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

"Protect," said the Ancestor of Chaos. "Interesting. But you cannot protect."

Qin Yuan swung his sword. A golden, condensed sword aura slashed out, more focused than any he had ever been in the Abyss of Chaos. The sword aura flew towards the Ancestor of Chaos, one foot, two feet, three feet. It stopped three feet in front of it. Not blocked, but as if it had encountered some concept of "stopping"—it shouldn't go any further, so it didn't. The sword aura hovered in the air, motionless for half a breath, then shattered. The fragments transformed into golden specks of light and dissipated.

The Ancestor of Chaos raised his hand. Not to attack, but to issue a command. The ground beneath Qin Yuan's feet—that invisible, soft, elastic layer—collapsed. Not shattered, but vanished. He fell, and Lin Qing'er reached out to grab him, but the ground beneath her feet also disappeared. The two fell together.

There was no wind, no sound, and no reference points during the fall. Qin Yuan didn't know how long he had been falling; it could be a breath, it could be a day. The only thing he could feel was Lin Qing'er's hand, still holding his.

They crashed into something. Not the ground, not water, not any tangible substance, but a soft, elastic "boundary." They bounced up, rose, fell, and bounced up again. Like two marbles bouncing on a trampoline.

The Primordial of Chaos appeared beside them. Its body emerged from the air, not by walking or flying, but by simply "appearing," like changing a television channel.

"This is my heartbeat space," it said. "Here, my rules are the only rules. Your spiritual power, laws, and heavenly principles do not exist."

Qin Yuan tried to activate the Guardian Heavenly Dao. A golden light flashed briefly in his palm, then went out, like a lighter failing to ignite in the wind. Lin Qing'er also tried, but there was no reaction whatsoever.

"The Wasteland, Ruins, and Yao are too weak. The Chaos Heaven is also too weak," said the Ancestor of Chaos. "They do not understand true power. Neither do you."

It raised its hand. Qin Yuan felt an invisible hand pressing down on his chest. It wasn't oppression, not pressure, but something more fundamental—his "existence" was fixed. His lungs were still there, but air couldn't get in. His heart was still there, but it wouldn't beat. His blood was still there, but it wouldn't flow. His whole body felt like it had been cast into cement, solidified.

Lin Qing'er rushed towards him. After taking three steps, she was also pressed to the ground by the same force. She lay there, her face pressed against the invisible ground, her fingers drawing several marks on the ground, but she couldn't get up.

The Primordial of Chaos looked down at them. Their reflections on his mirror-like face were distorted beyond recognition. "You have no chance of winning in my world."

Qin Yuan lay on the ground, the air in his chest growing thinner and thinner. His consciousness began to blur, not from the pain, but from the lack of oxygen. The last clear thought in his mind was not "What to do?", not "Can I still fight?", but a name.

Lin Qing'er.

Not her face, not her voice, not any specific image. Just a name. Three words. But he felt those three words were bigger than all the worlds he had ever lived in combined.

He didn't struggle. He closed his eyes, sinking his consciousness into the deepest part of his body. There was no spiritual power, no laws, no force whatsoever. Only one thing—the thought of protection. A pure thought, unbound by any rules, simply "wanting to protect someone." It didn't depend on spiritual power, on laws, or on the Heavenly Dao. It was simply there, from the moment he first saw Lin Qing'er by the stream behind the Xuan Yuan Sect.

The thought shone brightly in the suppressed space. Not light, not energy, but a declaration of "existence." I am here. I will protect her. Whatever your rules may be.

Qin Yuan's fingers moved. Then his arms moved. He used his hands to push himself up from the ground. He knelt down, then stood up. His knees were trembling, his legs were trembling, his whole body was trembling, but he stood up.

The Ancestor of Chaos looked at him. His mirror-like face remained unchanged.

"Your body contains the greatest 'existence' power among all living beings in the myriad realms. But it's not enough."

Qin Yuan raised his sword. A golden light shone from the blade, faint, like a candle in the wind, but it was indeed shining.

The Ancestor of Chaos raised his hand. An even greater force pressed down. Qin Yuan's knees bent, but he didn't kneel. He gritted his teeth, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin onto the unseen ground. The sword tip pointed at the Ancestor of Chaos's chest. Three feet. Two feet. One and a half feet. The invisible wall before the sword tip remained, but he could feel it trembling.

Lin Qing'er stood up. She crawled on the ground, her fingers digging into the earth, slowly pushing herself up. Kneels on the ground, she stood, swayed, and steadied herself. She walked behind Qin Yuan and placed her hands on his shoulders. A blue light flowed from her palms into Qin Yuan's body. It wasn't spiritual power, nor laws, but trust. She believed in him. She believed in his sword. She believed in every word he said. Even though he rarely spoke.

On Qin Yuan's sword, gold and cyan intertwine. Not fused together, but intertwined. They exist independently, yet their directions are aligned.

A tiny crack appeared in the invisible wall before the sword tip. It was as thin as a hair, but it was definitely there.

The progenitor of chaos looked at the crack. It took a step back.

It wasn't fear. It wasn't afraid. It retreated because it was observing. On the mirrored face, the reflections of Qin Yuan and Lin Qing'er were no longer distorted—they became clear and bright. As if someone had wiped the fog off a mirror.

"Trust," said the Ancestor of Chaos. "Your power comes from trust. Not trust in power itself, but trust in existence. You believe she exists, and she believes you exist. Therefore, you exist. According to my rules, you should not exist. But you do exist."

Qin Yuan remained silent. He continued to thrust the sword forward. The crack widened, from the width of a hair to the width of a finger. From that crack, light shone through—not the light of this space, but the light of all realms. Golden, warm, belonging to the place he came from.

The Ancestor of Chaos raised both hands. He pressed down with both hands simultaneously, doubling the force. Qin Yuan's left knee touched the ground, but he didn't kneel; he knelt on one knee. His right hand still held the sword. Lin Qing'er's hands remained on his shoulders. Her fingers trembled, but she didn't loosen them.

Qin Yuan turned and glanced at her. Her face was covered in sweat, her lips were pale, but her eyes were bright.

"You're here," he said.

"I'm here," she said.

Qin Yuan turned back. The cracks on the sword—not the ones on the wall, but the ones on the sword—had disappeared. The sword was restored to its original state, and its light was even brighter. It wasn't a mixture of gold and cyan, but rather gold and cyan coexisting, each complete. He didn't need to merge them. They didn't need to merge in the first place. They were one.