Time in Nightsea did not behave like time in other places.
For the ordinary geniuses, the days smeared together into a dull, clammy blur—casting nets again and again, paying Longevity Blood again and again, arguing over stolen Yang Nightfish again and again. For the truly powerful, it was merely another battlefield, one where greed and patience clashed in silence instead of with blades.
For Ling Feng and the women around him, it turned into a long, unbroken string of quiet victories.
They went deeper.
Their ghost ferry slid along the paths sung by the boatman, following syllables that didn't belong to any human tongue. Each rasping note tugged on unseen threads beneath the sea, and the ferry obeyed.
At first, Nightsea was eerily calm. The water lay flat and glassy, black like polished obsidian, clear enough that a person could almost see the bone-white seabed far below. The currents were gentle, only faint ripples brushing the hull.
Then the lines appeared.
Invisible force gathered and drew together, like someone sketching on the sea with a brush of wind. Current-line after current-line condensed into existence, flowing through Nightsea like rivers through air. They twisted and crossed, forming ghostly streets beneath the surface, and the ferries were pulled into them as naturally as fallen leaves in a stream.
The deeper they went, the more Nightsea changed.
Whirlpools began to appear. At first, they were small, lazy things turning on the surface, easy to avoid. But occasionally, far off in the distance, a black mouth would open for a breath, spinning so fast the ghost fire lamps around it warped into stretched rings before collapsing again. Those places were not warnings; they were graves waiting to be used.
News moved faster than the boats.
On the third day, as ghost lanterns burned in a dim, eternal dusk, Qiurong Wanxue stepped lightly back onto the deck. Her white robes were dusted in faint traces of chill from Nightsea's wind; behind her, Snow-Shadow scouts faded into the murk on neighboring ferries.
She walked straight to Ling Feng.
"Ling Feng," she said softly, cupping her hands with a trace of Ghost Immortal formality that she didn't bother showing anyone else. "There is word of a deadlock ahead."
Her eyes, usually calm and reserved, flashed with a hint of strain.
"A wall of currents that no one has passed," she continued. "Not even the strongest alliances. They say it is impossible to cross."
Ling Feng leaned on the rail, one hand in his pocket, watching Nightsea's far-off gloom with a faint, crooked smile.
"Already?" he asked.
She nodded. "Divine Spark's group tried many times. Titanic Crescent's side as well. The currents cut like blades. Several ferries were almost torn to pieces."
Around them, the others reacted.
Chen Baojiao's eyes brightened, the blood in her Tyrannical Valley Immortal Spring Physique already boiling. "So there's finally something interesting," she murmured, lips curving upward.
Li Shangyuan's brows drew together."A natural divide between realms,"
Xu Pei rolled her shoulders with a crackle of suppressed force. The violent energy within her body hummed like a storm caged in human form. "If it can be punched," she said bluntly, "then it can be passed. I don't see the problem."
Lan Yunzhu tilted her head, looking at Ling Feng instead of Nightsea. "You're going to go," she said. She did not question; she stated.
He turned to her, smile warm, eyes relaxed as if they were back in some quiet pavilion instead of sailing above an abyss. "Of course," he said. "If there's a wall, we knock. If knocking doesn't work, we kick it down."
Bing Yuxia tapped her folding fan against her palm, sighing as if she was already resigned to the trouble. "You say these things as if you are not dragging the rest of us along," she complained. But the light flashing in her eyes betrayed her excitement.
Near the bow, the ghost boatman's hollow eyes were fixed on the direction ahead. The lank, drowned hair framing his sunken cheeks trembled slightly as the chains in his hands vibrated.
"Honored guests…" he rasped, voice carrying the chill of countless ferry trips. "The wall ahead is truly dangerous. Even those with emperor lineages behind them have failed. If it is possible, this one suggests—"
Ling Feng reached over and patted him once on the bony shoulder.
"Relax," he said casually. "Your ferry isn't dying today. I still need it."
That simple, confident statement swallowed whatever the poor sentiment was about to say.
They went on.
The main flow of Nightsea tugged at them with greater and greater force, like a giant hand dragging ferries down a narrowing tunnel. More boats began to appear ahead—first a few, then dozens, then an entire crowd of ghost vessels anchored around a looming darkness on the water.
Then they saw it.
The deadlock.
It wasn't a wall made of stone or metal.
It was a living barrier of water and dao.
Ahead, Nightsea's surface twisted, a vast expanse folding inward on itself. Currents collided and entwined, braiding and splitting again and again, weaving layers of force so dense that even looking at them too long made one's eyes ache.
Some flows ran along the surface like serpent rivers. Others plunged into the depths before surging up again, all of them threading together into a constantly shifting lattice of invisible blades. Each strand carried a force strong enough to smash a ferry to splinters and peel flesh from bone.
As the ghost boatman slowed them to a crawl, they could hear the sound.
It was not the splash of waves.
It was a deep, grinding thunder, like mountains slowly crushing each other to dust.
Water cut water. Dao ground against dao.
At what felt like the safest edge of this storm, countless ferries floated, anchored to half-real platforms of condensed death energy and bone.
On one side, Ghost Immortal elites clustered together—their tribes' banners fluttering in a wind born from colliding currents. On the other, human and mixed-blood lineages took up positions, their war flags waving in sullen silence.
Divine Spark Country's blazing sigil burned in the gloom, waves of sunfire slowly rising and sinking like a slumbering god's breath. Beside it, Titanic Crescent Sacred Ground's crescent banner carved a cold, sharp arc in the air. Hundred Bones Sacred Tribe's bone standards rattled softly. The Kingdom of Gods' divine emblems glimmered faintly. The Ghost Zen Tribe's lotus, the Ghost Immortal clans, and others were all present.
In the center of one such cluster, standing on a broad bone platform that jutted out over Nightsea, were the figures Qiurong had described.
Divine Spark Prince—his body still wrapped in divine rings like halos, the flames around him dimmer than at his peak, but the arrogance in his eyes blazing as ever. His injuries had mostly recovered; only trace stiffness in his movements betrayed that he had been humbled once already.
Ghost Insect Evil Child stood nearby, ghostly insect carapace shimmering faintly, eyes cold and venomous, gaze like twin blades of poisoned jade.
Titanic Crescent Saint Child, dressed in golden armor, stood as straight as a spear. The crescent arc of his lineage's dao hovered behind him, reflecting the chaotic light of Nightsea's barrier.
Golden Child was a skeleton of pure gold, divine flames burning in his empty sockets, bone fingers clasped behind his back. Hundred Clans Child stood beside him, his godly silhouettes half-visible behind his shoulders like a choir of deities watching the world with disdain. Ghost Monk's kasaya fluttered in the current, his face serene, his eyes as deep and unfathomable as the sea below.
They stood in a neat line in front of their forces—like a row of sharpened blades.
When Ling Feng's ferry slid out of the ghost mist and came into view, dozens of gazes snapped toward it.
Some came with naked hatred.
Some held wariness.
Others, curiosity.
Ling Feng took in the scene at a glance.
He saw the broken ferries hovering near the rear, half-smashed hulls slowly being patched by Immortal Emperor Life Treasures, their ghostwood groaning under the strain. He saw cultivators with half-missing arms or ragged wounds on their bodies, the cuts too clean and even to be from blades forged by men.
He smiled.
"So that's the limit in everyone's eyes, huh," he said quietly.
His tone wasn't loud.
But in this tense, waiting air, his words carried like pebbles dropped into still water, sending ripples of irritation outward.
Several people stiffened.
Divine Spark's gaze twisted the moment he recognized the ferry.
"Ling Feng!" he shouted, seizing the opening like a starving dog pouncing on a thrown bone. "You finally crawled here!"
Ghost Insect's thin lips stretched into something that was not quite a smile.
"You heard of the wall and came to die?" he asked, voice soft, words dripping with contempt. "Good. Saves us the trouble of dragging your corpse."
Titanic Crescent stepped forward, the crescent aura behind him flaring. Golden light leaked from his pores, his presence rising to press down on the surrounding area.
"Human," he said coldly, "this place is not where your arrogance can run without restraint. Even we cannot pass these currents easily. If you know what is good for you, turn back. This realm is not a place for you."
Ling Feng's eyes slid over them once.
Then he turned away, looking at the deadlock again.
He watched the currents twist, listened to the grinding thunder, and felt the rhythm flowing in the depth.
Then he laughed.
The sound was low, genuine amusement rolling beneath it.
"Seriously?" he said, a faint crease of disbelief at the corner of his mouth. "This is what's stopping you?"
An audible stir ran through the gathered cultivators. Some gnashed their teeth. Some looked at him as if he were insane. Others—those who had seen what he did in other places—went quiet and watched him even more closely.
Golden Child's eye flames flared.
"You speak great words," he said slowly, golden bones emitting faint ghostly clacks as his jaw moved. "We have already tried many methods. These currents are not—"
Ling Feng cut him off with a lazy, polite smile that somehow made the insult even sharper.
"Save it," he said. "I don't give a shit what any of you have to say."
He openly turned his back on them, their statuses, their lineages, and spoke to his women instead.
Lan Yunzhu saw the familiar, mysterious curl of his lips and felt her heart tremble.
"Don't tell me…" she began.
"Yeah," he replied, eyes bright. "I'm going to broaden some minds today."
Her heart skipped a beat.
"Feng," Li Shangyuan said quietly, voice steady despite everything. "If the currents are truly as dangerous as they say—"
"They are," he agreed cheerfully. "Very dangerous. To them." He jerked his chin toward the gathered alliances. "Not to me."
Behind her fan, Bing Yuxia muttered, "This man…" She tried to hide her expression, but the faint pink on her cheeks betrayed her.
Chi Xiaodie's gaze sharpened for a moment, then relaxed, a ferocious grin tugging at her lips. "Just tell us what to do," she said.
He nodded, pleased.
"Wanxue," he said. "Tell our boatman to pull right up to the edge."
The ghost boatman almost dropped his chains.
"Honored guest—" his voice cracked.
Ling Feng's hand landed on his shoulder again, gentle but leaving no room for refusal. "You said you wanted stories to tell the other passengers, right?" he said. "This one will be good."
Qiurong Wanxue hesitated only for a breath. Then she raised her hand, her voice carrying the authority of Snow-Shadow's saintess.
"Follow his words," she ordered.
The boatman's expression twisted like a rotting rope under strain, but he obeyed.
The ferry slid forward.
Alone.
Dozens of eyes tracked its movement, the ghostwood boat carving a straight line through the safe zone like a brush stroke across a canvas already filled with tangled lines.
It stopped mere zhangs from the first layer of twisted currents.
The wind birthed by colliding flows howled across the deck, snapping hair and robes, whipping ghost fire lanterns into ragged blue smears.
Ling Feng walked to the bow.
His hands were in his pockets.
His back was relaxed.
He stared at the wall of twisted Nightsea.
And the wall seemed to stare back.
Chaos Sense blossomed in his Niwan Palace.
He saw the pattern behind the chaos—each current like a sword slash frozen into flowing water, each intersection like a potential explosion. He saw where Necropolis' laws had braided them together, forming a natural trial. Not something artificially forced, but a test born from the place itself.
A test that would shred into ribbons any boat that brushed it with the wrong dao.
He could have slipped through.
With his control over space and time, he could have bent the currents, slid his ferry along the microscopic gaps between their blades. With his mastery over energy, he could have turned his own vessel into a ghost of a ghost, flowing where nothing else could.
But that wasn't the point.
Behind him, his women stood, watching.
Behind them, the young generation of Necropolis watched.
And in the distance, countless hidden ancient existences and Ghost Immortal elders watched.
He chuckled.
"Alright," he murmured. "Let's make this noisy."
He lifted one hand from his pocket and pressed his palm flat against the bow.
Deep in his Inner Void, the Master Emerald pulsed once.
Chaos Force flowed out—not as a raging storm, but as a quiet, absolute decree. It seeped into the ghostwood, every fiber trembling as if it had suddenly remembered that it was supposed to be alive.
For a heartbeat, the ferry seemed to inhale.
The boatman's eyes went round. For the first time in his long existence, he felt his ferry stop being a tool and become a living thing—a beast of the dead seas, opening its jaws.
"Hold on," Ling Feng said over his shoulder, conversational, as if he were reminding them to mind a puddle in the road. "Don't fall off. That'd be awkward."
Then he pushed.
The ferry roared.
It didn't creak forward; it lunged, leaping from its anchored position like a dragon smashing through a palace gate. Ghost chains lashed the air, singing as they were dragged taut.
The first layer of currents slammed into them.
To everyone else, they were blades.
To Ling Feng's Chaos Force, they were paper.
The prow crashed straight into the twisting water. Chaos Force wrapped the hull in a thin, invisible shell—not even a fraction of what he could unleash, but each grain of it heavier than mountains.
The currents tried to cut, to twist, to shear the boat into fragments.
They broke instead.
A sound like a thousand war drums exploded across Nightsea.
The first layer of currents burst apart, collapsing into a ring of shredded water and force that blasted outward.
Dozens of ferries rocked violently. Decks tilted; people stumbled.
On weaker boats, disciples were flung to their knees, qi scattering. Some were shaken off entirely, scrambling to grab chains or rails before Nightsea claimed them. Protective arrays flared wildly, struggling to keep their vessels steady.
One Ghost Immortal ferry that had crept too close capsized outright—half its passengers tumbling, shrieking, as ghostly hands emerged from the sea to toss them back onto the hull like annoyed guardians.
"Careful!" elders shouted, unleashing Life Treasures to stabilize their ships and shield their people.
On the bone platform, Divine Spark's face went chalk-white.
"What—" he began, voice lost in the next thunder.
Because the wall did not accept this insult quietly.
The second and third layers of currents came down together, like furious heavens slamming their palms.
Ling Feng's smile widened.
"Come on," he whispered, teeth showing. "Don't be shy."
He pushed again.
Chaos Force rolled out from the bow in a lazy tide. It didn't scream. It didn't flare. It simply spread, heavier and more real than the water itself.
The ferry turned into an unstoppable ram.
Layer after layer of twisted current shattered as it passed, each collapse sending shockwaves that rattled teeth and shook souls. Mist erupted upward in towering fountains, glittering like powdered silver in the ghost light.
Cultivators threw up sleeves and Life Treasures to shield their faces; some found their dao light wavering as the residual force brushed past.
"Impossible!"
"Even Titanic Crescent couldn't—"
"What kind of power…?!"
On the bow, wind tearing at his hair and cloak, Ling Feng laughed.
A warm, delighted sound.
"This is your limit?" he called, not bothering to point at anyone. He didn't need to. "You all stood here wringing your hands over this little puddle?"
Ghost Insect's fingernails sank into his own palms, dark green blood beading.
Titanic Crescent's expression froze, crescent dao behind him flickering as if his lineage itself had been slapped.
Golden Child's flames shot higher, reflected in the swirling mist like twin pillars.
Hundred Clans' godly silhouettes trembled once, their vague faces contorting.
Ghost Monk's smile vanished, his peaceful expression finally cracking, revealing something sharp and hungry underneath.
On Ling Feng's ferry, Qiurong Wanxue's hand flew to her lips.
Behind her, the white shadow of Snow-Shadow's ancestral power flared, reacting instinctively as Nightsea's laws screamed in protest… and then bent.
To her, born within Ghost Immortal pride and Necropolis' shadow, this sea was their domain. The idea that a human would just pour some unfathomable power into a ferry, drive it like a battering ram, and smash through Nightsea's own trial—
Her heart quivered.
"Ling Feng…" she whispered, disbelief and fierce, inexplicable joy warring in her chest. "You…"
Lan Yunzhu could only stare.
This man hadn't asked for help. He hadn't requested formations or borrowed someone's boat. He had simply put his hand down and told Nightsea to move.
"Too flashy," Li Shangyuan muttered, though light gleamed in her eyes.
"Far too flashy," Bing Yuxia agreed, fan hiding her lips but not her grin. "He's basically slapping the entire world's face right now."
Chen Baojiao laughed out loud, head tilting back, wild delight in her tone. "Good! If you're going to break something, do it in a way no one forgets."
Xu Pei just shook her head, violent qi rolling around her like a boiling sea trying to break its banks.
"This is why we can't have a quiet life," she sighed. But the pride in her eyes was unmistakable.
Su Yonghuang let out a long, quiet breath. Her long lashes trembled as her Solar Immortal Physique resonated faintly with the exploding light.
"…Domineering," she said softly.
Bai Jianzhen said nothing.
But the sword at her waist vibrated once, a thin line of sword intent flickering silently. It was not envy. It was acknowledgement—from one path of extremity to another.
The last layer of currents folded inward like a massive fist making one final, desperate swing.
Ling Feng's Chaos Force didn't dodge.
It went straight through the knuckles.
Thunder boomed like the sky cracking.
Water exploded outward in a colossal ring, a halo of shattered currents spreading from the ferry's prow. The shockwave rolled over the anchored boats like a physical wall.
The nearest ferries were flung back several zhang, their anchors gouging stone platforms with shrill screeches. Protective formations flared like miniature suns, struggling to resist the force.
On the main platform, disciples staggered. Some slammed to the ground, noses smashing against bone tiles.
Divine Spark grabbed a nearby pillar to avoid falling on his face.
Ghost Insect's silk wrappings fluttered wildly, barely hiding the twist of his features.
Titanic Crescent's golden armor clanged under the unseen slap, dentless but not untouched.
Golden Child's skeleton thrummed like a struck gong.
Hundred Clans' divine silhouettes flickered, their chanting momentarily disrupted.
Ghost Monk's kasaya snapped like a banner in typhoon winds.
Ling Feng's ferry, wrapped in quiet Chaos Force, glided calmly through the wake of destruction and entered the water beyond.
Nightsea changed the moment they crossed.
The air felt different.
Quieter. Heavier. As if they had crossed through an invisible veil and stepped into another world entirely.
Dao Land lay ahead.
It curved gently, like a vast, frozen wave. In the distance, vague shapes rose and fell—mountains, islands, half-submerged ruins piled on the horizon like forgotten dreams.
For now, Ling Feng ignored them.
He tilted his head, looking back over his shoulder through the thinning mist.
"You're all really good at being stepping stones," he called out cheerfully.
Murderous intent surged from every direction.
He added, his tone turning lazily sharp, warmth twisted with mockery:
"But next time you see me, you'd better shut your mouths. I'm getting sick of hearing your voices. Otherwise, I'll have my wives crack your dog heads open one by one."
If killing intent could slice matter, the ferry would have been diced into dust.
Ghost Immortal elders hidden in the mist clenched their skeletal fingers.
Ancient lineages' scouts bit down hard enough to taste blood.
Divine Spark trembled, divine flames flickering violently.
Ghost Insect's green-veined face warped into something truly monstrous.
Titanic Crescent's eyes narrowed into frigid slits.
Golden Child's flames burned too bright, searing white.
Hundred Clans' godly choir murmured with the anger of many clans at once.
Ghost Monk… laughed once. A short, humorless sound, like a coffin lid being shut.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting."
Ling Feng turned away completely.
The ferry drifted deeper into the quiet water, leaving Nightsea's shattered wall behind.
As their ghost boat crossed the boundary between Nightsea and Dao Land, the world shifted again.
The clear waters of Nightsea fell behind them like a dropped curtain. Before them stretched a realm that was not quite sea and not quite land.
At times, it felt like sailing over a solidified ocean—waves frozen mid-crest, their ridges curved into hills, their troughs hollowed into gullies. At other times, it was as if they were moving over massive, translucent plates of glass; beneath those plates flowed rivers of dao light instead of water, swirling in patterns that made the mind spin.
Above, the "sky" was neither normal firmament nor Nightsea's endless darkness.
It was a tapestry woven from incomplete grand dao.
Broken dao lines arced through midair, half-formed runes drifted like clouds, shards of heavenly patterns floated and collided, sending out brief sparks of light and force. Sometimes two fragments met and resonated; sometimes they clashed and detonated, shedding razor-thin shards of dao that flashed downward before fading away.
"This place…" Lan Yunzhu whispered, eyes wide.
Qiurong Wanxue felt an ancient weight settling on her shoulders. Even the white shadow behind her calmed, its usually cold aura turning solemn.
Su Yonghuang's Solar Immortal Physique stirred—golden light threatening to rise in her veins before she forcibly suppressed it again. The broken glory above called to the sun in her body, but she lowered her lashes and refused to answer.
Bai Jianzhen straightened slightly, her sword intent quietly mirroring the fragmented dao threads overhead.
Bing Yuxia's cold mirror shimmered on her waist, its surface reflecting countless shifting possibilities from the shards in the sky.
Xu Pei, Chen Baojiao, Chi Xiaodie—all of them felt their battle instincts sharpen, as if Dao Land itself was a whetstone grinding away their hesitation.
Ling Feng watched their expressions one by one, satisfaction glinting in his eyes.
The ferry drifted toward a natural platform ahead—an upheaval of solidified ocean, jagged yet broad enough for a whole group to stand upon.
"Here," he said. "We get off."
The boatman swallowed, ghostly Adam's apple bobbing.
"Honored guests," he rasped. "Beyond this point, this humble one cannot follow. This realm has its own rules. Ghost ferries are not welcome."
"That's fine," Ling Feng said. "You've done well. Wait near the boundary. When we're done robbing this place, I'll call you."
The sentiment bowed, the pressure on his shoulders finally easing—as if a mountain had just decided he could live for another day.
Snow-Shadow elites moved first, stepping lightly off the ferry onto Dao Land's strange "ground." Thousand Carp disciples followed, their steps careful but not timid. Ling Feng's women descended one by one, their bodies instinctively shifting as the realm's pressure pressed on their dao.
Here, every step caused a faint echo—not in sound, but in dao. With each movement, something in the broken sky answered, however slightly.
With enough focus, one could probably drag those threads down with mere footsteps.
Ling Feng hopped down last, hands back in his pockets, shoulders loose as ever.
Chaos Sense spread out again.
Treasure points blossomed into his vision—clusters where dao fragments had condensed into crystals, zones where ancient battle intent still lingered like ghostly bloodstains, places where the incomplete grand dao's flow thickened and slowed, making comprehension easier.
He could have walked a simple route, turning this realm into his personal market, scooping one priceless treasure after another without even needing to bend down.
He didn't move.
Instead, he turned and faced his group.
"Alright," he said, clapping his hands once.
The sound didn't just echo—it rippled through the dao overhead, making a few nearby fragments shiver.
"From here on, we do things a bit differently."
Xu Pei raised a brow. "Meaning?"
"Meaning I'm not going to hold your hands every step," he said, smiling. "I'll point you in the right direction. I'll make sure you don't get flattened by something you can't handle. But the treasures themselves?" His gaze swept over them, warm and sharp at once. "You're going to take them with your own strength."
Chen Baojiao snorted, folding her arms. "You say that like we've been lazily freeloading this whole time."
"You've been working hard," he conceded. "But this place isn't just about pills and weapons. It's about dao. About pressure. If I do everything, you'll walk out of here with full bags and empty hearts." He shook his head. "That's boring. I'm not raising pretty flower vases."
Li Shangyuan's eyes grew thoughtful. "So you want us to temper ourselves here," she said softly.
"Exactly."