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

The God of Nothingness raised his hand, and a colorless beam of light shot out. The sword energy collided with the light, cracking the Xing Tian Sword. Qin Yuan was blasted away, his chest caved in, his ribs broken, and blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. He crashed onto the pure white ground—no, there was no ground; he crashed onto "nothingness," but that "nothingness" was as hard as iron.

Lin Qing'er rushed over to help him. The God of Nothingness did not pursue him.

"You are too weak," it said.

Qin Yuan pushed Lin Qing'er's hand away and stood up. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, looked at the cracked Xing Tian Sword, and then at the God of Nothingness.

"You asked what would happen if she disappeared," he said. "Then let her not disappear."

He grasped Lin Qing'er's hand. Golden light surged from his palm, and cyan light emanated from Lin Qing'er's chest. The two lights intertwined, like vines, like a river, like two people embracing. They merged into pure white—as white as the light of the God of Nothingness, but warmer.

The cracks on the Xingtian Sword were filled with pure white, and the sword was restored to its original state, even brighter.

Qin Yuan raised his sword. "This sword is called 'us'."

A pure white sword aura slashed out. The God of Nothingness also unleashed a pure white beam of light. The two beams of light met in mid-air, without explosion or roar. They pierced through each other, merged, and acknowledged one another.

The light of the God of Nothingness faded. Qin Yuan's light remained.

"You have won," said the God of Nothingness. "Your path is purer than mine."

Its light began to dissipate, turning into countless white specks of light, like snowflakes, like dandelions, like soap bubbles blown away as a child.

"The end of the path is not the end." The final voice echoed in the void, "It is the beginning. You are free."

The light condensed into a door. An ordinary door, made of wood, with a slightly rusty iron handle.

Qin Yuan didn't push the door open. He turned around and looked at the way he came—no, the way he came was gone. But he knew the direction. He took Lin Qing'er's hand and walked in that direction.

"Aren't we going in to take a look?" Lin Qing'er asked.

"I'm not looking anymore," Qin Yuan said. "There's nothing on it."

How did you know?

"I'm just guessing," Qin Yuan said. "But there's something down there. There's a stream, an old plum tree, and the blue stone where you washed the medicinal herbs."

Lin Qing'er smiled. "You still remember that bluestone."

"I remember. There's a depression on it, just big enough to hold a medicine basket."

"You even remember this?"

"I remember everything."

They traversed nothingness, light curtains, starry skies, roulette wheels, mirrors, chains, flames, and rivers. They traversed beyond all worlds, across countless realms, through the sea of ​​chaos, and through the land of origin.

They returned to the back mountain of Xuan Yuan Sect at dusk.

The stream is still flowing. The sound of the water hasn't changed. A few late-blooming plum blossoms hang from the branches of the old plum tree, white and fragrant. A layer of moss has grown on the bluestone, but the indentation where the medicine basket was placed is still there.

Qin Yuan squatted down and scooped up some stream water to wash his face. The water was so cold that he squinted. He shook the water droplets off his hands and turned to look at Lin Qing'er.

Lin Qing'er also squatted down to wash her face. Water droplets dripped from her chin, hitting the bluestone and splashing into a small spray.

The setting sun shone on them, casting long, overlapping shadows.

Qin Yuan leaned against the bluestone, and Lin Qing'er leaned on his shoulder. Petals drifted down from the old plum tree and landed on her hair, but he didn't pick them off for her.

In the early morning on the back mountain of Xuan Yuan Sect, the sounds of the stream and birdsong mingled together. Qin Yuan sat under the old plum tree, his eyes closed. He wasn't cultivating; he was simply listening. Listening to the water, the wind, and the sound of petals falling to the ground.

Lin Qing'er came out of the house, carrying two bowls of porridge. She placed one bowl next to Qin Yuan and sat down on the bluestone with the other bowl in her hand. The porridge was plain white rice porridge with a few red dates added; she had cooked it that morning.

Qin Yuan opened his eyes, picked up the bowl, and took a sip. It wasn't too hot; it was just right.

"The weather is nice today," Lin Qing'er said.

"Um."

"No cracks, no enemies, no gatekeepers."

"Um."

"Don't you want to say anything?"

Qin Yuan thought for a moment. "The porridge is delicious."

Lin Qing'er smiled. She put down the bowl, leaned against the bluestone, and looked up at the old plum tree. Petals occasionally drifted down, one landing on the tip of her nose. She blew on it, and the petal flew away.

They lived like this for three months. During those three months, no one disturbed them, no cataclysmic events occurred, and no battles were unavoidable. Qin Yuan hung the Xingtian Sword on the wall inside the house; the scabbard was covered in dust, but he didn't wipe it clean. Lin Qing'er cultivated a small plot of land by the stream, planted a few spiritual herbs, and watered and weeded them daily, just as she had done when she was an outer disciple of the Xuan Yuan Sect.

But the cracks still appeared.

That morning, Qin Yuanxian heard a sound. It wasn't birdsong, nor the sound of wind, but a low, tearing sound, like cloth being ripped apart, but magnified countless times. He looked up; the sky was still blue, the clouds were still white, and there was nothing there.

Lin Qing'er heard it too. She put down the hoe she was holding and walked over to Qin Yuan.

"Up there," she said.

Qin Yuan looked up, and this time he saw it. At the highest point of the sky, above the clouds, there was a black crack as thin as a hair. It was slowly expanding, from the width of a hair to the width of a finger, from the width of a finger to the width of an arm. Chaotic energy seeped out from the crack, gray, surging, like the steam of boiling water, but thicker and heavier.

When the gap widened to the width of a person, the first Chaos Warriors jumped out.

They had no faces. Not masks, not coverings, but the area was simply flat, devoid of facial features. Their bodies were grayish-black, as if molded from clay, with cracks on the surface from which a dark red light emanated. Each one possessed the aura of a Void Sovereign, far surpassing many gatekeepers Qin Yuan had encountered across the myriad realms.

There were thirty-seven of them. They landed on the ground, crushing the medicinal herbs Lin Qing'er had planted and trampling the grass by the stream, and walked towards Qin Yuan and Lin Qing'er. Their steps were orderly, like an army.

Qin Yuan did not draw his sword. He raised his right hand and struck out with his palm.

A golden palm print flew out from the palm, growing larger and larger until it covered half the sky. Thirty-seven Chaos Warriors simultaneously raised their arms to block, but the palm print did not stop. It rolled over, like crushing thirty-seven pebbles. The sound of bones shattering blended together, and gray-black fragments scattered, turning into puddles of gray liquid on the ground, seeping into the soil.

Lin Qing'er looked at the trampled herb garden, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Can it still be planted?" Qin Yuan asked.

"The roots are all severed," Lin Qing'er said. "It can't survive."

Qin Yuan said nothing more. He looked up at the crack, which remained open. More chaotic energy poured out from within, and more footsteps echoed from within.

"I'll go inside and take a look," he said.

"I'll go with you," Lin Qing'er said.

Qin Yuan looked at her. There was no fear or hesitation on her face, only a calm and firm determination.

"it is good."

The two flew toward the crevice.