His body felt as though it was being disassembled, piece by piece, like leaves falling or light rain scattering—such was Shi Hao’s current sensation.
He was dazed, his soul adrift, following the disintegration, feeling himself dissolve into particles, each one glowing, leaving the world behind, cycling through reincarnation, journeying toward rebirth.
In his confusion, he saw a river—torrential with time, surging with the ages. Was that time itself? Unrelenting, never to return!
Shi Hao’s spirit trembled, awakening from his stupor, sensing this bizarre state—his body transformed into luminous particles, crystal-clear, suspended in the eternal void.
That river of history roared, rushing past from the distance, its waves crashing against the heavens!
Upon closer inspection, atop each wave stood a peerless hero, majestic and transcendent, embodying the essence of their era.
One wave, one epoch—and the heroes upon them shone with brilliance, illuminating the annals of time.
Shi Hao was stunned. What was he witnessing?
The shifting of eras, the passage of ages, the rise and fall of humanity—the great river of history itself!
He was dumbfounded. Where had he arrived? How could he be seeing this?
Vaguely, he caught glimpses of historical upheavals—legendary figures soaring to the heavens, celestial maidens spilling blood, common folk lost in confusion, the masses crying out in despair…
Some scenes were clear, others blurred. Shi Hao scrutinized them, recognizing some from ancient texts, while others were lost to time, forgotten by the world.
He strained to see more clearly, but the harder he looked, the hazier everything became, fading into obscurity.
Then, a chill ran down his spine as he saw boundless darkness descending, corroding the great river!
Mist, endless and suffocating, surged like a black tide, swallowing everything.
Next, he saw cages—one after another—rising and falling within the river of time.
“Huh?!” Shi Hao was shocked.
Back when he cultivated immortal energy, his primordial spirit had once left his body, entering eternal darkness, imprisoned in a cage—just like these dark chambers.
This time, he saw clearly—cages emerging from the darkest abyss, plunging into the river of time, stirring monstrous waves as they drifted.
A cold dread gripped Shi Hao. What did this signify?
The truth was unfathomable. What lay in that endless darkness, spawning these cages that fell into the great river?
Suddenly, a vortex appeared on the darkened river—radiant and immaculate, dispelling all the black mist.
It was astonishing. Out of nowhere, this vortex disrupted the river’s flow, a beacon in the darkness, impossible to ignore.
Though small, it was extraordinary, eventually manifesting chaotic mist—composed of light and primordial energy—rooted in the river of time!
“What is this?” Shi Hao found it utterly bizarre. He didn’t know what others experienced, but what he saw was truly unique.
Perhaps other cultivators witnessed even more astonishing sights—dragons soaring, phoenixes rebirthing in nirvana.
Whoosh!
A gale howled, fragments of time swirling as Shi Hao’s luminous particles were swept away, absorbed by the vortex, vanishing from sight.
He cried out, struggling, resisting—but to no avail, plunging straight into the vortex’s depths.
Faintly, he understood that what he had just witnessed held immense significance!
Yet, he couldn’t decipher it, couldn’t comprehend it.
In that moment, it felt as though eternity had trapped him, endless years passing before his vision darkened, consciousness slipping away.
He didn’t know how long he was out, but when he awoke, he was no longer a particle—his body had reformed, though his clothes had turned to ash, leaving him bare.
Slender yet robust, he stretched his limbs, sensing no abnormalities. With a wave, he retrieved battle attire from his spatial artifact and clothed himself.
Where was this place? The surroundings were silent, vast, desolate.
Shi Hao felt as though he had reached the world’s edge—chaotic mist loomed nearby, obscuring all in a hazy veil.
He walked forward, the silence oppressive, suffocating in its emptiness.
Examining his surroundings, he saw an ancient land—crumbling stone paths, ruined palaces, some collapsed, others stubbornly standing.
Hmm?
Ahead, some palaces weren’t built of stone but forged from divine metal, their once-glorious luster faded, now worn and incomplete.
These structures bore marks—palm imprints, blade scars, arrow holes.
Shi Hao’s mind quaked. Those marks contained profound truths, left behind by supreme beings.
Only a few metal palaces remained, each bearing traces of attacks from peerless experts.
He reached out to touch them but was repelled by an overwhelming pressure, as if an immortal presence still lingered.
Faintly, Shi Hao heard earth-shaking battle cries—countless figures, great bells, treasure cauldrons, and dao pagodas crashing toward him.
He gasped. Such weapons rivaled the Cosmos Sack, beyond mortal realms!
His soul trembled. What was this place? These ruins, these palaces—had they endured such divine assaults?
The broken metal structures were grand, towering, as if built for giants, exuding solemn, sacred majesty.
Suddenly, a flame ignited within him, breaking free from his flesh, hovering above his head as a mirror, reflecting the marks, replicating their profound truths.
Shi Hao sensed it—this time, he could perceive it clearly. He glanced up but remained silent.
After a long while, the flame vanished, silence reclaiming the ruins.
“Where is this? Where have I come?” he murmured, truly bewildered.
Was this the celestial court of immortals? The dwelling of the undying? Nothing else could explain such grandeur.
“Why was I sent here?” he wondered aloud.
“For opportunity,” a voice answered abruptly, shattering the stillness.
Shi Hao jolted. He hadn’t sensed anyone nearby. Instinctively, his body flared with light, bone scripts weaving defenses.
He followed the voice, stepping forward.
A massive metal hall, its roof torn away, stood like a small mountain, its walls cold and gleaming.
Entering, Shi Hao froze.
Inside, it was vibrant—flowers bloomed, birds sang, lush greenery thrived, banishing the desolation.
Amid the ruins, vines coiled, a stone table and cushions lay before a graceful woman.
“Sit,” she invited. Not peerlessly beautiful, but radiant with wisdom, her eyes shimmering with immortal aura.
“Who are you? A true immortal?” Without thinking, the question spilled from his lips—as if this place purified thoughts, stripping away complexity.
“Perhaps once. Now, just a fragmented imprint,” she replied serenely, without concealment.
Shi Hao was stunned. A true immortal—a celestial being! It felt like a dream.
With a wave of her sleeve, four dishes appeared on the table, along with a wine jug and two jade cups.
The dishes were unidentifiable, the cups plain, but as she lifted the jug, wisps of chaotic mist seeped from its spout.
Pouring, the liquid glowed, suffused with immortal energy, its fragrance intoxicating.
Shi Hao’s heart raced. True immortal wine? Even the mightiest in the world would scarcely taste such a treasure.
Just the aura alone promised unimaginable benefits—what transformations would drinking it bring?
“Please,” she said, raising her cup.
Shi Hao hesitated. “What am I experiencing?”
“Passing through life. Reincarnation,” she answered simply, as if stating the obvious.
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