Chapter Forty-One: Scattered Across the Mortal World

In general, Civilization Fruits can be roughly categorized into two main types: ordinary Civilization Fruits and special Civilization Fruits. The ordinary kind primarily enhances one’s physical abilities, while the special ones, in a sense, are reminiscent of the Devil Fruits from the anime “One Piece”—when consumed, they can bestow the user with abilities beyond imagination.

Yet, the Civilization Fruits differ from Devil Fruits in that their varieties are even more finely distinguished, and they come with no side effects whatsoever. Special Civilization Fruits, however, are extraordinarily rare and can only be formed when a civilization has reached a certain stage of development.

Although he hadn’t obtained a special Civilization Fruit, simply acquiring an ordinary one at this point was already an unexpected delight, and Fang Zhuowei was thoroughly elated. After savoring the surge of power coursing through his body, he turned his gaze once more to the aquarium world.

“If even an ordinary ‘martial arts manual’ can bring about such dramatic change, then if it were something like the Dao De Jing, wouldn’t it truly be possible to elevate the entire ancient ape civilization once again?”

A glimmer of excitement flashed across Fang Zhuowei’s face; his eyes were bright, his brows lifted ever so slightly, and his focus pierced the endless flow of time, locking onto the Dao De Jing he had cast down, now lying in a remote corner of the Black Earth Continent.

Suddenly, a bold idea seized him.

He could descend in person upon the Black Earth Continent and teach the Dao De Jing and other scriptures directly to its people.

In doing so, he’d spare everyone the trouble of searching, save time, and accelerate the pace of civilization’s evolution. He could also avoid the hassle of translating other scriptures—just recite them directly, which would be far more convenient.

Moreover, it would allow him to personally experience life within the world he had created, a pleasant diversion in his leisure.

The thought barely formed before Fang Zhuowei’s spirit expanded outward, silently as a fine rain, sending ripples through a corner of the Black Earth Continent.

A moment later, as the ripples faded, an elderly man—stooped and white-haired, deep into twilight years—emerged quietly.

It was Fang Zhuowei.

First, he retrieved the Dao De Jing, and then, in three swift strides, each spanning tens of thousands of kilometers, he arrived in the capital, Zhongli, in a matter of seconds.

A journey that might take an ordinary ancient ape a lifetime to complete was, for Fang Zhuowei, nothing more than a few casual steps across the breadth of the continent.

Such was the power of the Creator.

Within the world he had fashioned, Fang Zhuowei was, without question, a god.

...

As the capital of the Li Kingdom, Zhongli’s bustling vitality needed no proof. The crowds surged, voices clamored, and the scene was one of flourishing prosperity.

Walking among them, Fang Zhuowei was struck by an uncanny sense of immersion in antiquity.

This sensation was truly wondrous, utterly distinct from the godlike perspective he was accustomed to. Though both offered a three-dimensional view of the world, the immediacy of being present made everything more vivid and alive.

“From above, the city walls built by Chi Xiu appear unremarkable, but from here, I must admit, they are rather awe-inspiring.”

Fang Zhuowei cast a glance at the towering city walls in the distance. Seen from this vantage, they loomed like an unbroken mountain range; standing at their base, one felt as insignificant as an ant before the Great Wall.

After a moment of appreciation, Fang Zhuowei turned his attention back to his business—there was work to be done, and plenty of time to savor the experience later.

“To enter the city, you need to pay one jun of grain—everyone, have it ready so our brothers don’t have to come collect it themselves.”

At the city gate, soldiers of the Li Kingdom stood guard.

The Li Kingdom had flourished for five or six centuries, its systems refined to perfection—especially in matters of taxation. Although not as absurd as some kingdoms in history, where even the very air was taxed, every conceivable levy, great and small, had been delineated with the utmost precision.

Take entering the city: there was no tax for leaving, but anyone entering had to pay one jun of grain, regardless of the type, as long as the weight was met.

A jun was a weight unique to the ancient ape clan, roughly equivalent to two modern catties.

Given the Li people’s current prosperity, this tax was negligible.

But for Fang Zhuowei, it wasn’t a matter of one jun or a single gram—he had nothing at all to offer.

Of course, he had no need for such formalities.

His formidable spirit swept forth like a tidal wave, enveloping everything around him. Under its influence, Fang Zhuowei distorted the perceptions of all the ancient apes in the vicinity, rendering himself invisible to their senses. Unseen, he strode boldly into the city.

Within, the view opened wide before him.

Zhongli’s splendor lay within arm’s reach. The warm wind caressed his face, shops lined the streets, and the soft glow of dusk painted the red bricks and green tiles—dyed with extracts from local flowers and plants—in a hazy, poetic light, lending a dreamlike beauty to the city’s thriving scene.

Further ahead, a vast open-air market teemed with women and men bartering, exchanging surplus grain for other necessities—by far the liveliest corner of Zhongli.

“This is the place,” Fang Zhuowei murmured.

He withdrew his gaze, found a patch of open ground, and laid out the Dao De Jing before him.

While others sold grain, he sold books.

Such an unusual sight immediately drew the attention of many passersby.

“Old man, how much grain for your book? I’ve got fifty jin of freshly threshed wheat—will that do? If so, I’ll fetch it right away.”

“Fifty jin? That’s daylight robbery! I’ll offer a hundred jin of wheat and ten jin of tender corn.”

“I’ve got two vermilion fruits.”

“And me—I’ll trade a kiwifruit!”

Every ancient ape who noticed called out, asking for his price, and soon they were loudly outbidding and quarreling with one another.

“Hey, kid from the Sun family! You dare fight me over this martial arts manual? I’ll tear your house down if you cross me!”

“Ha! You think I’m scared of you, you big-mouthed braggart?”

The air was filled with shouts and squabbles, and before long, some ancient apes even began to brawl.

A few days in the real world meant centuries in the aquarium world.

Across those hundreds of years, the illustrated martial arts manual Fang Zhuowei had once tossed down had imperceptibly altered the course of ancient ape civilization.

With it as their foundation, generation after generation had risked their lives, learning through blood and bone, slowly forging a genuine path forward.

Schools were founded, lineages passed down, sprouting like branches in spring, lush and thriving.

The fire of martial arts blazed brilliantly, like fireworks illuminating the world.

From that moment on, the fortunes of the entire Li Dynasty were forever changed.