Oh no! My grandmother made me shoulder the responsibility for eight households!

Chapter 562 Post-War Statistics

The cleanup and inventory of the battlefield lasted for a week.

It's not that they were slow; it's that the battlefield was too big.

Within a radius of a hundred miles, corpses lay strewn across the land, including those of extraterrestrial creatures and cultivators.

The corpses of extraterrestrial creatures were piled up like mountains, while the corpses of cultivators were scattered everywhere.

Some were complete, some were incomplete, and some were just a scrap of clothing, making it impossible to tell whose it was.

The various factions joined forces and sent tens of thousands of people out to clean up.

The search and rescue team, the body collection team, and the supply team have a clear division of labor and each performs its own duties.

Zhang Yiyuan sat in his study, a thick stack of names piled up in front of him.

Wu Huan was grinding ink on the side, and his hands were calloused from it.

"Master, it's been seven days already, and it's still not finished?" Wu Huan shook his aching wrist.

Zhang Yiyuan didn't even look up: "Young Master Lin said that not a single one can be missed, and not a single one can be wrong."

"If one is missing, I'll pay with my life. Will you compensate me?"

Wu Huan shrank back: "Alright, I'll shut up."

Footsteps came from outside the door. Long Zaitian pushed the door open and plopped down in a chair, picking up the teapot and gulping it down.

"Drink slowly, it's cold." Zhang Yiyuan glanced at him.

"Only cold food quenches thirst." Long Zaitian wiped his mouth. "The outside is almost cleaned up. Guess where the search and rescue team found the person yesterday?"

Zhang Yiyuan put down his pen: "Are there still people alive?"

"A rogue cultivator was trapped under the corpse of a True Monarch-level extraterrestrial creature for a full six days." Long Zaitian gave a thumbs up.

"That guy didn't die, but his leg was broken."

Zhang Yiyuan laughed, then sighed, "She's got a tough life."

"When Young Master Lin insisted on forming a search and rescue team, I thought it was a waste of manpower," Long Zaitian said, leaning back in his chair.

"Now it seems that this man really values ​​human life."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The statistics on achievements were the most exciting part.

The leaders of the various factions sat around in the council hall, their eyes fixed on the large list of achievements on the wall.

Zhang Yiyuan stood in front of the list and cleared his throat: "Ranked first in merit, Eastern Region."

No one spoke.

Long Zaitian rolled his eyes: "Isn't that obvious? Young Master Lin, Lü Bu, Zhao Zilong, Zhuge Liang... Guan Yu, Dugu Qiubai."

This group of people standing there is like a mountain; everyone who comes has to look up at them.

Jiang Xuan said expressionlessly, "You talk a lot of nonsense too."

Long Zaitian glared at him, but did not refute him.

"Second, the Heavenly Sword Pavilion."

Jian Junzi sat in the corner, his eyes half-closed, as if he hadn't heard anything.

Long Zaitian turned to look at him: "Old Jian, have you guys gone mad with killing this time?"

Sword Gentleman opened one eye: "Not bad."

"Not bad?" The loud voice of the King of Ten Thousand Demons rang out.

"I heard that you and Jian Shisan alone killed three peak True Monarchs? Plus more than a dozen True Monarch-level beasts? You call that 'acceptable'?"

Sword Gentleman closed his eyes again: "Not bad."

Long Zaitian muttered to himself, "Trying to be cool will get you struck by lightning."

Sword Gentleman's ears twitched, but he ignored him.

Zhang Yiyuan continued reading:

"Third, Penglai Immortal Island."

Fourth, Tianyuan City.

"Fifth, Kunlun Domain."

"Sixth, Mount Sumeru."

"Seventh, Qingyun Sect."

"Eighth, the Southern Wilderness Monster Empire."

"Ninth, the Great Qin Empire of Central China."

"Tenth, the Northern Desert Flame Empire."

"Eleventh, the Great Xia Empire of Central Plains."

"Twelfth, the Golden Sands Empire of the Western Continent."

"Thirteenth, the Great Zhou Empire of Central Plains."

"Fourteenth, the Great Shang Empire of Zhongzhou."

"No...."

Each time one name was read aloud, some people nodded, some sighed, and some remained expressionless.

The Emperor of Great Zhou looked rather unwell, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The Emperor of Great Xia smiled, but the resentment in his eyes was impossible to hide.

Zhang Yiyuan put away the list: "The above fourteen forces each have a base on one floor of the nine hundredth floor of the Tower of Babel."

It wasn't a freebie; it was earned with lives. Behind every layer of the outpost lay corpses and pools of blood.

There was a moment of silence in the council chamber.

Qingyunzi sighed and flicked his whisk:

"That's only right. Whoever has made the greatest contribution should live in the highest house. It's fair and just, and I accept it."

Jiang Xuan nodded: "I'm convinced."

Master Xuanci chanted a Buddhist prayer: "Amitabha, I am convinced."

Zhang Yiyuan added, "Other participating forces and independent cultivators are ranked, which is fair and just, and they all have the right to own the Tower of Babel's territory."

Even those who weren't qualified to participate were arranged into a separate layer by Young Master Lin, according to their region.

Long Zaitian was taken aback: "There are even those who didn't participate in the war?"

"Young Master Lin said—" Zhang Yiyuan cleared his throat, mimicking Lin Chen's tone,

"The crisis on the mainland is still ongoing, and the improvement of overall strength is urgent, rather than relying on any one person or force."

Long Zaitian clicked his tongue: "Perspective, this is perspective."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The memorial to the fallen heroes was erected over these seven days.

It stands ninety-nine feet tall, entirely black, and was meticulously carved from an entire mountain.

The front of the monument is inscribed with eight large characters: “The heroic spirits of Tianyuan will live forever.” The strokes are sharp and forceful, as if carved by a knife or axe.

It was written and carved by Lin Chen himself.

After finishing the carving, Lin Chen inscribed ninety-nine array patterns on the stele.

When the array patterns lit up, the entire monument glowed, and golden light shone from it, illuminating the entire sky.

On the day the ceremony was held, Lin Chen led everyone in a joint memorial service.

He stood in front of the monument, behind him were the leaders of various forces, and behind them were the cultivators who had participated in the war and their families who had been brought to the scene.

A sea of ​​people stretched from the monument for miles around.

No one spoke, no one moved, even the wind stopped.

Lin Chen glanced around at everyone and spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but everyone could hear him clearly.

"Everyone, these people are heroes of our Tianyuan Continent. Although they are dead, they will live on forever in our hearts."

After he finished speaking, he bowed deeply.

Everyone bowed in unison, their movements perfectly synchronized.

In the crowd, a middle-aged cultivator knelt on the ground, his forehead hitting the bluestone slab, muttering a name.

He is his younger brother.

The two brothers fought together. The older brother came back alive, but the younger brother did not. He cried so hard that his whole body trembled and his shoulders heaved.

An old woman was holding the robes of a young monk, tears streaming down her face.

Her son didn't even leave behind a body; all that remained was a blood-soaked piece of clothing.

A young woman stood in the crowd, clutching a jade pendant in her hand, her fingernails digging into her palm—it belonged to her fiancé.

Sword Gentleman's eyes, which had been half-closed, were now fully open.

He stared at the monument, at the densely packed names, for a long time.

The memorial service has ended.

Lin Chen straightened up, glanced around, and waved his hand: "Prepare a banquet!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The victory celebration banquet was held in the square below the Tower of Babel.

There were thousands of tables set up, a dark, packed room, and every seat was taken.

The leaders of the major forces sat in the front row, the families of the fallen sat in the middle, and the participants and their families sat in the back.

The wine is good, the dishes are good, and the meat is good.

The wine is a vintage wine treasured by various factions, and at this moment, no one will feel sorry for it or be stingy with it.

The meat is from extraterrestrial creatures.

Considering that everyone's cultivation level is different, there are meats at the Saint Venerable level, the True Monarch level, and the Celestial Immortal level.

Roasted, stewed, boiled, and fried, the aroma wafts for miles around.

A young cultivator picked up a piece of celestial-level meat, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed it twice, and his eyes widened in surprise:

"Holy crap! This meat's got a mind of its own! It's jumping around in my mouth!"

An old cultivator next to him rolled his eyes at him: "Nonsense, you think Celestial Immortal-level meat is some wild rabbit from your back mountain?"

"Won't I explode and die if I eat this?"

"No, Young Master Lin had it processed. The spiritual energy has dissipated, so please feel free to eat it."

The young monk picked up another piece, chewing as he mumbled indistinctly:

"I couldn't defeat that celestial-level extraterrestrial creature when it was alive, but now that it's dead, shouldn't I at least eat a few more bites to vent my anger?"

The people around laughed.

Another cultivator chimed in, "Yes, yes, yes! Eat a few more bites, then you can brag about it later—'I've eaten the flesh of a celestial being!'"

"You're nothing! I even ate a Saint-level one!"

"What does a Saint-level being taste like?"

"...To be honest, I couldn't taste it; I swallowed it too fast."

Lin Chen sat in the main seat, then stood up, holding his wine glass.

"Come, let us pay tribute to our fallen brothers."

Tens of thousands of people stood up at the same time, and the sound of chairs being pushed back blended together like thunder.

They picked up their glasses and spilled the wine on the ground.

The wine seeped into the cracks of the bluestone slabs, as if watering the lives that had already passed away.

Long Zaitian raised his wine cup and roared, "A toast to Young Master Lin!"

Tens of thousands of people roared in unison, "Young Master Jinglin!"

The sound waves soared to the heavens, causing the Tower of Babel to tremble slightly.

Lin Chen drank it all in one gulp, then turned the glass upside down, leaving not a drop.

Everyone then drank it all in one gulp.

Someone burped, someone wiped their mouth, someone laughed, someone cried, and someone laughed and cried at the same time.