Bang after bang echoed on. That utterly transparent wall of unknown thickness didn't react at all to Lin Moyu's furious pummeling. After hammering it for a while, he had to give up—he simply couldn't break it. No matter how he struck, it didn't budge.
Little Tree and Chaoszi tried several methods too, with the same result. Lin Moyu then used World-Scorching Fire and other means, but still couldn't break the invisible wall. It took no oil or salt—just sat there, blocking the way, letting no one through. With every method useless, Lin Moyu had no choice but to bring out two trump cards: the Causality-Seeking Ring and the Calamity Scepter.
Soul power poured into the ring. "Fruit without cause—I will pierce this wall."
The ring shimmered—yet no backlash came. Moments later, its light faded and vanished as if nothing had happened.
It felt like he'd "planted a fruit" into emptiness—the ring had actually failed. That had never happened before. He had even planned for dying a few hundred or thousand times until it worked, turning the deaths into training for body and soul. He'd never considered outright failure. Which meant this wall lay outside causality.
Soul power surged; refusing to accept it, he planted a second fruit—this time, to obtain the nearest Heaven-Red Stone. The ring glowed for a dozen seconds, then dimmed again: failure.
Amazed and shaken, Lin probed the ring and found that here even the Causality-Seeking Ring was suppressed and couldn't exert its full power. The ring works through the chaos's Dao of cause and effect, but because its original body had once surpassed that Dao, it could work miracles within the chaos. Here, though—outside the chaos—its effect naturally plummeted.
He forced himself into a rationale; perhaps only that could explain it. "Could the ring's original body also have come from here?" The thought felt likely. But once the ring left this place and was influenced by the chaos, it had changed in nature—like the ice crystal—and now had little to do with here.
With the ring useless, only one trump remained: the Calamity Scepter. The scepter was unimaginably hard; whether smashing matter or souls, it was peerless. Even so, Lin wasn't certain—it was worth a try.
He lifted the scepter and brought it down hard.
Boom! The invisible wall flashed into view. A massive recoil surged up the scepter; Lin was flung away, his palm spider-webbing with cracks, then bursting into gore—the bones pulverized to grit. The backlash shattered his hand and raced upward; in the next instant his whole arm blew apart, then half his body—blood and flesh everywhere, a ghastly sight.
But to Lin, this was child's play. He'd been blown to pieces more times than he could count; half a body was nothing. A thought—undying flame roared; golden light rose from his flesh. The blasted meat flew back; his body knit together at speed. In a blink he was whole again. He beckoned, and the Calamity Scepter flew back to his grip.
"For my physique to fail to tank it—the rebound isn't ordinary."
He looked at the wall. Under the scepter's blow, the invisible barrier had briefly shown its shape—like a thin crystal shell, a gigantic sphere, incomparably solid, enclosing this region. The strike hadn't harmed it at all. After a moment it faded from sight again—still there, untouchable.
He could accept the ring failing, but even the Calamity Scepter failing? That was hard to swallow. By Tianzai Supreme's account, the scepter's force was of the fifth tier—the highest level in all the Ancient Chaos Wasteland, second to none. He had even thought, back when he came here, that if the ice crystal couldn't open the door, he'd smash his way in with the scepter. Clearly he'd underestimated this place. This mysterious space was far more enigmatic than he'd imagined. This crystal-like invisible wall—even the scepter couldn't break it. Worse, most of the force he'd put in had bounced straight back through the scepter, which was why half his body had shattered.
He returned to the wall and tapped it with the scepter—this time lightly. Each tap rang crisp, and with each one he felt the recoil through the scepter. At least ninety percent of his force was bouncing back. Gradually he increased power bit by bit to his limit. After a long while, the wall hadn't even reappeared. He realized it only showed itself once the force passed a certain threshold—showed, yes, but nowhere near breaking.
"Quit knocking. You're annoying. Some of us are trying to sleep!" an irritable voice suddenly came from the scepter. The central Primordial Gem flashed; the voice was his. Of the five gems, all had a bit of instinct, but only the Primordial Gem—obtained last—could speak.
"I'm running a test," Lin said. "Didn't expect to find something even you can't break."
"That's you being weak—don't pin it on me," the gem snapped.
"What do you mean, weak? I just went all out and it didn't break. Don't believe me? I'll hit it again—"
"No need," the gem cut him off. "That's the Wall of Heaven and Earth. With your current realm? Smash it? Dream on."
"What is the Wall of Heaven and Earth? And what realm do I need to break it?"
"When you surpass a Supreme, you can. Also—why smash it anyway? Did it offend you?" the gem said.
"No. I just want what's inside."
"Heh. Men die for wealth; birds die for food. What's the rush to die?" the gem sneered.
"Spell it out," Lin said.
"You want to know what's behind the Wall. The instant you break it—you die. I'm too lazy to explain. Just remember: you don't have the qualification to break it yet, much less to take what's inside."
Lin didn't doubt the gem. Its manner was grating, but it spoke truth. He pivoted to another question. "Long ago, a lot of things came out from inside and entered the chaos. How do you explain that?"
"What's to explain? Then was then, now is now. Back then, heaven and earth were birthing life, so it spat out origin materials from behind the wall—of its own will. Now it isn't birthing life, so it doesn't spit," the gem said.
"What if heaven and earth started birthing life again?" Lin asked suddenly.
The gem burst into derisive laughter. "You're joking. How could heaven and earth have a second birthing? That chance comes once, never twice. And even if it 'wanted' to, where would it get Primordial Breath? Besides, heaven and earth don't want anything—they have no mind, only rules. If heaven and earth had a master, then maybe it could be considered—but only considered. Don't talk nonsense about what you don't understand."
Lin ignored the taunts; he'd baited the question on purpose to glean more. The gem knew a lot but hated to talk, sleeping most of the time. If he hadn't hit the Wall of Heaven and Earth with everything he had, it likely wouldn't have woken up at all.
"I didn't mean here," Lin said mildly. "My heaven and earth are full of Primordial Breath—and they're birthing life. But all of it is rootless. Since there are materials here, I figured I could let my heaven and earth nurture beings with bodies."
"What!" the gem yelped. A tiny figure appeared on the gem, staring at Lin in disbelief. "Impossible—Primordial Breath? That's impossible. Impossible! Take me to see."
Lin smiled, opened his storage heaven, and sent the scepter inside. From within came the gem's astonished voice: "It is Primordial Breath—so much of it!"
After a while of gawking, Lin drew it back out. Whatever the gem was, the scepter was still his; if Lin didn't want it in the storage world, it couldn't enter.
Outside again, the gem's little figure still wore a stunned look that shaded quickly into something complex. "You actually own a heaven and earth. It's weak, but it's truly a heaven and earth."
It marveled for a time, then floated before Lin, eyes both amazed and conflicted. "Who are you? Why do you have a heaven and earth? It shouldn't be possible. It's not normal."
"Details, please," Lin said.
The gem hesitated, then relented. "Fine, fine. Since you've asked so sincerely, I'll be magnanimous and tell you. The Ancient Chaos Wasteland is a whole—a single heaven and earth, and now the only one. When a heaven and earth is born, lots of Primordial Breath appears. Primordial Breath can nurture life. Without the corresponding world-spirit materials, what's nurtured are rootless beings—they have no bodies. Such a heaven and earth is incomplete; it won't produce diverse materials or myriad beings, and its Dao will be simple. That's called a dead world.
"If there are world-spirit materials, they combine with the Primordial Breath. According to each material's nature, they evolve different Daos and a variety of beings, perfecting heaven and earth. That's a living world."
Dead world, living world—the gem's account clearly stepped beyond the framework of the Ancient Chaos Wasteland; it spoke of a higher tier altogether.
"So there used to be many heavens and earths?" Lin asked.
"You said it—used to be," the gem replied. "There were, but not anymore. Dead, living—gone, all of them. The chaos you live in is the last, the only one." It paused, then corrected itself. "No—not the only one now. You have one, too. For the moment it's a dead world; maybe it can become a living one."
"If I move the chaos's domains into it, can I make it a living world?" Lin asked.
"No," the gem said flatly. "To become a living world you need world-spirit materials. Those are what can fuse with Primordial Breath, evolve Daos, and nurture life—whose power keeps evolving even after death."
The gem explained at length. Since seeing Lin's storage heaven, its attitude had softened; the arrogance was gone, and it was willing to talk. At last Lin understood—he'd had things backward. At the start of a heaven and earth's evolution, there are no Daos—only Primordial Breath, one root of all Daos. When Primordial Breath meets world-spirit materials and merges, then, according to the materials' properties, life is born—and those lives are the Daos, the embodiment of each Dao. When they take shape, that Dao takes shape. Even if they later fall, the Dao remains—and even benefits. Their posthumous materials don't vanish, either; their essence fuses into the Dao and from it new materials are born, endlessly cycling.
In the beginning, the Ancient Chaos Wasteland birthed countless beings and thus countless Daos; the whole heaven and earth became a living world, teeming with life and materials, cycling without end.
"So that's how it is." The cosmos sharpened in Lin's eyes. Likely only the Primordial Gem knew such things. Now he knew; so did Little Tree, Chaoszi, and Xiao Peng. They kept quiet and listened—the knowledge touched the roots. It might seem useless now, but someday it could matter.
"Domains won't turn my heaven into a living world," Lin said. "I need the materials behind the Wall of Heaven and Earth. Is there a way?"
"You sure have pretty dreams," the gem snorted. "Do you even know what this place is?" He had asked before, and Lin still didn't. But picking a fight now was pointless. Lin put on a humble face. "Please—enlighten me."
"The Wall of Heaven and Earth pertains to all heavens and earths," the gem said. "Whether a given one becomes living depends on whether, at its birth, it receives world-spirit materials. If it doesn't, it's a dead world; if it does, it may become living. Once, a living world produced a Paragon. The Paragon coveted what lay beyond the wall—but gave up because the Wall of Heaven and Earth couldn't be broken.
"Of course, it's not absolutely unbreakable. If you surpass heaven and earth—become a Paragon who can draw out my full power—you might break it." Then it shifted tone. "But by then you wouldn't need those materials; you'd already have the entire Ancient Chaos Wasteland.
"Come to think of it, you're bizarre. I've never seen someone like you—someone who has a heaven and earth. Paragons in the past were born within a heaven and earth and, after surpassing it, took control of it. But you? You're… strange."