I gain ten years' worth of cultivation every day, and even geniuses will only see my doorstep!

The white void of the first heaven began to dissipate. In the distance, a new light curtain appeared, larger and brighter than the previous one.

"Let's go," Qin Yuan said. "There are still eight more heavens to go."

Lin Qing'er nodded. The two flew towards the light screen.

Behind the light curtain lies the second heaven.

Countless clocks floated in the void. Not clocks, not watches, but all sorts of timekeeping instruments—sundials, hourglasses, water clocks, mechanical clocks, atomic clocks. They varied in size, some as big as a fist, others as large as a mountain. Their hands moved at different speeds: some as fast as lightning, leaving only afterimages; some as slow as stillness, seemingly never completing a second; some even reversed direction, rotating against the flow of time.

A heavy sense of oppression hung in the air. It wasn't power, nor killing intent, but the weight of "time" itself. Qin Yuan felt as if he were walking in deep water, each step requiring ten times the effort of usual. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing slowed, and even his thoughts became sluggish.

Lin Qing'er gripped his arm, her face pale. "The flow of time here... is so chaotic."

In the void, a humanoid silhouette was coalescing. It wasn't composed of black mist, but rather woven from countless tiny rays of light. These rays weren't straight lines, but curved, intertwined, and entwined, like a ball of yarn played with by a cat. Within the light, different fragments of time could be seen playing: a baby being born, an old person dying, a flower blooming, a star extinguishing.

The gatekeeper spoke. Its voice didn't sound like a single person, but rather like countless people speaking simultaneously—men, women, young, and old, with different timbres and tones, saying the same thing.

"The trash of the first heaven is dead," it said. "The second heaven, I shall come."

Qin Yuan asked, "What is your relationship with the Lord of Time?"

"The Lord of Time is a fragment of me. I am its source."

Qin Yuan didn't ask any further questions. He drew the Xingtian Sword.

The Time Remnant made its move. It pulled out a "fragment" from its own light—a young man, dressed in a blue Taoist robe, holding a long sword. The man's face was exactly the same as Qin Yuan's, only his eyes were younger and sharper.

That was Qin Yuan in the past. When Qin Yuan first entered the Eternal Sacred Domain, his cultivation level was only at the fifth level of the Eternal Sacred Emperor.

The Qin Yuan of the past was stunned when he saw the Qin Yuan of the present. He looked at his sword, then at the other man, his eyes filled with confusion.

"You...are I?"

Qin Yuan did not answer. The Qin Yuan of the past raised his sword and thrust it at him. Not out of hostility, but because he was manipulated by the afterimage of time, like a puppet on a string.

Qin Yuan dodged to the side. He didn't want to hurt "himself," even if it was just a projection. But the Qin Yuan of the past relentlessly pursued him, each sword strike faster than the last, using the exact same techniques as him—Soul-Shattering Finger, Chaos Great Handprint, and Xing Tian Sword Technique.

Qin Yuan could only dodge, and his body continued to be injured.

Another fragment of time was drawn out. This time it was an old woman with white hair, dressed in a plain white dress, holding an ancient longsword. Her face was exactly the same as Lin Qing'er's, except that it was covered with wrinkles and her eyes were deep and weary.

The future Lin Qing'er.

She looked at Lin Qing'er now, her eyes filled with complex emotions. She said softly, "So, at this time, we were still so young."

Lin Qing'er was stunned. "You...it's me?"

"Yes," said Lin Qing'er from the future, "I am you. You from countless years in the future."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"It pulled me out of the timeline." The future Lin Qing'er looked at the remnant of time, a hint of hatred flashing in her eyes. "It won't let me die. It traps me on the timeline, making me live in the 'future' forever, never to reach the 'present'."

She raised her hand and slapped the current Lin Qing'er. Not out of malice, but because she was being manipulated.

Lin Qing'er raised her sword to parry, but was forced back several steps. Her cultivation level was far inferior to her future self, and she couldn't withstand the second blow at all.

The future Lin Qing'er struck with her second palm, while the present Lin Qing'er closed her eyes.

The palm stopped in mid-air.

The future Lin Qing'er's hands trembled. Her eyes were filled with reluctance, and her lips moved as if she were saying something, but no sound could be heard.

"Don't resist," she finally said. "This is your fate."

Lin Qing'er opened her eyes. Looking at her future self, she suddenly smiled.

I don't believe in fate.

She thrust her sword forward, the blade piercing through the chest of the future Lin Qing'er.

There was no blood. The future Lin Qing'er simply smiled, a hint of relief in her smile. "You're still so stubborn."

Her body turned into specks of light and vanished.

Seeing this, Qin Yuan suddenly understood something. These weren't real people, but merely projections within the timeline. Attacking them wouldn't change history, because history had already happened.

He stopped dodging. He slashed at his "past self" with his sword.

The Qin Yuan of the past was shattered, turning into specks of light and dissipating. Qin Yuan did not disappear, and the timeline remained unchanged. He stood there, still himself.

"The past is gone," he said. "The future is yet to come. Only the present is real."

Other "Qin Yuan of the past"—of different realms and ages—rushed towards him. He slashed them all down with a single sword strike.

The afterimage of time contracts all timelines, transforming them into a sword. The sword's blade is transparent, within which countless fragments of time flow—infancy, childhood, youth, middle age, old age, birth, aging, sickness, and death, in an endless cycle. The Sword of Time.

It drew its sword and thrust it at Qin Yuan.

Qin Yuan didn't dodge. He went to meet him.

The sword of time pierced his chest. There was no blood, no wound, but he felt his time rushing by—aging a thousand years in an instant. His hair turned white from the roots, as if touched by frost; his skin went from firm to loose, like crumpled paper; his eyes went from bright to cloudy, as if veiled by a layer of mist.

Lin Qing'er exclaimed, "Brother Qin Yuan!"

Qin Yuan did not retreat. He reached out and grasped the blade piercing his chest. Golden guardian Dao surged into the sword, resisting the power of time. The two forces clashed within him, his body becoming a battlefield.

"Time may make me grow old," he said, his voice hoarse like that of a centenarian, "but it's not me that grows old, it's my body. I am still me."

He forcibly pulled the Sword of Time from his chest. The blade was stained with his blood, which was red but quickly turned gray, as if it had lost its life.

Qin Yuan's hair was completely white. His face was covered in wrinkles, and his back was slightly hunched, like an old man nearing the end of his life. But his eyes were still bright. Golden light shone from his cloudy pupils, like two inextinguishable lamps.

He raised the Xingtian Sword and slashed at the afterimage of time.

This sword strike does not cut the past, nor does it cut the future; it only cuts the "present."