four times. Dao that can be named is not dao, yet weaver was capable of impossible, there it was bare, the ultimate truth. However, I was not in control of my own choices or actions, I was not given the chance to explore it directly or indirectly as that was left at the discretion of the weaver.

Later as interaction between strings and observers diminished and my understanding of the intent lessened, I did not know if I was getting closer or straying further from the truth. I was forced to follow and understand mundane daos of reincarnation, time, space and sword. And so I despaired, but strings did not allow me the chance to show it. I was forced to keep the facade of a ruthless genocidal maniac.

Sometimes I would be the most cunning of foxes and the most scheming of rats. I would be given perception rivaling that of the weaver, just for it to be shamelessly taken away as soon as I successfully accomplished a plan to earn a few more spirit stones.

Only time I could throw away this facade was when I was forced into intimate moments with some of my companions, yet none were wiser to what I was trying to express or to the machinations at play.

I was being promised their undying loyalty, kinship and love. Even if strings allowed me to throw away my facade, my mask, it was all for naught, since it was not the same for my fellow daoists. Even marks reflect only my worry and despair, only for the cause to be left out or simply changed.

Even when I had the most power that this brane allowed, it could not rival even a single string. I had made many vows to once follow the truth, even when I had to give up my dao heart to those false, cheap, flashy daos. No matter how tainted I was, no matter how many years I was forced to meditate over those pointless things I never wavered in the hopes of once pursuing the truth.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Oh, how many years it was that I had spent in solitude, even as talented as strings made me be. In later stages of cultivation I needed to spend such a vast amounts of time even for the smallest of improvements that numbers simply ceased to accurately describe the flow of time.

Everytime I exited the cultivation, I would always find out that every companion I made has long been washed away by the river of time, reduced to smallest particles, only to be once again reunited with Qi.

Yet, once I managed to ascend, I would understand that my cultivation was seemingly meaningless. Something that a child of a few centuries could accomplish. Strings dissatisfied with my progress would simply modify my aptitude arbitrarily.

Later I would come to know of the existence of monsters that spent thousands time more time in seclusion than me. And I would always ponder, how come they have had even a basic level of cognitive ability left, after all when was the last time they thought about something other than their cultivation, their souls must have degenerated to the state of single minded pursuit, akin to golem with just a single order left by its master.

I have long come to the conclusion, only saving grace is: cultivation naturally strengthens spiritual consciousness, otherwise cultivators would have long resembled statues, only to either die due to their life span running out or advancing in cultivation and continuing on with this endless cycle.

However this still does not change the fact that most cultivators are outclassed in wit, scheming and practical experience by an ordinary mortal farmer. Cultivators are simply not fit to have any kind of administrative job. Yet strength reigns supreme.

******

As I try to gain control over the strings I also grow in a state of being. I gain innate understanding that once my last epic ceases to provide amusement to the observers even I together with this brane will cease.

Anyway I have been rambling for quite some time, and finally gained something that resembles basic control over the strings. And I can finally start walking the road of the truth.

Reincarnation and regression seem fairly popular from what I have observed over the different versions. Also I can not forget about thousands of jade beauties, items from highest realms finding their way to the lowest, children of the powerful lacking any form of cognitive faculties, hidden dragons, being supremely talented and cripled at the same time and the name Long Aotian.

With the ability to control strings I was ready to embark on my path of the penultimate truth.

I shall use the weavers power to achieve what he was too incompetent to do. Epic so compelling that its dao would overshadow everything that weaver ever amounted to.

And who would be more fitting to be the protagonist of this story than me, who has suffered for so many eras and walked these paths of thorns while knowing the destination does not exist and it was only a matter of time till I returned to start.

Now, shall we begin?

There in the lowest realm, in the poorest region lived a boy. The boy had supreme comprehension, any technique that made its way to the boy's hands was understood by the boy in a matter of seconds.

Yet none of these matter, since Qi that entered his body would immediately dissipate. He was often bullied for his handsomeness and supreme comprehension. It happened so often that his uncle and auntie in whose care he was, since he became an orphan, too young to remember, simply did not know what to do.

One day, after he was brutally beaten and left suffering in the forest he saw a ring. Ring in question looked to be of mortal origin and he was taught good and evil by his uncle and auntie. As such he picked up the ring with the intention of looking for the owner.

However as soon as he picked up the ring, the ring started to fuse with his body and celestial phenomena appeared in the sky.

His aunt and uncle who were looking for him to bring him home saw all of this. They were immensely happy since as cultivators from higher realm they understood that royal highness awakened his heaven level physique and could finally embark on a journey to reclaim what was rightfully his.

Unfortunately, they did not know of the origin of the ring, otherwise they would understand that doom that his royal highness had brought upon himself.

Soon, the avatar of the overlord responsible for balance of the realms descended. With a single glance he killed his uncle and aunt. Then with his strongest attack he tried to destroy the Aotian’s soul, his fate and his past. Yet in a crucial moment that ring activated and dispersed the avatar, only for Aotian to be left dying in despair. While Aotian was dying he swore to find reincarnation of his uncle and auntie and repay them hundredfold for their love and care.

He also swore to repay the grievances between him and those bullies a thousand times. And finally to destroy the being that had killed his uncle and auntie and attempted to wipe out his existence.

After that he breathed his last breath and died