The ship of Moonveil Palace rose the moment the last disciple set foot inside. It wasn't just the disciples of Moonveil Palace aboard, but also those from the Seven Strike Martial Sect. Their two banners fluttered side by side under the wind currents.
Qingqing stood at the front, expression serene but gaze sharp, overlooking the sea of youthful cultivators below. Mei Mo leaned casually against the railing, his grin lazy and unreadable. And beside them, the Martial Master of Seven Strike stood arms crossed, surveying the crowd with heavy eyes.
The secret realm which had emerged.
It was discovered near the Chu Family estate, within the outskirts of the Canary Plains, brushing against the marshy wilderness of the Dark Lake region.
The ship crossed leagues of land in mere hours, slicing through drifting clouds and windswept skies. The journey was quiet but tense. Every disciple aboard knew what a secret realm meant—opportunity… and blood.
When they finally arrived, what greeted them was a vast plain veiled under drifting mist, and at its heart, a gaping split in space. A fracture in the fabric of reality itself, from which surged waves of spiritual qi so rich and pure it almost shimmered like molten silver. The air was intoxicating with its density, truly a bliss for cultivators.
Dozens of ships hovered in the sky nearby, each bearing the distinct insignias of the continent's other sects and clans.
The blood-red banners of the Blazing Fist Sect.
The pale flowing emblem of the Mist Flow Sect.
The thundersteel crest of the Great Saber Sect.
And among them stood the proud skyships of—the Chu, Du, Xuan, and Zheng families, pillars of the Central Continent. Their vessels hovered like looming towers, casting long shadows over the field below.
Qingqing's ship finally slowed and descended toward an open space. Once landed, she turned to face the gathered disciples, her voice carrying over the restless crowd.
"Listen well, disciples of Moonveil Palace and Seven Strike Martial Sect," she began, her tone light yet firm. "As of this moment, you are not two sects—but one expedition. As such, you are strictly prohibited from harming one another within the secret realm. Any such action will result in your immediate expulsion and crippling. With no exceptions."
She paused to let the words sink in.
The Martial Master stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing against the polished wooden deck.
"Let me be clear. This is not a suggestion. This is law. That said—competition is allowed. Resources are meant to be fought for. But there's a line." His gaze swept over them like a falling guillotine. "Killing is strictly forbidden. You are not obliged to save your fellow sect members if they're in danger. But if you choose to act against them… don't expect to walk free."
That last line ignited a spark of tension among the disciples. Murmurs broke out like ripples in a still pond.
"So we can let them die without lifting a finger…? That's basically permission to eliminate them without direct harm."
"Tch, why would anyone risk saving others in a place like this? The treasures in a secret realm are beyond imagination."
"You're all fools if you think it's that easy. Letting someone die isn't the same as killing them—but the karma's still yours."
"Hah! Spoken like someone who's never fought for their life before. This isn't a fairy tale, it's cultivation."
"And you're not some novel protagonist. Just another stepping stone. Grow up."
A heated discussion followed, some voices dripping with sarcasm, others with desperate pragmatism. One disciple even brought up morality—only to be laughed at by three others who claimed that even monks who preached compassion had slaughtered their share of bandits.
The line between mortal and cultivator was drawn like a blade.
"Mortal lives don't count," someone scoffed. "We're cultivators. Our role in the world is different."
"That's a hypocrite's excuse. You kill when it suits you, then pretend you're following some higher path."
"You all talk too much," a calm, cold voice rang out.
It was Qingqing.
Her eyes flashed with a hint of disgust as she spoke again, cutting cleanly through the din of bickering voices. "If you truly have that much time to argue philosophy, do it after you return—if you return. Until then, every second you waste here is a second lost in the secret realm."
The air fell silent again, this time heavier than before.
The Martial Master exhaled through his nose, voice grim. "Your thoughts… disappoint me. I had hoped better from you all. Being a cultivator does not make you superior. It doesn't make you wiser, or righteous. Strength without direction only leads to ruin. If you cannot grasp this simple truth—then I pity you."
His words struck harder than any sword. A few disciples bowed their heads. Others looked away. A few stared back, unrepentant—but silent nonetheless.
Yet despite everything, one emotion flickered strongest in their hearts.
Anticipation.
Each one of them desired the resources and treasures of the secret realm.
There was no need to voice it aloud. The hunger in their eyes said it all. Every disciple standing at the edge of that spatial rift wore the same look of restrained anticipation—some tempered by caution, others barely managing to contain their excitement.
And so, as ordered, they moved. One by one, the disciples of Moonveil Palace and the Seven Strike Sect stepped into the split in space, vanishing into the veil of fluctuating light and leaking spiritual qi.
Amid the crowd of figures flowing into the rift, one silhouette was swifter than the rest.
Zheng Xie.
He didn't care for forming a team or weighing his options. He didn't look for allies or friends or easy targets. He simply moved.
The instant his body passed through the rift, the world around him changed.
Or perhaps it was more accurate to say—ceased.
His mind plunged into a vast, yawning void. An expanse that stretched infinitely in all directions, like he was floating through an ocean of shadows and light. There was no ground, no sky, no up or down. Only sensations.
He couldn't see what surrounded him. But he could feel it.
And what he felt… disturbed him.
'What is this…?' Zheng Xie's thoughts stirred, slow and uncertain. 'This isn't the same spiritual qi that was leaking out of the realm. That qi felt invigorating, alive… but this… this is different.'
The qi here wasn't demonic either. He was no stranger to the corruptive and erratic sensation of demonic qi—it carried emotion, violence, desire. But this… this was something else.
'It's not just different… it's wrong.'
It felt hollow. Devoid of intention or will. Like a hollow husk—like something that had been drained of everything but still lingered.
No rage, warmth, death or life.
Truly and utterly empty.
Before he could probe further, his senses lurched. A sudden snap, like a rubber band being cut, flung his consciousness forward. The void shattered, and the next moment, he stood in an entirely different space.
And what greeted him… was beauty.
A vast plain unfolded in front of him, brimming with life. Verdant trees swayed gently in the breeze, their branches heavy with fragrant fruits and exotic flowers. Herbs, some glowing faintly with spiritual light, dotted the emerald grasslands. Crystal-clear lakes and gently flowing ponds sparkled under the soft light of twin suns hanging above the horizon.
A scene of peace, prosperity and serenity.
Zheng Xie took it in with a rare moment of silence.
But then his gaze lifted.
And what he saw stole his breath.
Islands.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of floating islands hovered above him. Like drifting clouds, they climbed upward in a near-vertical chain, each one suspended impossibly in the air.
Water cascaded from one to another in a shimmering trail, forming waterfalls in mid-air, painting rainbows across the sky. Spiritual qi poured from them in such heavy density that it visibly distorted the air.
Zheng Xie narrowed his eyes, his pupils focusing.
He could see it. See the spiritual qi itself.
Threads of light and color, flowing, intertwining, dancing. It wasn't just thick—it was tangible.
A laugh escaped his lips.
'Ahahah… if I told someone I could see spiritual qi, they'd call me a delusional mutt. Or maybe just plain crazy.'
He grinned. But his amusement faded into indifference.
'But why would I care what others think? Why should I share this with anyone?'
Zheng Xie stood there, back straight, chin slightly raised, as if challenging the sky itself. Alone, but not lonely. Isolated, but not incomplete.
To him, flaunting strength or power was pointless.
'If you pursue strength, do it in solitude. If you crave beauty, refine yourself first. If you seek wealth, gather those who value it equally. If you seek sovereignty, go to the ones you wish to rule.'
He exhaled slowly. His breath carried no warmth. His thoughts were sharp and detached.
'There is no purpose in flaunting what others cannot understand. What value does the opinion of someone irrelevant to your path even hold?'
Gratification? Temporary.
Motivation? Fleeting.
Assessment? Skewed by bias.
He scoffed softly and turned his gaze upward again.
The nearest floating island—his first target—called to him with dense spiritual qi and the promise of opportunity.
His feet moved.
'Doing anything that doesn't align with your goals is meaningless. Chasing approval… is meaningless. Pleasing strangers… is meaningless.'
His steps were silent, but resolute.
'Without goals, life has no direction. Without progress, no fulfillment. Without setbacks, no meaning. But without meaningless people…?'
Zheng Xie smirked.
'Life still moves on.'
Without thinking further, Zheng Xie stepped forward and entered the waterfall that streamed down from the island above like a silver veil. The crashing water parted around him as he plunged through, and the cold shock of it didn't faze him. Instead, it sharpened his senses. Then—he began to swim.
Upward.
His body sliced through the descending current with practiced grace. Each motion was deliberate, smooth, steady—his limbs moving with a calm rhythm.
'If I can find the right resources... just maybe. Maybe I could reconstruct the recipes I've seen in those cultivation novels from Earth. A pill that enhances spiritual roots, even by a minor degree—if that's possible, if that exists—then I need it. But that's not all. If I gather enough rare materials, I will be able to secretly nurture an alchemist to work for me.'
Zheng Xie was no alchemist. He understood that plainly. In fact, his knowledge of herbs and minerals barely scratched the surface. But he had knowledge, nonetheless. Knowledge from another world, of pills and concoctions not known to this one. That alone gave him a foundation others did not possess.
'Any seasoned alchemist worth their cauldron would know how to adapt Earth-based recipes into something that fits this world's resources. They'd replace the impossible ingredients with existing ones. The logic of alchemy is universal—only the language of materials changes.'
He reached the base of the island above. Zheng Xie stood up, wringing the water from his clothes using his qi.
No one else was there. The island was quiet, save for the breeze and the distant hum of life. A stream trickled through a thicket of green. And all of it... felt too familiar.
Too similar.
His gaze swept across the landscape, the terrain, the flora. It was nearly identical to the island below.
A faint crease formed between his brows.
'Maybe I'm getting paranoid but being paranoid is better than wasting precious time while being carefree.'
Paranoia wasn't a weakness. It was a tool. Complacency, after all, killed more cultivators than any blade.
Without hesitation, Zheng Xie raised his right hand and focused qi at his fingertips. The energy condensed, shivering the air around his skin. Then, with a flick of his hand, he unleashed a [Concentrated Qi Blast]—a Spirit Grade technique that compressed spiritual qi into microbursts. The blasts hit the ground with a flurry of sharp detonations, each one carving into the earth with precise force.
He etched his name.
Zheng Xie.
Then, as a redundancy, he tore a small strip from the hem of his robe and placed it atop the markings.
'If I come across this again… I'll know.'
With nothing else holding him back, he turned his eyes upward once more. A new island loomed in the sky, or perhaps the same.
His legs moved without command. With qi gathered at his soles, he launched himself into the waterfall again. The same upward path. The same silence. The same focused strokes.
Time passed.
Eventually, he rose from the water, pulling himself up onto the next island.
And once more—
Lush trees. Crystal-clear lakes. Familiar wind. Same quiet, same scent, same everything.
Zheng Xie narrowed his eyes and immediately walked toward the same location he had left his mark. He crouched low.
The ground bore no scars.
His name was gone.
There was no trace of the robe scrap either. No sign that anything had been disturbed at all.
His heart paused, but only for a moment.
'Maybe I'm wrong… maybe this is another island entirely. The terrain looks identical, but that could be the structure of this realm. Perhaps each level is built like this...'
Then he reached down, instinctively brushing the part of his robe he had torn earlier. Just a casual motion.
Except—
His fingers touched whole cloth.
Zheng Xie froze.
His body stood still, but his mind spun rapidly.
'No… this isn't a different island. I didn't tear the robe again… because it was never torn.'
His breathing remained calm, but his pupils dilated.
'This is the same island. It's repeating. No—worse. It's resetting.'
His eyes traced the treeline again. The same flowers beneath it. The same patch of mushrooms beside the stream.
Everything… identical.
Zheng Xie's hand slowly curled into a fist.
'Illusion? Time loop? Spatial recursion?'
A smirk tugged at the edge of his lips, but there was no joy in it.
'Looks like this realm isn't as straightforward as it seems. Fair enough, I will also have fun unraveling it.'