Chapter Seventy-Three: A Desperate Gamble

Lin Jicang remained as silent as ever, his face expressionless as he followed closely beside Judah, who was racing ahead at breakneck speed. His pace still outstripped that of any champion at the World Athletics Games, and after this long-distance dash, he showed only the faintest signs of fatigue.

He felt both exhilaration and loathing at what he had become—thrilled by his superhuman physical prowess, yet bitter at a fickle fate that had stripped him of everything.

His bewildered heart needed a target for its pent-up emotions; perhaps the Black Death Emperor would serve as a worthy outlet.

Judah’s six jointed limbs moved nimbly, as if skimming over flat ground. Even at such a high velocity, one could have balanced a spirit level atop his back without it tipping. His two antennae had transformed into sharp blades, slicing through branches as they passed, ensuring nothing disturbed Adonsa, who was riding on his back.

This extra attention made Adonsa uncertain whether to protest, but he kept silent to avoid introducing unnecessary variables.

Suddenly, Judah halted. After a moment, he flexed his mouthparts and spoke, “There’s been another tremor from fighting on the ground. It seems the battle between the Vein-bearers and Zhang Liaoyuan is fierce—there have already been three encounters. Zhang Liaoyuan is deliberately slowing his advance by hacking a path through the trees—most likely to lure and hunt down the Vein-bearers in turn.”

Adonsa’s sharp intuition caught the key point. “Zhang Liaoyuan is intentionally slaughtering the Vein-bearers. But why? Isn’t he supposed to be their supremacist dictator?”

Judah analyzed calmly, “Perhaps we shouldn’t superimpose our old impressions onto Zhang Liaoyuan. Thirty years have passed; he may have become a sociopath by now.”

Adonsa did not jump to any conclusions.

The sensitive setae on Judah’s limbs could clearly sense the vibrations of a train twenty kilometers away; monitoring Zhang Liaoyuan’s activity was effortless.

Yet when Zhang Liaoyuan deliberately concealed his presence, Judah’s unity with heaven and earth was not so easily able to pierce the veil.

“Slow down,” Adonsa ordered, his mouth opening as a cloud of tiny fruit flies dispersed like drifting dandelion seeds. “Don’t confront Zhang Liaoyuan too soon.”

Over a hundred split bodies had already been scattered throughout this forest by Adonsa, but the splits were too conspicuous, easily detected by the Vein-bearers’ uncanny intuition. The tiny fruit flies, though unable to bear Adonsa’s consciousness, could, under hormonal control, return at any time to relay simple information, making them far more covert.

High above, swarms of aerial jellyfish watched over all the teams below. Only the most elite Vein-bearers could sense these transparent observers two hundred meters above the ground.

Once, Zhang Liaoyuan looked up, but showed no reaction.

——————————————————————

Half a day later, Zhang Liaoyuan, who had been carving a path through cities with his coffin on his shoulder, finally came to a halt.

He stopped by the Witchwater, the divine marvel of Creation, and drew a deep breath. Instantly, a violent wind rose all around him, as if his lung capacity had no end.

But it was more than lung capacity; in that moment, Zhang Liaoyuan grasped the very nodes of air flow, manipulating the currents of the entire environment. Had he pushed this mastery a step further, he could have single-handedly stirred the very weather.

Across the boundless lake, the dense mist conjured strange and wondrous visions that stirred the heart with longing.

As the wind picked up, the thin fog over Witchwater’s surface quickly dissipated, revealing a vast and magnificent scene. Amid this world of water and mist, a patch of lake collapsed out of nowhere, gleaming like a silver mirror, sending ripples across its expanse like an immortal treading on water.

Wang Daoming stepped forward. “Three generations of our Azure Hollow Temple have spent over a hundred years investigating Witchwater. The more we studied, the stranger it became. Nearly all the legends and poems about this place date from the last thousand years, with nothing before that.”

He drew a tablet from his robe and brought up two images in succession.

“This is a map of Divine Land drawn by a wandering Vein-bearer fifteen hundred years ago. And this is a recently published satellite image.”

The two images slowly merged atop each other.

“If we account for ancient observational errors and the changes in geography over a millennium…” Wang Daoming’s eyes still held a trace of shock, “We’d see that this Witchwater lake simply shouldn’t exist. This mountain range, this land itself, have imperceptibly shifted by 8,500 meters, and this Witchwater appeared out of thin air.”

Zhang Liaoyuan lifted his head and gazed around. “A cliff to the east, a sky-slit to the west, the long, narrow Witchwater… Someone, from east to west, swung a sword and slew the Black Death Emperor—severing and reshaping the very veins of the earth, suppressing what remained of the Emperor’s vitality.”

Wang Daoming was stunned, seemingly not expecting decades of inherited research to be laid bare by Zhang Liaoyuan in a single sentence.

Zhang Liaoyuan said, “Don’t be surprised. Though I slept for thirty years, I’ve never stopped watching this world.”

He couldn’t help but feel awe. “Such a miraculous stroke of the sword—it’s as if it came slashing in from another, vaster world. Even now, I can feel the annihilating void it left behind. A sword like that… it’s beyond this world.”

Wang Daoming sighed in admiration. “No wonder you’re the foremost figure under heaven, to perceive so much in an instant. The surface of water, like a mirror, is a natural barrier between worlds in the study of yin and yang. Beneath this water, there’s nothing unusual, but at a certain time and with a specific token, one can connect to that special space where the Black Death Emperor is sealed. No doubt, Sir Emperor Star also calculated that the time of release was near, which is why he broke the seal.”

Zhang Liaoyuan nodded, stepped toward Witchwater, and planted one foot on the surface. He sank just an inch, water lapping at his ankles, and calmly strode forward, walking atop the water.

The crystal coffin on his shoulder, weighing over a ton, did not tilt or sway in the slightest.

Wang Daoming watched Zhang Liaoyuan with admiration, murmuring, “Walking on water, riding the waves… This is the realm of the True Immortal on earth…”

The Vein-bearers' pursuit of martial perfection bordered on obsession; even if someone bore the deepest hatred, they could not help but revere a martial artist of Zhang Liaoyuan’s stature.

Even a single toe of Zhang Liaoyuan’s indestructible body was stronger than the mightiest strongman. With one step, his five toes gripped the water, sending surges of hidden force into the lake, supporting both himself and the crystal coffin.

If Master of Technique, Weng Dongqi, drove the wind with skill, then Zhang Liaoyuan simply crushed all things—seen and unseen—forcing them to yield to his will.

In this state, each step Zhang Liaoyuan took expended enough strength to exhaust an ordinary man, yet he moved deliberately slowly, as if waiting for someone.

When Zhang Liaoyuan had made his way a hundred meters from shore, a towering figure finally burst from the dense forest behind and landed lightly, vapor trembling around him.

“Wind God Weng Dongqi, don’t interfere!” Wang Daoming stepped forward, intent on blocking Weng Dongqi’s path.

But Zhang Liaoyuan stopped, turned, and said, “Let him come. For some people, you are not even qualified to delay them.”