Chapter 401: Deep into the Dead Silence (2)

The Chaos Domain suddenly expanded.

The domain originally compressed to ten zhang, at this moment blossomed like a flower. Not a slow expansion—it was explosive. From ten zhang to a hundred zhang, a hundred zhang to a thousand zhang, a thousand zhang to ten thousand zhang. Chaos power surged out from within him like a breached flood, spreading in all directions.

Wherever it passed, the violent laws, like tamed beasts, gradually calmed. The flame waves no longer roared, but turned into fine spray, lightly lapping at the domain's edge. The icy peaks no longer collapsed, but turned into sparkling ice crystals, drifting slowly within the domain. Lightning no longer struck, but became tiny arcs, silently flickering within the domain. Spatial vortices no longer spread, but turned into gentle breezes, slowly flowing within the domain. Time mist no longer drifted, but became fine points of light, hanging silently within the domain.

The domain was expanding.

Ten thousand zhang, twenty thousand zhang, thirty thousand zhang.

Wang Ping's complexion grew paler and paler, from pallid to ashen, from ashen to nearly translucent white. There was no trace of color on his lips, his eye sockets sunk, his cheekbones protruded. His aura grew weaker and weaker, shifting from that of a Spirit Transformation cultivator to that of a Foundation Establishment cultivator, from Foundation Establishment to that of an ordinary person, from ordinary to——

the aura of a dying person.

But his domain was still expanding.

Forty thousand zhang. Fifty thousand zhang.

When the domain expanded to fifty thousand zhang, he finally stopped.

It wasn't that he wanted to stop—his body wouldn't let him continue. In his dantian, the chaos-colored Golden Core had ceased spinning. Not shattered, but—emptied. All Chaos Immortal Essence had been drained, not a drop left. The Golden Core resembled a squeezed‑dry fruit: shriveled, dull, devoid of any luster.

A trace of fresh blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

That blood was not red—it was chaos‑colored. Chaos Power had permeated his blood, robbing it of its natural hue and turning it into a murky, grayish liquid. That drop of blood slid from the corner of his mouth and fell into the Sea of Laws, raising a faint ripple.

"Go."

His voice was very soft, soft as a spider's silk in the wind, liable to snap at any moment. Yet he stepped forward.

Forward.

At that moment, the entire Sea of Laws trembled.

The violent laws sensed his presence. No—they sensed his weakness. The Sea of Laws is not dead; it possesses a primal, instinctive 'awareness'. It does not think, does not judge, but it perceives. It can perceive the strength of intruders, the thickness of a domain, and the existence of flaws.

And now, it perceived Wang Ping's weakness.

His Chaos Immortal Essence was nearly exhausted, his domain teetering on collapse, his body on the brink of disintegration. He was prey—appearing strong but actually utterly spent. The Sea of Laws, like sharks scenting blood, went berserk and lunged at them.

A sea of fire rose to the heavens.

Not the previous waves—it was the entire sea of fire overturning. Hundred‑zhang‑high fire waves became thousand‑zhang‑high walls of fire, pressing in from all directions simultaneously. Fire is alive, tangible—you can see distorted faces within the flames, the last memories of a world burned by fire. They gape, voicelessly howling, seeking to drag him into the fire sea.

The ice plain collapsed.

Not just one or two ice peaks—the entire ice plain was collapsing. Gigantic ice blocks fell from the void, each the size of a mountain. They smashed into the fire sea, sending up clouds of steam. The collision of ice and fire produced a strange energy—neither heat nor cold, but a 'rend'. Space was being rent, time was being rent, existence itself was being rent.

Thunderstorms roared.

Not just one or two bolts—tens of millions of lightning bolts struck simultaneously. They spawned from the void, from the fire sea, from the ice plain, from every corner. Purple, silvery white, golden yellow, pitch black—various colors intertwined, forming a vast electric net that blanketed the entire void.

The abyss devoured.

Not a tiny vortex—countless massive abysses yawned open at once. They resembled a starving giant beast, mouths black as holes, waiting for prey to walk in. Their suction combined, forming a terrifying force that dragged everything around toward the center.

Amber solidified.

The time mist was no longer drifting—it condensed into solid chunks. Chunks of gray‑white amber floated in the void, each preserving a moment—a flame burning, a lightning bolt striking, a vortex spinning. Those moments were eternally sealed within the amber, becoming eternal.

Wang Ping gritted his teeth.

His teeth made a grating sound in his mouth—not from cold, but from exertion. He was using the last of his strength to maintain the Chaos Domain. The fifty‑zhang domain began to shrink under the laws' onslaught—fifty thousand zhang became forty thousand, forty thousand became thirty thousand, thirty thousand became twenty thousand, twenty thousand became ten thousand.

His seven apertures began to bleed.

Eyes, nose, ears, mouth—seven streaks of blood flowed from his face, dripping onto his robes and into the Sea of Laws. His robes were soaked through with blood, old and new indistinguishable. His body trembled from fingertips to toes, from skin to bone, from flesh to primordial spirit. Every inch quivered, every inch wailed.

His primordial spirit began to wail.

The Chaos Primordial Spirit in his sea of consciousness emitted a low hum, containing pain, fatigue, despair—but also unwillingness. Unwilling to fall here. Unwilling to give up like this. Unwilling to let the Spirit Realm become a mere speck in the abyss.

"Hurry up and go!"

His voice had changed, hoarse and broken, like rubbing sandpaper. Yet he still shouted.

Cang Xuan did not hesitate.

He grabbed Wang Ping's arm and hoisted him onto his shoulder. Wang Ping was half a head taller than him, but now his body was as light as a feather—his Chaos Immortal Essence was exhausted, his flesh was collapsing, his weight was diminishing. This was an ill omen—when a cultivator's body grows lighter, it means his existence is being dissolved.

Cang Xuan carried Wang Ping and rushed forward.

His Sword Intent surged wildly within him, not for attack—but for protection. He gathered all his Sword Intent at his body's surface, forming an invisible armor. The laws' impacts struck the armor, emitting a piercing screech, like sandpaper grinding steel.

Yu Liuli clung to her guqin, desperately plucking the strings.

The strings vibrated wildly under her fingers, emitting a sharp, piercing sound that almost tore the eardrums. The sound held no melody, no rhythm—only power. Pure, primal, unstoppable force. The strings snapped one after another—first, second, third—each break drew a trace of fresh blood from the corner of her mouth. Yet she did not stop; she kept plucking, using broken strings, bloody fingers, all her spiritual power.

Those guqin notes produced no sound—sound cannot propagate in the Sea of Laws. But they carried vibration. Those vibrations traveled through the void, resonating with the surrounding laws, disrupting their rhythm, delaying their assault. Each vibration bought Cang Xuan a breath's time for his charge. A breath—just enough for a single step. But a step was enough.

You Ying walked at the rear.

Her eyes locked onto the gaps in the laws, guiding Wang Ping's direction. No—now she was guiding Cang Xuan's direction. Her eyes were bleeding, not from attack but from overuse. Those gaps in her vision grew ever blurrier, ever dimmer, like filaments about to burn out. Yet she kept looking, kept searching, kept pointing.

"Left! Right! Front! Be careful! Quick! Quick! Quick!"

Her voice grew ever more urgent, ever hoarser, finally becoming a pure howl.

One step, two steps, three steps——

Ten steps, a hundred steps, a thousand steps——

Cang Xuan bore Wang Ping and sprinted madly through the Sea of Laws. His Sword Intent armor began to crack under the laws' impacts, flaking off piece by piece. Wounds appeared on his body—burns from fire, frostbite from ice, cuts from lightning, tears from space, corrosion from time. They covered him thickly, head to toe, each bleeding.

But he did not stop.

In a swordsman's dictionary, there is no word for 'stop'.

No one knew how long he had run—perhaps the length of an incense stick, perhaps an hour, perhaps a day—Cang Xuan finally could run no further.

It wasn't that his stamina was exhausted—a swordsman's stamina is limitless. It was his Sword Intent that had run dry. That armor had completely shattered, and the wellspring of his Sword Intent was worn away by the laws' onslaught. His sword let out a final hum in its sheath, then—silence.

A swordsman without Sword Intent is like a fish without water. He still lived, but he could no longer fight.

Yu Liuli's strings were all broken.

Ten strings, none left. Her guqin bore only a bare pole and the broken string ends. Her fingers trembled, blood dripping from the tips onto the instrument's body and strings. She gazed at the guqin that had accompanied her for hundreds of years; a flicker of pain crossed her eyes—but she suppressed it. The guqin can be repaired, the strings replaced, but life is singular.

You Ying's eyes could no longer see clearly.

Those gaps vanished completely in her field of vision, leaving only a patch of blurry, chaotic light. Her eyes were bleeding; tears mixed with blood streamed down her cheeks and fell into the Sea of Laws. She blinked hard, trying to see a little clearer, but she could see nothing at all. Only light, only color, only a expanse of chaos.

And Wang Ping—

Wang Ping collapsed.

When Cang Xuan was carrying him, he was already half-unconscious. Now, when Cang Xuan could no longer hold on, his body slipped from Cang Xuan's shoulder and slowly sank into the Sea of Laws.

Those laws, like countless hands, dragged him toward the abyss.

Flame law wrapped around his limbs, searing his skin. Ice law froze his blood, solidifying his meridians. Thunder law shattered his bones, piercing his dantian. Space law devoured his spiritual sense, dissolving his primordial spirit. Time law eroded his memory, wiping out his existence.

He was sinking.

One zhang, two zhang, three zhang.

He could feel his body being dismantled—not pain, for pain had already passed. It was a numb, icy feeling that made one want to give up. Like swimming in a river in deep winter, the body grew colder and heavier, consciousness ever more hazy. You know that if you don't surface you'll never be able to rise again, but you no longer have the strength to swim. You want to give up, to just sink down, to the riverbed, into darkness, into eternal rest.

Wang Ping's consciousness was fading.

He recalled many things.

He recalled the small mountain village of the mortal world, recalled that dilapidated Daoist temple, recalled the visage of his master Cang Lao. He recalled the pain when he first cultivated the Chaos Technique, the joy when he first manifested the Chaos Domain, the exhilaration when he first slew a formidable foe. He recalled Cang Xuan's sword, Yu Liuli's zither, You Ying's eyes. He recalled the mountains and rivers of the Spirit Realm, recalled those who were waiting for their return.

Those people—they were waiting.

Waiting for Wang Ping to return, waiting for the fragments of the Immortal Realm to return, waiting for hope to return.

Wang Ping's finger twitched.

It was a minuscule motion, light as a butterfly's wingbeat. Yet his finger had indeed moved.

His Chaos Primordial Spirit let out a low rumble in the sea of consciousness. That rumble held anger—not anger at the Sea of Laws, not anger at the Return to the Ruins, but anger at himself. He was angry at his own impotence, angry at his own surrender, angry at himself—for almost falling asleep.

Cannot sleep.

He cannot sleep.

The Spirit Realm still waits for him.

He opened his eyes.

At that very moment, a beam of light blazed up from the depths of the Sea of Laws.

That light did not shine in from outside—it emanated from within Wang Ping's body. From his dantian, from his golden core, from his primordial spirit. The light was chaos-colored, warm and profound. It was not the dazzling, violent, aggressive light of the Sea of Laws; it was quiet, gentle, inclusive. Like a mother's gaze, like the moonlight of one's homeland, like the first ray of morning sun piercing the window.

That light illuminated the entire Sea of Laws.

A thousand zhang, ten thousand zhang, a hundred thousand zhang, a million zhang—wherever the light passed, the violent laws, like tamed beasts, gradually calmed. The fire sea receded—not extinguished, but withdrew. Those flame laws no longer roared, no longer raged; they turned into tiny sparks, drifting down slowly in the light, like a red snow.

The ice plains dissolved—not melted, but dissolved. Those ice laws no longer collapsed, no longer pressed down; they turned into crystal-clear droplets, evaporating slowly in the light into wisps of blue mist, scattering into the void.

The thunderstorms subsided—not ceased, but subsided. Those thunder laws no longer struck, no longer rumbled; they turned into tiny arcs, silently flickering in the light, like a single firefly dancing in the night sky.

The abyss closed—not filled, but closed. Those space laws no longer devoured, no longer tore; they turned into a gentle breeze, flowing slowly in the light, like an invisible pair of hands lightly stroking something.

The amber melted—not shattered, but melted. Those time laws no longer solidified, no longer eroded; they turned into fine specks of light, hanging still in the light, like stars twinkling in the night sky.

They turned into countless tiny specks of light, encircling Wang Ping like subjects around a sovereign.

Not submission—the Way of Chaos does not require submission. It is return. They returned to their source, to the place where they were born, like rivers flowing into the sea, like a child returning to a mother's embrace. Not forced, but voluntary. Because chaos is their home.

Wang Ping's body slowly rose.

He rose from the depths of the Sea of Laws like a pearl surfacing from the deep sea. The fragments of law swirled around him, emitting a faint glow, like a crowd of fireflies encircling a lamp. They rotated, danced, and leapt beside him, as if welcoming his return.

He opened his eyes.

In his eyes, chaos-colored light flowed, deeper and brighter than before. Within that light you could see the red of flame pulsing, the blue of ice flashing, the purple of thunder wandering, the transparency of space rippling, the gray of time flowing. All colors interwove, merged, and coexisted within the chaos hue, like an everlasting painting that never fades.

His Chaos Primordial Spirit was now more substantial, more complete.

Before, his Chaos Primordial Spirit was like a newborn infant—chaotic but vague. Its form was still unstable, its power not yet strong, its essence not yet clear. But now it resembled a growing adolescent—chaotic yet clear. You could see its outline, sense its power, comprehend its essence.

He could perceive the essence of more laws. The essence of fire is not burning, but transformation—changing one form into another. The essence of ice is not cold, but stillness—making everything halt, making everything solidify. The essence of thunder is not destruction, but balance—releasing accumulated charge, discharging stored energy. The essence of space is not movement, but existence—without space, there would be no 'here' and 'there'. The essence of time is not change, but causality—without time, there would be no 'because' and 'therefore'.

He could comprehend the principles of more laws. The principle of fire is that combustion requires oxygen; the principle of ice is that condensation requires low temperature; the principle of thunder is that charge requires accumulation; the principle of space is that folding requires force; the principle of time is that flow requires direction. Each principle is a key that opens a door to deeper understanding.

He could wield the power of more laws. It is not about using each law—that is not the path of the Way of Chaos. The Way of Chaos is not about mastering every law, but about understanding all laws and then integrating them into chaos, making chaos richer, more complete, and closer to the essence of the Dao.

He stood up.

His movement was slow and steady, like waking from a long slumber. The wounds on his body remained, but he no longer felt pain. Not numbness—it was transcendence of pain. When your perception is vast enough and your Dao deep enough, bodily pain is like a drop of ink in the ocean: present, but unable to blacken the whole sea.

The Chaos Domain unfolded again.

This time, it was no longer fifty thousand zhang.

It was a million zhang.

The entire Sea of Laws lay within his domain.

The million-zhang Chaos Domain completely engulfed the Sea of Laws—from core to edge, from east to west, from south to north. Those once violent laws, within his domain, were as quiet as sleeping infants—not suppressed, but understood. The Way of Chaos understood them, embraced them, accepted them. They no longer needed to rage, for they had found home.

He gazed at those laws and spoke softly.

"Scatter."

Only a single word—light and faint, as if saying "good night".

The Sea of Laws scattered.

Those violent laws, those raging seas of fire, those collapsing ice plains, those thundering storms, those devouring abysses, those solidified amber—all scattered.

They turned into countless specks of light, slowly dissipating.

Not disappearance—but return. Return to Chaos, return to their source. Like morning mist meeting sunlight, like ice and snow meeting spring breeze. They no longer roared, no longer struggled, no longer sought to devour all. They simply faded quietly, returning to nothingness, returning to origin.

The Sea of Laws vanished.

In the void, only countless specks of light drifted slowly—red, blue, purple, transparent, gray—various colors, like someone had overturned a box full of stars. They flickered briefly in the darkness, then went out one by one, like stars in the night sky closing their eyes.

When the last speck of light went out—

Ahead, a expanse of void appeared.

Not the dark void of the Return to Ruins—that was a darkness of "being," a darkness of existence. This was true void. No light, no darkness, no up, no down, no left, no right. Only "emptiness." Absolute, pure, beginningless and endless emptiness.

At the edge of the void lay a vast tract of land.

That land stretches for millions of miles, suspended in the void. Its shape is highly irregular—not circular, not square, not any geometric shape. It looks like a shattered porcelain plate that someone hastily pieced together. The edges are jagged broken surfaces, revealing the inner rock layers and soil. On those broken surfaces, occasionally one can see some ancient runes flickering—those are runes unique to the Immortal Realm, with complex strokes and exquisite structure, each rune containing the ultimate truth of heaven and earth.

On the land lie ruined immortal palaces.

Those immortal palaces must once have been immensely grand—you can tell their former scale from the ruined walls and broken arches. The palace bases stand a hundred zhang tall, the pillars are ten zhang in diameter, and the steps are over a zhang wide. But now they have all collapsed. Roofs caved in, walls cracked, pillars snapped. Scattered shards of tile and stone litter the ground, buried under layer after layer of dust.

There is a collapsed divine temple.

The divine temple is larger and more magnificent than the immortal palaces. Its base stands a thousand zhang high, its pillars carved with ancient totems—those totems are neither dragons nor phoenixes nor any known creature. They are totems of the Dao, concrete manifestations of heavenly law. A curved line represents a law, a dot a node, a straight line a connection. The whole temple is a vast diagram of the Dao.

But now it has collapsed. The diagram shattered, the totems split, and the Dao—dissipated.

There are withered immortal trees.

Those immortal trees must once have been lush—you can tell their former vigor from the thickness of their trunks. Each trunk is thick enough for ten people to encircle, and their canopies once covered a radius of a thousand zhang. But now they have all withered. Their trunks are covered in cracks, their branches bare, not a leaf in sight. Their roots have been torn from the soil, like countless withered hands reaching into the void, as if begging for something.

There are dried-up immortal springs.

The spring's eye remains, but there is no water. Its rim is encrusted with a layer of white mineral—the residue left after the immortal water evaporated. The ground around the eye is cracked into countless pieces, each as dry as burnt pottery shards.

The air is filled with an ancient and vast aura.

That is the aura of immortals.

It is not spiritual energy—spiritual energy is the energy of heaven and earth, the foundation of cultivators' practice. The immortal's aura is one level higher than spiritual energy. It is the lingering echo of the Dao, the reverberation of law, the trace left by beings who have transcended Spirit Transformation. Taking a breath, you can feel your primordial spirit tremble and your Dao resonate.

Immortal Realm Fragment.

Wang Ping gazed at that tract of land, silent for a long time.

He recalled the road he had traveled—from the crisis in the Spirit Realm, to the traces of the Myriad Phenomena Star Observers, to the guidance of the Transcendents, to the stillness of the Return to the Void, to the fierce battle with the Devouring Beast, to the trial of the Sea of Laws. Every step was a thread between life and death, every step a fight for his life.

He recalled the people who had accompanied him—Cangxuan's sword, Yuliuli's zither, Yinying's eyes. They could have stayed away. Cangxuan could have remained in the Spirit Realm to continue cultivating his sword Dao, Yuliuli could have stayed in the Spirit Realm to play her zither, Yinying could have remained in the void to keep guarding her kin. But they came. Because the Spirit Realm needed them, and because he needed them.

He thought of those waiting for their return—the cultivators of the Spirit Realm, the mortals of the Spirit Realm, every living being in the Spirit Realm. They did not know what the Return to the Void was, what the Devouring Beast was, what the Sea of Laws was. They knew only one thing: Wang Ping would return. He would return bearing hope.

Wang Ping drew a deep breath.

The Return to the Void has no air, but the Immortal Realm Fragment does. That ancient and vast aura flowed into his lungs, carrying a faint fragrance—the last trace of scent left by the withered immortal trees, the final drop of sweetness left by the dried immortal springs.

"We have arrived," he said softly.

Cangxuan walked to his side and gazed at that land. His sword lay silent in its sheath, the origin of his sword intent slowly recovering. He looked at the ruined immortal palaces, the collapsed divine temple, the withered immortal trees, the dried immortal springs, and remained silent for a long time.

"Ancient Immortal Realm..." His voice was soft, tinged with a rare sigh. "Once the lord of all worlds, now merely a fragment in the Return to the Void."

Wang Ping did not answer. He simply gazed at that land, his eyes firm.

"Let's go."

He stepped forward.

Behind him, the three followed closely.

Ahead lay countless seals, remnant souls, and law turbulence left from the Ancient Immortal-Demon War. Though the Immortal Realm Fragment is now broken, it was once part of the Immortal Realm—the domain of the Lord of Myriad Worlds—and could not lack defenses. Though those seals have endured eons of erosion, their residual power is still enough to slay Spirit Transformation cultivators.

Behind him lay the Spirit Realm, and those waiting for their return.

Under the Spirit Realm's sky there are mountains and rivers, flora and fauna, cultivators and mortals. Some cultivate, some labor, some wait. They wait for them to return bearing hope, for them to return bearing the Immortal Realm Fragment, for them to return bearing the Spirit Realm's future.