Chapter 467: No One Survives

Puff.

Like a bubble bursting, or some fragment shattering—a sound too faint to hear yet deafening in the deepest reaches of consciousness.

In that instant, the entire Li Dao sea seemed frozen in pause: the colossal golden-red mushroom cloud, the superheated fireball vaporizing the sea and evaporating Li Dao, the shockwave rippling across the Pacific, the thunder in the sky, the sea monsters beneath the waves, the indescribable strange entities—all halted at once.

Inside the Infinite’s cockpit, Lin Xian, Kiki, Director Ding, Chen Sixuan, and Viola all froze.

In Chen Sixuan’s peripheral vision, the Infinite brushed past the abyssal maw; the flickering of its sensors and sonar systems locked in place. In Lin Xian’s gaze, an odd flower was blooming, from which a darkness slowly released itself—within his pupils, it felt as if he had always been falling into a planet-sized abyss, and the world he currently occupied was merely a cave beneath, the blackness being the cave’s exit.

Time froze here—perhaps only a second, a mere instant. In the deep sea, the Infinite and the nuclear submarine hung motionless in the water, the seawater seemingly solidified into a tangible substance.

Yet at this moment, the countdown digits in Lin Xian’s eyes remained unaffected.

From 16:10:33, it calmly jumped to 16:10:32.

Hss!

As the countdown ticked, Lin Xian took a breath—he felt no change, his pupils narrowing as he focused on the dark center of the Silver Dragon One Hundred Thousand Errors. He couldn’t help frowning: the darkness at the center had expanded, swallowing the cultivation chamber of the Silver Dragon One Hundred Thousand Errors, along with Ding Junyi’s hands and vines.

“Director Ding.”

Lin Xian shouted at once—but no sound came out. When he looked up, he saw Ding Junyi frozen in place. He quickly turned to the others; everyone in the cockpit was locked in stasis, as if frozen by a pause button.

What’s happening?

Lin Xian’s expression changed drastically. He saw fragments floating in the air, unaffected by gravity; bubbles outside the viewport remained motionless. Most bizarre of all was the black hole blooming from the Silver Dragon One Hundred Thousand Errors—a tiny gravitational lens-like black hole now utterly pure black, unnaturally alien in space.

Because this darkness had no edge—it looked as if a god had simply carved it out of space itself. If forced to describe it, it was like a perfectly smooth Photoshop fill of black: no thickness, no boundary. The black hole was not a hole, not a sphere—it was as if light and dimension no longer existed.

He immediately realized something—but why could he still move, and why was the countdown unaffected?

“Viola!”

Lin Xian tried calling out to Viola, but received no response. He looked at her, preparing to reach out and touch her—but as his finger neared her mechanical arm, his motion halted. His pupils trembled slightly; he had seen something.

In the integrated central conduit behind Viola’s neck, a faint blue glow was frozen—a photon transmission array from her quantum processing core. And now, that tiny signal point of light had also stopped.

Light had stopped.

At this moment, Lin Xian felt as if he had detached from the real world—he could almost hear his own breathing.

Confusion, panic, bewilderment, anxiety—all emotions sprouted in his heart.

Then he suddenly noticed a stretched shadow clinging to his body—on his hands, his limbs—like puppet strings. But unlike puppet strings, they covered his entire body, extending vertically downward, piercing through the Infinite’s floor, stretching infinitely into some distant place.

Lin Xian raised his hand in confusion. As his fingers moved, the shadow below responded, “pulled” along—it seemed to be his reflection. Yet within this reflection, he saw a twisted line, wrapped inside his own shadow. He lifted both hands to examine it closely—and when he leaned in, he saw clearly: it was another person’s shadow.

Chu Yan!

Lin Xian’s heart jolted. He didn’t understand this situation—what did these shadows mean?

Why was his connection with Chu Yan manifesting in this form?

Finally, Lin Xian fixed his gaze on the black void before him and took a step forward.

But inside, there was only pure black.

Then, Lin Xian tried extending one finger toward it.

At that moment, something utterly bizarre occurred!

As Lin Xian’s finger neared the black hole, he saw within it another twisted finger appearing—mirroring his own, inching toward his fingertip.

But the finger didn’t move in sync—it only approached slightly, then retracted.

The next instant, a face, warped like ripples on water, suddenly appeared in the black hole—Lin Xian recoiled in shock. The face’s eyes widened in terror.

But the face vanished instantly, replaced by a flash of azure energy—then gone again.

This bizarre spectacle left Lin Xian stunned. He leaned closer, trying to see what lay within the black hole.

Nothing.

“What the hell is this?”

Lin Xian thought for a moment, then clenched his teeth, raised his finger, and activated his mechanical energy cannon to fire at the black hole and test it.

Hsssh!

As he activated the mechanical energy cannon, a metallic device appeared to encase his finger; a faint hum of accumulating energy echoed, followed by a brilliant azure glow igniting.

But as he instinctively prepared to fire, he saw the blue flash on his finger—and a thunderclap exploded in his mind. He froze for a moment, then immediately deactivated the mechanical energy cannon.

At this moment, Lin Xian seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

He stared at the black hole before him—and finally understood: the shadow inside was likely himself.

He extended his finger, tested it, and nearly fired the mechanical energy cannon—but stopped. Wasn’t that exactly what had just happened in the dark ripple: finger, face, blue flash?

The terrified face was his own.

Lin Xian frowned, his heart pounding. What stunned him most was that the “other side’s” actions were precisely his own actions a few seconds later.

In other words—the figure in the black hole was his future self, a few seconds ahead.

At this moment, Lin Xian looked again at the stretched shadows clinging to his body—and suddenly recalled an old sci-fi film he’d watched, one about a four-dimensional world, where time was a tangible entity, past and future occurring simultaneously. From this dimension, one could see any version of oneself.

Tick. Tock.

The countdown before Lin Xian continued relentlessly.

“This countdown is unaffected.”

“So this is the power of the Silver Dragon One Hundred Thousand Errors blooming—not just a dimensional bubble, but a dimensional entity?”

Tap. Tap.

As if something was moving. Lin Xian kept thinking—until he looked again at the black hole and saw it had doubled in size. Now it had fully swallowed Ding Junyi’s hands, along with the Silver Dragon One Hundred Thousand Errors’ cultivation chamber.

A figure appeared again inside the black hole. Lin Xian frowned—he had intended to lean closer to examine it. But now he realized: if he didn’t look, would that create a time paradox, derailing the original timeline?

No, no—the real issue is how to dispel this dimensional bubble of the Silver Dragon One Hundred Thousand Errors, then get everyone away from the deep-sea monsters and into the super vortex array to escape.

At that moment, a strange thought flashed through Lin Xian’s mind.

“If I can see the timeline of time, can I know in advance whether we’ll succeed?”

So he stared into the black hole. The figure inside had not vanished—it was sinking deeper, as if waiting for something.

Lin Xian frowned, took a deep breath, and decisively stepped forward. As he neared the black hole, his vision warped strangely: the edges of the black hole flowed like melting oil paint; the frozen cockpit controls twisted into spiraling color bands; the motionless seawater outside the viewport rippled, as if seen through a layer of scalding oil film.

When Lin Xian’s gaze entered the black hole, he saw clearly: its center was not pure black—it was filled with countless overlapping train car silhouettes: Chen Sixuan and Xiao Yuan calibrating the electromagnetic cannon in Car 2; Kiki and Shasha laughing while playing video games in a ghostly afterimage; Ding Junyi’s fingertip sprouting a tender lettuce shoot in Car 3; the building and Da Ge sipping tea in Car 5. These scenes from different moments pierced his vision like shattered glass.

These images were divided into dense grid patterns, endlessly filling his entire field of view. Everyone was vividly active, as if life continued— the Infinite still raced along the track, swarming with zombies.

Seeing these images confirmed all his suspicions: the Silver Dragon One Hundred Thousand Errors had indeed unfolded a dimensional entity. Seeking answers, Lin Xian rapidly scanned the grid scenes for the timeline after entering the deep sea. His right hand, reaching toward the black hole, quantum-dispersed at the boundary—his skin texture dissolved into flickering gray data streams, his bone structure became nebula-like points of light. He flowed through time—and soon, he saw the Infinite, submerged in water.