Chapter 388: God Transformation

When the first ray of sunlight pierced the void and fell upon the ruins of the Immortal Palace, the shroud of chaotic light that had lingered for forty-nine whole days finally began to slowly dissipate.

It was not a fading, but a drawing in.

Like the tide receding, not from exhaustion but because its mission was fulfilled; like clouds dispersing, not because wind arose but because they condensed into essence. Those silver lights of order and the dark mists of chaos, like subjects paying homage to a king, circled the seated figure at the ruin's center and slowly merged into his body.

One loop, two loops, three loops.

Each loop carried the tremor of laws as it circled; each fusion triggered a resonance in the void.

Those silver lights were originally the order seeds implanted by the Pure World Court into his body, lethal traps capable of destroying any cultivator. But now they became nourishment for his power, part of his Chaos Dao. Those dark mists of chaos were remnants from the Immortal Realm's collapse, destructive forces capable of eroding any life. Yet now they became the foundation of his origin, the sustenance of his Primordial Spirit.

Silver and dark, order and chaos, light and darkness—these originally opposing entities found balance within him.

No, not balance.

It is fusion.

It is transcendence.

It is chaos.

Wang Ping closed his eyes.

His surroundings were wrapped in a faint chaotic light. This light differed utterly from before—no longer a simple murky gray, but seeming to contain the turning of three thousand worlds, the evolution of infinite possibilities. Within the light, faint shadows of countless laws arose and faded: the fierce law of fire became a three‑legged golden crow, wings ready to fly; the tranquil law of ice condensed into an ice‑crystal giant dragon, coiling and twining; the violent law of lightning turned into streaks of purple‑gold lightning, wandering through the light; the profound law of space folded into innumerable layered shadows, making one dizzy at a glance; the vicissitudinous law of time turned into a slowly flowing long river, its waters reflecting past and future scenes……

Everything, everything, appeared and disappeared within that light, endless and ceaseless.

His aura had completely changed.

This change was not an increase in quantity but a metamorphosis of quality. If before he was a deep pool, unfathomable yet ultimately limited, now he is an endless ocean, boundless, its extent unknown. If before he was a shining star, dazzling yet ultimately solitary, now he is a universe, embracing all things, self‑contained heaven and earth.

He sat cross‑legged there, yet seemed to merge with the entire void. His existence was no longer an isolated individual but the center of this heaven‑earth, the nexus where laws flow, the embodiment of chaotic evolution. Within three feet of him, laws reassembled of their own accord, space folded, time twisted—not because he deliberately willed it, but because his very presence was enough to affect everything around him.

In his dantian, the original golden core had long since vanished.

In its place stood a tiny figure.

That figure sat cross‑legged there, its whole body veiled in faint chaotic light. Looking closely, its brows and eyes were exactly like Wang Ping's—it was his Primordial Spirit, his true self, his Dao Fruit.

Above the Nascent Soul is the Primordial Spirit.

The Nascent Soul is the condensation of form; the Primordial Spirit is the elevation of spirit. The Nascent Soul still relies on the flesh, while the Primordial Spirit can exist independently. The Nascent Soul can only perceive heaven and earth, whereas the Primordial Spirit can influence laws. When a Nascent Soul first forms, it is the size of an infant; but when a Primordial Spirit first forms, it is already a complete self.

Wang Ping's Primordial Spirit is more special than that of ordinary God‑Transformation cultivators.

It sat cross‑legged in his dantian, surrounded by illusory shadows of the three thousand laws. Those shadows resembled stellar rings, orbiting the Primordial Spirit and slowly rotating; each turn drew a thread of law's power into the Spirit, turning it into nourishment for its growth. Within the Spirit, a minuscule universe could be seen evolving—stars being born, worlds taking shape, life multiplying. This is the embodiment of the Chaos Dao, the manifestation of his Dao Fruit.

His sea of consciousness likewise underwent a world‑shaking change.

Originally his sea of consciousness was a vast star‑strewn sky, countless stars twinkling within. Now that sky had completely evolved into a complete universe—galaxies spanning the void, nebulae blazing in color, black holes devouring all, white holes spewing forth new life. Each star was a condensation of his divine sense; each nebula, a deposit of his memories; each galaxy, a manifestation of his insights.

His divine sense had completely transformed into "Chaos Divine Sense".

In a single thought, it covered ten thousand li.

In a single thought, it perceived the finest detail.

In a single thought, it parsed the laws.

He "saw" every corner of the Immortal Palace ruins—the shattered halls, the broken stone slabs, the land soaked with blood. He even "saw" the owner of each drop of blood—this drop belonged to Cangxuan, carrying the sharpness of sword intent; that drop belonged to Yuliuli, containing the rhythm of music; those dark‑red stains far away were left by the Immortal Palace survivors, each drop telling of a life's end.

He "saw" the ancient runes hidden deep in the ruins, the spell foundations that had slept for thirty thousand years. Those runes still flickered with faint golden light; those foundations still preserved their posture from thirty thousand years ago. They bore witness to the Immortal Palace's glory and downfall, to the life and death, joys and sorrows of countless cultivators. Now, under his divine sense, they could nowhere hide.

He "saw" the sapling of the Establishing Tree swaying gently at the center of the ruins.

The sapling stood just over a foot tall, entirely emerald, its leaves beaded with crystal‑clear dew. It took root in the ruins' deepest point, its tendrils piercing layer after layer of rock, stretching all the way to the core of the Immortal Palace fragments. There, a weak light pulsed—this was the Immortal Palace's last vestige of life, the final gift left by the Mother Establishing Tree to its descendants.

The sapling swayed lightly, as if greeting him.

He "saw" the distant void—there, the two mid‑stage God‑Transformation beings were trembling violently, while the thirty Order Apostles had long fled without a trace, leaving only broken fragments of the silver light‑net drifting slowly in the void. Those fragments still bore the breath of the Order Apostles, the breath of fear.

He "saw" farther still—there, countless stars twinkled, countless worlds turned, countless lives multiplied. All those stars, worlds, and lives lay within the reach of his divine sense, nowhere to hide. He even "saw" on a distant star a mortal gazing up at the night sky, eyes full of curiosity and longing. The mortal's heartbeat was clearly audible within his divine sense.

He even "saw" the source of the laws.

The laws that one could only perceive or contemplate in ordinary times now appeared before his "eyes" as clear, transparent threads. He saw the blazing source of the fire law burning—a flame that never extinguishes, holding the power to consume all things; he saw the tranquil source of the ice law condensing—a block of ice that never changes, holding the chill that can freeze everything; he saw the profound source of the space law folding—a layered space, each layer leading to a different world; he saw the vicissitudinous source of the time law flowing—an endless river, its waters reflecting past and future scenes.

Everything, everything, lay bare beneath his Chaos Divine Sense.

He drew a deep breath, gathered his divine sense, and slowly opened his eyes.

At that moment, the entire void shuddered.

It was not a true tremor, but a resonance from the level of laws—as if Heaven's Dao itself were trembling for this moment, offering a silent hymn to the cultivator who had just stepped into God‑Transformation.

In his eyes, chaotic light flowed.

That light was utterly different from before. It was no longer a mere color, but seemed to contain an evolving star‑countless stars being born and dying within it, countless worlds taking shape, countless laws intertwining. Each flow was a microcosm of a universe; each flicker, a resonance of the three thousand laws.

He raised his hand and lightly clenched his fist.

The motion was slight, casual, yet it made the surrounding void faintly warp. Where his palm passed, laws retreated, space trembled—as if heaven and earth dared not block him. In his palm, a mass of chaotic light coalesced, within which faint shadows of the three thousand laws flowed—fire, ice, lightning, space, time, life and death, cause and effect……everything, everything, lay under his control.

"This is……God‑Transformation……"

He murmured, his voice soft yet clear enough to reach every ear.

His voice was not loud, yet it seemed to carry a special rhythm, like the first thunder when chaos first split, like the first cry when all things were born. Each syllable made the surrounding void quiver slightly, making the laws resonate.

In the distance, the crowd stared dumbfounded at that figure, silent for a long time.

Venerable Xuanwu struggled to sit up, only to find his whole body trembling. It was not fear, but shock—a profound, uncontrollable jolt from the depths of the soul.

He had lived thirty thousand years, seen countless heaven‑chosen ones, witnessed countless miracles. He had seen the immortals of antiquity, the glory of the Immortal Realm thirty thousand years ago, the fall of countless mighty beings in that great war. He thought he had seen everything the world had to offer, that nothing could still shock him.

But now he knew he was wrong.

"Old man……old man has lived eight thousand years……" his voice hoarse, almost inaudible, "No, old man has lived thirty thousand years……existed since the birth of the Immortal Realm……seen countless heaven‑chosen ones transcend tribulation, seen countless God‑Transformations arise……but never seen……never seen anything like this……"

He could go on no further.

Because he could find no fitting words to describe what lay before his eyes.

For thirty thousand years he had witnessed the births of countless God‑Transformation cultivators. Some succeeded in their tribulation with heavenly sweet rain and earthly golden lotuses; some with myriad rays of rosy light and thousands of auspicious ribbons; some with ten thousand swords ringing in unison and stars flashing. But never had anyone been like Wang Ping—no portent, no auspicious sign, only a sheet of chaotic light slowly drawing in, only a figure sitting still in meditation.

Yet it was precisely this calm that made him feel an unprecedented shock.

Because it wasn't that there were no phenomena, but that the phenomena were too grand, grand to the point that he could no longer perceive them. It wasn't that there were no auspicious signs, but that the auspicious signs were too profound, profound to the point that he could no longer comprehend them.

Bai Cao Xianzi held Jiu Er tightly, her whole body trembling. She had cultivated for eight thousand years, saved countless people, and had seen the strangest injuries and most bizarre symptoms in the world. But at this moment, she felt like a child who had just embarked on the Dao, facing an incomprehensible existence.

She looked at Wang Ping's silhouette, felt that faint and elusive aura, and a reverence unprecedented welled up in her heart. This was not reverence for the strong, but reverence for the Dao—reverence for that chaotic Dao that embraces all things and transcends everything.

"This child……no, this senior……" she murmured, unconsciously changing her address, "Just……how far has he……gone?"

No one could answer her.

Because no one could see through Wang Ping at this moment.

Cang Xuan stood at the highest point of the ruins, hand on his sword hilt, motionless.

He was a sword cultivator; his sword way pursued purity, sharpness, and an unstoppable advance. He had seen countless strong ones, challenged countless opponents, and never felt the slightest fear. But now, looking at Wang Ping, he felt no sharpness at all.

That was something more terrifying than sharpness.

That was——inclusiveness.

Just as chaos embraces all things, just as the void embraces the stars. This is not weakness, not retreat, but an existence deeper and more unfathomable than any sharpness. Could his sword, no matter how sharp, cut through chaos? Could his sword intent, no matter how pure, pierce the void?

He did not know.

But he knew, that was the direction he sought.

He loosened his grip on the sword hilt, faced Wang Ping's direction, and bowed deeply.

That was the courtesy of a sword cultivator, a sign of respect for a true strong one.

Yu Liuli held the ancient zither, her fingers unconsciously plucking the strings. The notes were broken and discontinuous, not forming a melody, yet they happened to harmonize with the rhythm of the laws flowing in the void. Her eyes were full of shock, full of awe, and also a hint of indescribable joy.

That was the joy of pride for a friend.

That was the joy of happiness for a comrade becoming stronger.

She recalled the scene three years ago, when she first saw Wang Ping outside the Law Corridor. At that time, he was merely a Nascent Soul cultivator, chased and battered by the Pure World Court. But in his eyes, she saw indomitability, she saw resilience, she saw the belief of never giving up.

Three years have passed; that Nascent Soul cultivator has grown into an existence she must look up to.

"So good……" she murmured, tears in her eyes, "So good……"

Jiu Er widened her eyes, gazing at that silhouette, her little face full of seriousness.

The Fusang Tree Power within her body was lightly trembling. That was not fear, but resonance—resonance with the Way of Chaos, resonance with the laws of heaven and earth. That resonance made her feel warm, feel at ease, and feel a kind of unprecedented closeness.

"Big brother……" she murmured, her voice soft yet carrying a hint of pride, "Big brother has become so strong……"

She recalled the first time she saw Wang Ping, when he was merely an ordinary cultivator, hounded and wounded by the Pure World Court. But now, he has become this strong.

She recalled these forty-nine days, when she kept watch by the ruins every day, looking at that expanse of chaotic light surging without cease. She did not know what her big brother was undergoing, but she knew he must be fighting, battling those terrible things.

Now, big brother has won.

She is so happy.

You Ying did not speak.

She merely stood there, gazing at that silhouette, motionless.

There were tears in her eyes.

They were tears of joy, tears of waiting, tears of finally waiting until this moment.

Forty-nine days.

She stood here for forty-nine days, without closing her eyes, without eating, without drinking. She merely gazed at the chaos, at that faint and elusive silhouette, waiting for him to walk out.

On the first day, that patch of chaotic light had just formed; she did not know what he was undergoing inside, only knowing he must be in great pain. She clenched her fists, nails digging deep into her palms, yet felt no pain.

On the seventh day, the chaotic light began to surge, and illusory shadows of laws flickered within. She saw flames burning, saw ice condensing, saw thunder rumbling. She did not know what he was enduring, but she knew it must be terrifying. She bit her lips until they bled, yet felt nothing.

On the fourteenth day, the chaotic light began to contract, as if gathering something. She saw his silhouette appearing and disappearing within, sitting cross-legged, motionless. She did not know whether he was still alive, only knowing she must continue waiting. She stood there like a statue, letting wind and rain beat upon her, motionless.

On the twenty-first, thirty-fifth, forty-second days……each day was agony, each day was waiting. Countless times she wanted to rush in, to pull him out, to tell him not to undergo the tribulation; she would rather he remain a Nascent Soul cultivator for his whole life than let him suffer this. But she could not. Because that was his choice, his Dao, something she must respect.

The forty-ninth day.

He finally came out.

He succeeded.

She wanted to rush over, to embrace him, to tell him how worried she was, how much she missed him. But her feet seemed nailed to the ground, unable to take a single step.

Because she was afraid.

Afraid that this was merely a dream.

Afraid that if she drew near, he would vanish.

During these forty-nine days, she had had countless such dreams. Each time she rushed over to embrace him, each time he dissipated into nothingness in her arms. Each time she woke from the dream, she found her face covered in tears.

She feared this time was also a dream.

Just then——

That silhouette, moved.

Wang Ping slowly opened his eyes.

Then, he saw her.

That slender silhouette stood at the edge of the ruins, motionless. Her face was streaked with tears. Her eyes held joy, anticipation, and a hint of wary fear.

He saw her gaunt face, saw her weary expression, saw the deep exhaustion in her eyes. For forty-nine days, she had kept watch here, without closing her eyes, without eating, without drinking—just to wait for him to come out, to wait for him to be safe.

Wang Ping's heart gave a violent jolt.

That was a feeling he had never known, as if an invisible hand had tightly gripped his heart. It was not pain, but an indescribable warmth, a feeling that moved him to the marrow.

He took a step forward, and in the next instant, he appeared before her.

The two were no more than three feet apart.

You Ying looked at him, her lips trembling slightly, yet unable to make a sound.

She smelled the familiar scent on him——that of chaos, that of law, that of the scent she had day and night longed for during these forty-nine days. She saw the light in his eyes——that of chaos, that of wisdom, and moreover, that of gentleness.

She wanted to speak, to call his name, to tell him how much she missed him. But her throat seemed blocked by something, unable to utter a single word.

Wang Ping did not speak.

He simply reached out and gently held her hand.

Her hand was still cold, but this time she gripped it tightly.

The familiar sensation made Youying tremble all over. She lowered her head, looking at the hand that held hers—that hand was warm and strong, with long fingers and thin calluses on the palm. It was Wang Ping's hand, real, not a dream.

"I'm back."

Four words, spoken softly, yet they made Youying's tears burst forth completely.

She flung herself into his embrace, hugging him tightly and bursting into loud sobs.

Forty-nine days of waiting, forty-nine days of fear, forty-nine days of prayer—all turned into tears that streamed freely at this moment.

She cried like a child, bearing no trace of the Nascent Soul cultivator's poise, no trace of the Youying Palace Master's dignity. She was merely a woman, a woman who had waited forty-nine days and finally welcomed her beloved's return.

Wang Ping held her, saying nothing.

He merely stroked her back gently, letting her tears soak his lapel.

He felt her body trembling, felt her hot tears. He recalled that over these forty-nine days she must have endured countless sleepless nights, borne countless fears and worries. He recalled the look in her eyes each time she gazed at that chaotic light—hope, prayer, fear, resolve.

"Sorry." He said softly, his voice a little hoarse, "I made you worry."

Youying shook her head, burying her face in his chest, and cried even harder.

She wanted to say it was fine, that all she needed was his safety, that she was willing to wait, even a lifetime. But she couldn't speak, only shaking her head desperately, clinging to him tightly, as if letting go would make him vanish.

In the distance, Cangxuan silently turned away, no longer looking.

He was a sword cultivator, who usually disdained romantic entanglements. But now he felt a soreness in his eyes. He recalled the woman who had once blocked a sword for him years ago, and her smile before she died. If back then he too could have returned alive like Wang Ping…

He did not let himself think further.

Yuliuli cradled her guqin, tears streaming down her face, yet she wore a smile.

She watched the embracing pair, and an indescribable feeling welled up in her heart. She recalled her long cultivation journey—over eight thousand years she had saved countless souls, witnessed countless partings in life and death. Yet never had a moment moved her as this one did.

Because she knew they deserved it.

The Black Tortoise Venerable lay on the stretcher, grinning broadly, laughing until tears streamed down.

He had lived thirty thousand years, seen countless joys and sorrows. He thought his heart was already iron and stone, unmoved by anything. Yet now, watching the embracing pair, he could not hold back his old tears.

"Youth is truly wonderful…" he murmured, voice choking, "truly wonderful…"

The Hundred Herbs Fairy wiped her tears, laughing and crying at once. She had practiced medicine for eight thousand years, seen countless partings in life and death, thinking she had grown indifferent to everything. Yet now she could not hold back her tears.

Jiu Er ran over, flung her arms around Wang Ping's leg, and lifted her little face.

"Big brother! Big brother! You succeeded! You really succeeded!"

Her small face was full of smiles, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She didn't know what big brother and Youying elder sister were doing, but she knew big brother had succeeded, become incredibly powerful, and she was overjoyed.

Wang Ping lowered his head to look at her, at the smile on her face, at the pride in her eyes, and a warmth unlike any he had felt before welled up in his heart.

He crouched down and gently patted her head.

"Yeah. We succeeded."

He lifted his gaze toward the distance.

There, the two mid-Nascent Soul figures were trembling.

Time rewound to before an incense stick's burn.

When that chaotic light began to dissipate, the burly Nascent Soul and the slender Nascent Soul were hiding behind a dead star a million li from the fragments of the Immortal Palace.

That dead star was a planet long devoid of life. Its surface was covered in thick dust, with no sign of any existence. It drifted alone in the void, like an abandoned wasteland.

At that moment, the two Nascent Souls hid in a crater on the far side of the dead star. They restrained all their aura, not daring to circulate even the power of order, fearing detection by the presence within the chaotic light.

They dared not approach.

That heavenly tribulation had already left them with their courage shattered.

Forty-nine days earlier, they had personally witnessed that pillar of light descend from the heavens, instantly annihilating thirty order disciples and severely wounding the two of them, mid-Nascent Soul cultivators. The pillar's power rivaled a full-force strike from a late Nascent Soul. Had they not fled quickly, and had those order disciples not blocked the front, they would have died beneath that light long ago.

Throughout those forty-nine days, they watched the chaotic light surge incessantly, feeling its terrifying power undulations. Each undulation made their hearts pound; each surge sent chills down their spines. The power contained in those undulations far exceeded their imagination. This was no ordinary heavenly tribulation, but a chaotic force capable of destroying everything.

They had originally wanted to flee.

But the slender Nascent Soul said, "We cannot escape. If the mission fails, returning means death. Better to wait. Wait for him to fail his tribulation, then we can return and make our report. If he succeeds…"

He did not continue.

What if he succeeded?

They dared not think about it.

But they all understood that if that guy truly succeeded in his tribulation, given their prior pursuit of him and their watchful stare over these forty-nine days, he would certainly not let them go.

So they could only wait.

Wait for him to fail his tribulation, wait for the heavenly tribulation to annihilate him, wait until they could return and make their report.

On the morning of the forty-ninth day, as the chaotic light finally began to dissipate, they simultaneously extended their divine sense, wanting to see the outcome.

Then they saw.

The figure seated in meditation slowly opened his eyes.

That gaze, though separated by myriad li of void, felt as if it pierced straight into the depths of their souls.

The burly Nascent Soul felt his whole body stiffen, as if gripped by an invisible giant hand. He wanted to flee, but found his legs utterly unresponsive. He tried to circulate his order power, but discovered those forces were as if frozen, unusable.

"What… what kind of aura is this?!" his voice trembled, "He… he's really just an early Nascent Soul?!"

The slender Nascent Soul's face was equally ashen, the split wound on his brow still throbbing faintly. His perception was sharper than the burly Nascent Soul's, so the fear he felt was even deeper.

As that divine sense swept over them, he felt an unprecedented pressure. It was not mere strength, but an essential transcendence—like mortals facing deities, or ants facing a dragon.

"No… this is no ordinary early Nascent Soul…" his voice hoarse to the point of being barely audible, "His aura… is stronger than any early Nascent Soul we've ever seen… even… even stronger than some mid-Nascent Souls…"

"How is that possible?!" the burly Nascent Soul exclaimed, "He just broke through! His realm isn't even stabilized! How could it be…"

"The Way of Chaos." The slender Nascent Soul interrupted him, word by word, "His Dao is too special. Chaos embraces all things; his foundation is stronger than anyone's. Although he is an early Nascent Soul, his true strength… is probably not inferior to ours."

The burly Nascent Soul fell silent.

He recalled the heavenly tribulation forty‑nine days ago, recalled the terror of that pillar of light, recalled the miserable state of those order apostles being erased in an instant.

Could someone who survived such a heavenly tribulation possibly be an ordinary early‑stage Nascent Soul cultivator?

Could someone capable of surviving such a heavenly tribulation be someone they could handle?

"Go." He gritted his teeth, "Leave before he notices us, hurry!"

The two Nascent Soul cultivators turned to flee.

But just then—

A terrifying divine sense swept over from the direction of the Immortal Palace ruins.

Its strength, breadth, and profundity made them stiffen all over.

This was not an ordinary divine sense probe; it was as if an invisible giant hand had directly penetrated the depths of their souls. Everything about them—their cultivation, techniques, weaknesses, fears—had nowhere to hide under that divine sense.

A distance of ten thousand li was meaningless before that divine sense.

They were locked on.

"It's over." The lanky Nascent Soul cultivator murmured, his eyes full of despair.

The burly Nascent Soul cultivator still wanted to struggle, desperately circulating his order power to tear open the void and escape, but as soon as he raised his hand he found the surrounding space completely sealed.

It was an invisible domain.

Chaos Domain.

A Chaos Domain far stronger than before—more than a hundred times stronger.

Centered on the Immortal Palace ruins, it covered a thousand‑li radius of void. Within the domain, all laws were under Wang Ping's control: space was solidified, time slowed, order power was suppressed to the point of immobility. They could feel that power's presence—everywhere, omnipotent, as if the very heavens and earth were arrayed against them.

The two Nascent Soul cultivators, like insects trapped in amber, were firmly held in place.

Then they saw—

That figure slowly rose from the Immortal Palace ruins.

Wang Ping.

A faint chaos light swirled around him. That light was gentle yet profound, yet it filled them with an unprecedented fear. Though the light appeared soft, it contained power enough to destroy everything; though it appeared calm, it contained terror enough to devour everything.

He took a step, and in the next instant he appeared a hundred zhang before them.

Behind him followed five figures.

Cangxuan, his sword already drawn, sword intent soaring to the heavens. That sword intent was strong enough to cleave stars and tear the void.

Yinying, though his cultivation had plummeted, his eyes burned with fighting spirit. That fighting spirit was so intense it seemed to want to devour them alive.

Yuliuli, an ancient zither rested across her knees, the fairy‑tone bell swaying gently. The zither's sound was ethereal, yet it held power enough to disturb the mind.

Xuan Gui Zunzhe lay on a stretcher carried by the Hundred Herbs Fairy, yet a earth‑yellow light still circulated around him. That light was heavy as a mountain, containing power enough to suppress everything.

The Hundred Herbs Fairy, her hands forming seals, a verdant light ready at any moment to heal. That light teemed with life, containing power enough to bring the dead back to life.

The six of them surrounded the two Nascent Soul cultivators on all sides.

The burly Nascent Soul cultivator suppressed his fear and shouted sternly: "Wang Ping! What do you want? We are Nascent Soul cultivators of the Pure World Court! If you kill us, the Pure World Court will not let you off!"

His voice was loud, loud, as if the louder it was the more it could mask his inner fear. But Wang Ping could hear that the voice was trembling, shaking, like leaves trembling in an autumn wind.

Wang Ping looked at him without speaking.

That gaze was calm as water, yet it sent a chill down his spine.

In that gaze there was no anger, no killing intent, only calm—a calm more terrifying than anger or killing intent. It was the calm of looking down on all beings, the calm of controlling everything. Under that gaze he felt himself like an ant, an ant that could be crushed at any moment.

The lanky Nascent Soul cultivator likewise spoke, his voice hoarse: "Wang Ping, although you have survived the tribulation, you have only just entered the Nascent Soul stage and your realm is not yet stable. The two of us together, you may not be able to win. Why not each take a step back? We will leave, and from now on we will stay out of each other's way—how about that?"

His words sounded reasonable, but he was actually probing. He wanted to know Wang Ping's current condition, to see if he was truly as strong as he appeared. After all, a cultivator who has just broken through to Nascent Soul usually needs a long time to consolidate his realm; during this period their strength is often inferior to that after consolidation.

Wang Ping still did not speak.

He merely looked at them silently, as if he were looking at two ants.

That gaze caused the two Nascent Soul cultivators to collapse completely.

"Attack!" the burly Nascent Soul cultivator bellowed, exerting all his strength as he threw a punch at Wang Ping.

That punch contained all the power of his mid‑Nascent Soul stage; silver order power condensed on his fist into a pillar of light capable of shattering a minor planet. Wherever the pillar passed, space twisted and laws trembled. It was his trump card, his strongest attack.

Wang Ping looked at him and lightly raised his hand.

Just a light lift.

The motion of raising that hand was slow and casual, as if he were merely shooing away an annoying fly. Yet that very casual lift caused the pillar of light capable of shattering stars to come to an abrupt halt before his palm.

Then it slowly dissipated.

It was not blocked, not rebounded, but dissipated—like snow under a scorching sun, like dew under the morning sun, vanishing silently and without trace. No explosion, no impact, nothing at all; it simply disappeared.

The burly Nascent Soul cultivator froze.

"How… how is this possible?!"

His strongest strike, his trump card, was thus lightly blocked by a hand? No, not blocked—it was devoured, transformed, completely dissolved. His power, his order power, before that palm was like a mud‑ox entering the sea, gone forever.

Wang Ping did not answer.

He merely raised his other hand, aimed at the burly Nascent Soul cultivator, and gave a light grasp.

The Chaos Domain instantly contracted.

The burly Nascent Soul cultivator felt the surrounding void turn into solidified amber, locking him firmly in place. He wanted to struggle, but found he could not move at all. He tried to circulate his order power to resist, but discovered those powers were mired in a swamp, unusable. He wanted to beg for mercy, but found his throat seized by an invisible force, unable to utter a single word.

He could only watch helplessly as Wang Ping walked step by step toward him.

One step, two steps, three steps.

Each step felt like treading on his heart, each step deepening his fear by a fraction. He saw Wang Ping's eyes, which still held no anger, no killing intent, only calm. Yet that calm was more terrifying than any killing intent.

"What… what do you intend to do?!"

He finally spoke, his voice hoarse to the point of being almost inaudible.

Wang Ping looked at him, his eyes holding no killing intent, no anger, only calm.

"Three years ago, you hunted us down outside the Law Corridor."

His voice was soft, yet like a heavy hammer striking the stalwart Nascent Soul's heart.

The stalwart Nascent Soul's face instantly turned deathly pale. He recalled the scene from three years ago, recalled the cultivators they had hunted down, recalled the Nascent Soul cultivator who self-detonated to shield his companions. Back then, they thought it was just an ordinary mission, hunting down a few ignorant ants. They never imagined that among those ants, someone would grow to this extent.

"Three years ago, you forced the Mountain-Moving Senior to self-detonate, buying us a sliver of life."

Wang Ping's voice remained calm, but the stalwart Nascent Soul could hear the turmoil beneath that calm—anger, grief, longing for the departed. He recalled the self-detonating Nascent Soul cultivator, the earth-shaking explosion, the figure sacrificing himself to shield his companions.

"Three years later, you came again to the Immortal Palace, slaughtering survivors, wounding my comrades, forcing me to undergo tribulation."

Wang Ping paused, then slowly raised his hand.

"This debt, it's time to settle."

The stalwart Nascent Soul wanted to say something—wanted to say it was the order of the Pure World Court, wanted to say they were merely following orders, wanted to say they also had unavoidable difficulties. But he no longer had the chance to speak.

Wang Ping's palm lightly pressed against his chest.

Chaotic power surged forth like a tide.

At that moment, the stalwart Nascent Soul felt a sensation never before experienced—not pain, but utter emptiness. His body, his power, his consciousness slowly dissolved within that chaotic force, like snowflakes falling into fire, like water droplets merging into the sea.

He wanted to struggle, to resist, to cry for help. But it was useless. Before the chaotic power, his orderly power was like child's play, his Nascent Soul cultivation like ants.

His body suddenly exploded, turning into countless silver specks of light that dissipated into the void. His origin of order was completely devoured, transformed, and digested by the chaotic power. What originally belonged to him, the orderly power he had painstakingly cultivated over thousands of years, now became nourishment for Wang Ping's Chaotic Dao.

There was not even a chance to resist.

A mid-stage Nascent Soul cultivator fell just like that.

That slender Nascent Soul trembled all over, his eyes filled with fear.

He watched helplessly as his companion turned to nothing, as that terrifying power devoured everything. He wanted to flee, but the surrounding chaotic domain locked him fast, leaving him unable to move. He wanted to resist, but his orderly power was suppressed within the chaotic domain like stagnant water. He wanted to beg for mercy, but he knew it would be useless.

"No… don't kill me…" his voice hoarse, almost inaudible, "I… I can tell you the secrets of the Pure World Court… I can be your insider… I can…"

He desperately promised, desperately begged, desperately wanted to live. After thousands of years of cultivation, he had finally reached this point; he did not want to die, not like this.

Wang Ping looked at him, saying nothing.

He simply walked slowly up to him.

That slender Nascent Soul struggled desperately, silver orderly power surging wildly, trying to break through the chaotic domain's blockade. But those powers were like mud oxen entering the sea—gone without return. Each impact drained his strength a little; each failure deepened his despair.

"Useless." Wang Ping's voice was calm, "In my domain, everything of yours is under my control."

He raised his hand and pressed it against the Nascent Soul's brow.

Chaotic power surged in, instantly destroying his core.

That slender Nascent Soul widened his eyes, his eyes full of despair and unwillingness. He saw Wang Ping's eyes, which still held no anger, no killing intent, only calm. In that calm gaze, he saw his own reflection—a tiny, pitiful, dying ant struggling.

His body slowly disintegrated, turning into countless silver specks of light that dissipated into the void.

A second mid-stage Nascent Soul cultivator fell.

It took no more than the time it takes to burn an incense stick.

Two mid-stage Nascent Soul cultivators thus died at Wang Ping's hands.

In the distance, Cang Xuan silently sheathed his sword.

His sword had no chance to be drawn—not because there was no opportunity, but because it was unnecessary. Wang Ping alone settled everything.

He gazed at the place where the two Nascent Souls had dissipated, and a complex emotion welled up in his heart—shock, admiration, and a hint of faint loss. As a sword cultivator, he longed to battle the strong, to temper his swordsmanship in combat. Yet now he had no chance to strike.

However, that loss was quickly replaced by relief, for the one who had grown strong was his comrade, his friend, the partner he would give his all for.

Yu Liuli embraced her guqin, her eyes full of shock.

She knew Wang Ping had grown stronger, but she never imagined he had become this strong. Two mid-stage Nascent Soul cultivators were like ants before him, with no room to resist. She recalled the miserable Yuan Infant cultivator hunted down three years ago, then looked at this figure who effortlessly slew mid-stage Nascent Souls—it felt like another world.

Mysterious Turtle Venerable lay on the stretcher, mouth agape, unable to speak for a long while.

He had lived thirty thousand years, seen countless powerhouses, witnessed countless battles. He had seen late-stage Nascent Soul cultivators clash, seen immortals of the celestial realm act, seen forces capable of destroying star systems. Yet he had never seen a cultivator who had just broken through to early Nascent Soul stage so effortlessly slay two mid-stage Nascent Souls.

After a long while, he managed to utter: 'Old man… old man this life… was worth it…'

Bai Cao Xianzi was equally shocked, but she felt more relief.

She gazed at Wang Ping's back, recalling the first time she saw him—then he was gravely wounded, near death, and she had rescued him. Back then she merely thought he was an ordinary cultivator, a wounded soul needing aid. She never imagined that this ordinary cultivator would achieve such heights today.

This child has finally grown up.

Jiu'er ran over, hugged Wang Ping's leg, and lifted her little face.

"Big brother is awesome! Big brother beat all the bad guys away!"

Her little face was full of admiration, her eyes sparkling like stars. In her eyes, big brother is the strongest person, an invincible hero.

Wang Ping lowered his head to look at her, giving a faint smile.

He crouched down, gently patting her head. That tiny head, soft hair, warmed his heart. He thought of her background, of her tragic experiences. He silently vowed to protect her well, letting her grow up safe and sound.

He lifted his head and gazed into the distance.

There, the fleeing Order Apostles had long vanished; the shattered silver light-net fragments drifted slowly in the void. Those fragments glimmered faintly in the sunlight, like shards of broken dreams.

The three waves of attacks by the Pure World Court were utterly annihilated.

Thirty Order Apostles, two mid-stage Nascent Soul cultivators—all fell.

But he knew this was only the beginning.

Even stronger enemies lie ahead.

Even greater challenges await.

The Pure World Court will not give up. Having lost so much strength, they will surely dispatch even stronger beings to hunt them down. Next time they come, it might not be mid-stage Nascent Souls, but late-stage Nascent Souls, or even legendary entities.

But he is not afraid.

Because he is no longer the Yuan Infant cultivator who needed protection.

He is a Nascent Soul.

He is a Nascent Soul of the Chaotic Dao.

He is an existence capable of battling a mid-stage Void God cultivator, even slaying one.

He turned his head, gazing at You Ying.

You Ying stood not far away, looking at him.

Their eyes met, everything was conveyed in silence.

He saw the joy in her eyes, the pride in her eyes, and that lingering worry not yet fully dispelled. He knew that no matter how strong he became, she would worry about him, she would fret for him.

He walked over and gently took her hand.

Her hand was still cold, but she gripped it tightly.

"Let's go."

You Ying looked at him and gave a faint smile.

"Alright."

Six figures slowly flew toward the Immortal Palace Ruins.

Behind them, that expanse of void remained silent.

Only those shattered silver fragments floated silently in the void, quietly recounting the outcome of this battle.

The three waves of attacks from the Pure World Court—

The entire army was annihilated.

Immortal Palace Ruins, the shattered halls cast long shadows in the sunlight.

Those collapsed stone pillars, those broken stone slabs, those lands soaked in blood, silently spoke of the forty-nine days' cruelty. At the center of the ruins, a sapling of the Firmament Tree swayed gently, crystal dew hanging on its leaves, as if mourning the departed.

Wang Ping stood at the highest point of the ruins, overlooking all of this.

His divine sense swept over every corner of the ruins, sensing the lingering auras. Among them were the auras of the Immortal Palace survivors, the Order Disciples, the two Void Gods, and his comrades. Each aura was a story; each story etched upon this ruin.

He recalled everything that had happened during these forty-nine days.

He recalled the terror of the heavenly tribulation, the attacks of the law phantoms, the moments when he nearly fell. He recalled the pillar of light descending from the heavens, instantly annihilating thirty Order Disciples. He recalled the fear of the two mid-stage Void Gods, their final death struggles.

He recalled the self-detonation of the Mountain-Moving Senior, the figure that sacrificed itself to shield them. He recalled the Immortal Palace survivors, the souls who died defending their homeland. He recalled his comrades, their perseverance and wait over these forty-nine days.

Everything, everything, was etched in his heart.

You Ying walked to his side and gently took his hand.

She said nothing, merely quietly accompanying him.

She knew what he was thinking, knew what he needed. She needed not speak; just being by his side was enough.

In the distance, Cang Xuan sat cross-legged on a stone slab, eyes closed, nurturing his spirit. His sword lay across his knees, sword intent flowing, as if resonating with heaven and earth. He was contemplating, cultivating, preparing for future battles.

Yu Liuli sat at the edge of the ruins, lightly plucking the strings. The music was lingering and graceful, like a mountain spring, like birdsong in the forest, bringing a hint of life and hope to this shattered ruin. She recalled these days' experiences, recalled those life-and-death moments, recalled the comrades who fought side by side. In her heart welled up an indescribable emotion.

Xuan Gui Zunzhe lay on the stretcher, already fast asleep. He was exhausted; the forty-nine days of waiting had drained all his strength. His snore thundered like thunder, yet it reassured everyone. That snore proved he was still alive, proved they still had this thirty-thousand-year-old old coot by their side.

Bai Cao Xianzi sat aside, preparing pills. Her movements were gentle and skilled; each herb blossomed with its proper radiance in her hands. Her eyes were full of focus, as if nothing in the world concerned her. Yet occasionally she would lift her head, glance at the distant Wang Ping, and a hint of relief flickered in her eyes.

Jiu Er lay curled at Wang Ping's feet, already asleep. A smile played on her little face, as if she were having a sweet dream. Her hand clung tightly to the corner of Wang Ping's robe, as if fearing he might leave again.

The setting sun cast its golden light upon the ruins, gilding this shattered land with a hue of gold. The collapsed stone pillars, the shattered slabs, the earth soaked in blood—all appeared especially desolate yet splendid in the sunset.

Wang Ping gazed upon all this, and a complex emotion welled up in his heart.

Sorrow, for the lives that have passed.

Relief, for still being alive.

Gratitude, for the comrades who have stood by him.

Resolve, for the battles to come.

He knew the road ahead was still long and arduous; the Jing Shi Ting would not give up easily, and stronger foes lay ahead. Yet he felt no fear, for he was not alone.

He had You Ying, Cang Xuan, Yu Liuli, Xuan Gui Zunzhe, Bai Cao Xianzi, and Jiu Er. These comrades, these friends, these people willing to fight shoulder to shoulder with him, were his greatest wealth and his strongest support.

He drew a deep breath, turned, and looked toward the crowd.

"Thank you."

His voice was soft, yet it reached each person's ears clearly.

Cang Xuan opened his eyes, glanced at him, said nothing, merely gave a slight nod. That was the acknowledgment of a sword cultivator, the unspoken understanding between comrades.

Yu Liuli stopped plucking, lifted her head, and gave a faint smile. Her smile blossomed like a flower, lovely enough to stir the heart.

Xuan Gui Zunzhe rolled over, muttered something, and continued sleeping.

Bai Cao Xianzi lifted her head, eyes smiling, and said, "What thanks? We are comrades."

You Ying gripped his hand tightly, saying nothing. Yet her gaze already conveyed everything.

In her sleep, Jiu Er turned over and murmured, "Big brother is the strongest..."

Wang Ping laughed.

It was a laugh from the heart, a warm laugh, a laugh full of hope.

He lifted his head and gazed into the distance.

There, the sunset was sinking, but tomorrow the morning sun would still rise.

A new day, a new battle, a new hope.

All are waiting for them.

And he, is already ready.

Chaos Era, forty-ninth day.

The primordial spirit has just taken form.

A new chapter has just begun.

Deep night, the moon bright and stars sparse.

A bonfire blazed on the ruins, with everyone gathered around it.

The Venerable Black Tortoise had already awakened, lying there telling his story from thirty thousand years ago. He spoke of the Immortal Realm's former glory, of the mighty ones' bearing, of the heaven-and-earth-shattering battle. His voice was aged and hoarse, yet carried an indescribable charm, making one unable to help but become immersed.

【"Back then, ah, when the Immortal Realm was at its peak, that was called prosperous." The Venerable Black Tortoise narrowed his eyes, as if sinking into memory, "Those who fly in the sky, run on the ground, swim in the water were all cultivators. Void Gods walked everywhere, Void Refinements were as numerous as dogs. Back then the Immortal Palace was more than ten times larger than now, resplendent with gold and jade, magnificent and luxurious."】

The crowd listened, sometimes exclaiming in amazement, sometimes feeling moved.

Wang Ping sat to the side, listening quietly, occasionally interjecting a sentence. In his mind arose those legendary scenes, imagining the Immortal Realm's former glory. That was thirty thousand years ago, distant as a myth.

But he knew, those were all true.

Because the Venerable Black Tortoise is a witness who survived from that era.

【"What happened next?" Jiu Er widened her eyes, curiously asking, "How did the Immortal Realm then collapse?"】

The Venerable Black Tortoise fell silent for a moment, then sighed.

【"Later... later a madman appeared."】

【"A madman?" Jiu Er became even more curious.】

【"Yes, a madman." In the Venerable Black Tortoise's eyes flashed a hint of complex emotion, "No one remembers what that madman was called. All we know is that he was the Immortal Realm's first genius, reaching the Void Refinement stage in less than a thousand years. He could have become the Immortal Realm's pride, an object of universal admiration. But he instead took another path."】

【"What path?" This time it was Yu Liuli who asked.】

The Venerable Black Tortoise remained silent for a long time, then slowly uttered two words:

【"Chaos."】

Everyone was startled, and all looked toward Wang Ping.

Wang Ping said nothing, just listened quietly.

【"That madman believed that Chaos was the ultimate Dao." The Venerable Black Tortoise continued, "He thought that order and chaos, light and darkness, all opposing existences should merge in Chaos. He followed a path similar to Wang Ping's, but he went too hastily, too fiercely, too extremely."】

【"What happened to him?" Jiu Er asked further.】

【"He went mad." The Venerable Black Tortoise sighed, "The Way of Chaos is too profound, his foundation unstable, forcing the merger ultimately caused his Dao heart to collapse, leading to qi deviation. He thought he had grasped Chaos, but actually just fell into disorder. He unleashed a massacre in the Immortal Realm, ultimately triggering that battle."】

Everyone fell silent.

They looked at Wang Ping, with a hint of worry in their eyes.

Wang Ping knew what they were thinking, and gave a faint smile.

【"Rest assured, I won't go mad."】

His voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable firmness.

【"I have you."】

Four words, simple, yet warmed everyone's hearts.

The Venerable Black Tortoise looked at him, a flash of relief in his eyes.

【"Good." He nodded, "With those words from you, I can rest easy."】

The night grew deep, the campfire gradually died out.

Everyone found a place to rest, and soon the sound of breathing rose and fell across the ruins.

Wang Ping did not sleep.

He sat cross-legged at the highest point of the ruins, closed his eyes and regulated his breath.

His divine sense enveloped the entire ruins, guarding every sleeping comrade. Any rustle of wind or grass could not escape his perception.