Chapter 845: Han Wuxian

A year passed.

Chaos brewed deep within the Mutant Zone; Yun Qing's body had already twisted into a nonhuman shape, her spine piercing the skin and extending crystal-like bone wings into the air, and when her abdomen split open, it revealed not organs but a swirling nebula vortex.

When the final fragment of spirit shed merged into her brow, the Mutant Force of the entire Mutant Zone suddenly collapsed wildly toward the center, forming a terrifying vacuum zone.

On treetops three hundred li away, Lata Daoren's figure appeared again, squatting there gnawing a half‑moldy flatbread, his murky pupils reflecting scenes incomprehensible to ordinary people, countless worldlines tangled around the soon‑to‑be‑born life, weaving a massive net of fate.

Yun Qing's scream abruptly ceased; her body swelled like an inflated balloon, her skin gradually becoming transparent, revealing a strange fetus curled within her abdomen. The fetus bore a third vertical pupil on its forehead, and seven crystal‑clear tendrils sprouted from its spinal back, each tip ending in a different kind of mouth—some resembling a dragon's head, some like a flower bud, others shaped like a vortex.

Accompanied by a crisp sound of shattered crystal, Yun Qing's body turned into countless specks of light that dissipated into the air. The fetus hovered mid‑air, its seven tendrils instinctively snatching surrounding light points and devouring them ravenously.

With each morsel of light devoured, a tendril grew a bit, soon weaving into a lapis‑colored cocoon that fully enveloped it. Vascular‑like patterns appeared on the cocoon's surface, expanding and contracting with each breath.

Mutant beasts within a thousand‑li radius suddenly turned en masse toward this direction, the rotting sockets of their eyes flashing with yearning light, as if summoned by some instinct.

The first to pounce was a 'Thousand-Leg Rotting Dragon'; this monster, stitched together from countless corpses and a hundred zhang long, left behind a tar‑like corrosive slime wherever it passed. Hundreds of pallid human hands protruded from its decaying chest, frantically clawing at the hovering lapis cocoon.

Just as those corpse‑hands were about to touch the cocoon, a fissure suddenly split the cocoon's surface, and what emerged was a perfectly flawless human infant's tiny hand!

The hand gently pressed against the foremost corpse‑hand, and in an instant time and space seemed to freeze. Then, centered on the point of contact, the massive body of the Rotting Dragon began to disintegrate into black‑and‑white light particles, all rushing into the cocoon like countless rivers merging into the sea.

In the span of three breaths, the terrifying presence that had dominated the Mutant Zone for centuries was completely devoured, leaving not a trace of residue.

The lapis cocoon quivered slightly, its surface patterns becoming clearer.

From a distance, Lata Daoren squinted, noticing a qualitative change occurring inside the cocoon. The infant's form kept shifting—sometimes taking on a three‑head, six‑arm Asura visage, sometimes becoming an entirely crystal‑clear jade figure, and finally stabilizing into what appeared to be an ordinary human baby, though the vertical pupil on its forehead and the tendrils on its back remained.

The sky over the Mutant Zone suddenly darkened, heavy leaden clouds churning with crimson lightning.

The infant seemed to sense the threat; the lapis cocoon violently contracted, then burst with a roar. A seemingly ordinary boy infant hovered in the air, skin pale as jade, with only the vertical pupil on his forehead and the seven dancing tendrils on his back marking his extraordinary nature.

Facing the onslaught of powerful Abnormal Beasts around him, he neither cried nor flinched, but calmly opened his three eyes.

The first to launch an attack was 'Warrior Tomb'; its body, composed of tens of thousands of rusted weapons, suddenly disintegrated, turning into a metallic storm that swept forward. The infant's seven tendrils behind him rose simultaneously, their tips unfurling to form seven miniature black holes.

An astonishing scene unfolded: every weapon that struck the black holes was instantly broken down into fundamental metal particles, then absorbed by the tendrils. Even more terrifying, a metallic sheen began to appear on the infant's body surface, as if he were assimilating the weapons' properties.

"Mother Nest" spewed a torrent of acid capable of corroding mountains, yet within three zhang of the infant it automatically vaporized into mist, which his vertical pupil absorbed;

"Thousand-Eyed Demon"'s thousands of eyes simultaneously emitted petrifying rays, but on the infant's surface they caused ripples, causing those eyes to burst one after another; another Abnormal Beast attempted to warp space to tear him apart, only to find the space around the infant as solid as rock, its spiritual contamination like a drop of mud in the sea, stirring no ripple.

Countless dark realms were directly devoured by the seven tendrils;

The most powerful Abnormal Beast transformed itself into a sea of blood that descended, only to be swallowed by the infant's opened mouth, like a great whale drawing in water.

This seemingly uneven battle lasted less than half a minute, and the seven mighty Abnormal Beasts all became nourishment for the infant's growth. His body began to enlarge at a visibly rapid pace, and in the blink of an eye he transformed from a newborn into a three‑year‑old child, his skin radiating multicolored sunrise glow—a manifestation of having absorbed various Mutant characteristics.

Lata Daoren, at some point, found himself standing at the battlefield's edge; his tattered Daoist robe rustled in the energy storm, yet he remained completely unaffected by the terrifying aftershocks.

The old woman followed behind him, her face as pale as paper: "Master... this is no longer an ordinary primordial child..."

"Of course not," Lata Daoren spat out a seed, "this is the embodiment of Chaos and Hope, the ultimate champion of the second Chaotic Year of the Great Universe."

The child seemed to notice their presence, and his three eyes simultaneously focused.

In that instant, the old woman felt her very spirit freeze, as if she were confronting not a toddler but a colossal ancient existence.

Lata Daoren, however, grinned, pulled half a flatbread from his pocket and waved it: "Hungry?"

The child tilted his head, a humanized gesture starkly different from his earlier terror. The tendrils behind him slowly retracted into his body, the vertical pupil on his forehead closed and vanished, and in an instant he became an ordinary three‑year‑old boy, barefoot, walking toward Lata Daoren.

The sky over the Mutant Zone suddenly split open with a fissure, and several silhouettes cloaked in starlight flickered in and out.

They were sages who, having sensed the threat, awakened early; their cold gazes pierced layer upon layer of space, locking onto the newly born child. The air grew stagnant, time's flow began to warp, and the very rules of the Mutant Zone twisted under the sages' will.

The child looked up at the sky, showing an expression for the first time—not fear, but pure curiosity.

He extended his small hand, as if trying to grasp those twinkling stars. A chilling event occurred!

The nearest sage's surrounding starlight suddenly dimmed, as if something were being drawn away. The sage instantly severed the connection, the fissure promptly closed, and the sky returned to calm.

Lata Daoren crouched, handing the flatbread to the child: "Take your time, the days are long."

His gaze turned toward the distance.

Strangely, no one actually intervened—neither the sages, the reclusive ancient monsters, nor the things lurking in the darkness chose to act.

The child took the flatbread, took a bite, his brows slightly furrowed, as if he didn't like the taste.

But he still ate it in small bites until finished, then lifted his face, looking at Lata Daoren with clear eyes, and uttered his first words since birth: "More."

The old woman's legs gave way, nearly collapsing to the ground. She could not comprehend why the master chose to personally engage this dangerous existence, nor why the celestial masters all opted to stand by.

Only Lata Daoren knew what was gestating within this seemingly weak child—a limitless possibility that would astonish even the Dao Ancestors.

As the sunset fell, the dusk over the Mutant Zone stretched unusually long. The child followed behind Lata Daoren, and with each step, the surrounding mutant flora returned to normal.

He was unconsciously repairing this twisted world, a miracle that even the sages could not achieve!

Far away at the center of the universe, a great being seated in a Daoist hall opened its eyes, a faint smile appearing.

The old woman, watching Lata Daoren walk away with the child, couldn't help but ask, "Master... what is his name?"

"What name?"

Lata Daoren looked earnestly at the child, smiled, and said: "Han Wuxian."