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

He used that confirmation as an anchor point, piercing the accelerating timeline. The line began to decelerate. Babies no longer ran at birth, and the elderly no longer died in a single step. People had childhood, youth, middle age, and old age. There was no more rush.

When Qin Yuan stepped out of the box, half of his hair was white. It wasn't bleached white; it was a withered, dehydrated white, like dry straw. His fingers could still clench into a fist, but not tightly. Lin Qing'er walked behind him; her hands were still soft.

The Old Man of Time looked at his hair. "Five more strands."

Qin Yuan didn't say anything and walked towards the third line.

Everything flows backward.

The creatures within the lines are moving in reverse. The dead crawl out of their graves, the soil sheds from them, their clothes transform from tattered to new, their faces change from old to young, to teenagers, to infants, and then shrink back into their mothers' wombs. It's not cruelty, it's a kind of order. Only this order is the opposite of the normal direction.

Qin Yuan stepped inside. He felt himself growing younger. Not stronger, but weaker. His cultivation level began to regress from the ninth level of the Chaos Primordial Era—to the eighth, seventh, and sixth level. He remembered the details of his battle against Chaos Heaven, but now those details were blurring. He remembered the sensation of wielding the Xing Tian Sword for the first time, but that sensation was disappearing. He remembered what it was like to enter the War God's Temple, but now that memory was like paper soaked in water, the writing blurred and illegible.

Lin Qing'er was also affected. She had forgotten when she met Qin Yuan, only remembering "someone." What was that person's name? She didn't know. But she knew she should follow him.

The Old Man of Time is also getting younger, but his memories remain. Because he is too old. Rewind ten thousand years, and he is still an old man. Rewind a hundred thousand years, and he is still an old man. Rewind to before his memories were formed, and his memories are already etched into his bones.

Amidst his regressing cultivation, Qin Yuan found a thought. It wasn't "I want to become stronger," but rather, "I don't want to go back to before I planted that tree." The old plum tree. That tree wasn't wild; he and Lin Qing'er planted it together. She dug the hole, he placed the sapling, she filled the soil, he watered it. The tree survived. At that moment, he didn't want to go back to before that moment. Because before, she wasn't there; after, she was.

He anchored the timeline with that thought. The reversal stopped. Then it began to flow forward—slowly, clumsily, like a toddler relearning to walk.

When Qin Yuan stepped out of the timeline, he had returned to his original state. His cultivation had returned, and so had his memories. But Lin Qing'er's gaze towards him held a layer of unfamiliarity. It wasn't that she didn't recognize him, but rather that she needed to get to know him anew. In the rewind of time, she had forgotten some things about him, and now those things had returned, but they were returning like turning the pages of a book, one by one, not all at once. She needed time.

The Old Man of Time pointed ahead. "The fourth line isn't time. It's causality. The territory of the Queen of Causality. I can't control it."

A gray plain. No trees, no grass, no stones. Only gray earth and a gray sky. Countless people stand on the plain. Men, women, the old, children. Everyone is doing the same thing—raising their hand, lowering it, raising their hand, lowering it. Not because they are repeating the same action, but because that's all they know how to do. No reason, no result. Raising their hand needs no reason, lowering it needs no reason.

A woman dressed in black walked from the edge of the plain. Her steps were slow, but not hesitant. Each step was on the same beat, like a metronome. Her face was cold, her features regular but lifeless, as if painted on.

Queen of Cause and Effect.

"The chain of cause and effect is broken," she said, her tone as if stating the weather. "Killing goes unpunished, saving lives goes unappreciated. Don't you think this is better?"

Qin Yuan said, "Without cause and effect, there is no choice. Without choice, a person is not a person."

The Queen of Karma stared at him, her gaze unwavering, as if conducting an experiment. "You've killed so many people. What about your karma? Have you paid for it with your life?"

Qin Yuan didn't answer. He didn't need to. Lin Qing'er answered for him. "I'll bear half of his karma."

The Queen of Cause and Effect shifted her gaze from Qin Yuan to Lin Qing'er. For the first time, an expression appeared on her face—not surprise, but curiosity. She walked up to Lin Qing'er and looked down at her. Lin Qing'er did not back down.

"You took half the blame for him. Do you know how much half is? Ten thousand lives? A million? Or a hundred million?"

"Any amount is fine," Lin Qing'er said. "If we can't carry it all, we'll continue carrying the rest."

The Queen of Cause and Effect's lips twitched. It wasn't a smile, but some kind of muscular reaction she couldn't quite explain. She took a step back and looked at Qin Yuan. "If you can withstand the backlash of a complete causal chain, I'll help you."

Qin Yuan said, "Come."

The Queen of Cause and Effect raised her hand. A black chain descended from the void, landing on Qin Yuan's shoulder. The chain wasn't metal, but composed of countless tiny, luminous characters—each character being the name of someone he had killed. The strokes of the names were silver, but black mist permeated the silver light. The mist writhed, like a living thing.

Qin Yuan's knees bent. Not from kneeling, but from being bent under the weight. His back arched, and his cervical spine cracked. He didn't kneel.

Lin Qing'er raised her hand, wanting to help him, but was stopped by the Queen of Karma's gaze. "He must bear this himself. This is his karma."

Black lines appeared on Qin Yuan's back. They spread from his spine to both sides, like tree branches, like lightning, like cracks in parched earth. When the lines split open, the blood didn't flow out, it seeped out. Drop by drop, it trickled down the lines.

He remembered the first person he killed. An outer disciple of the Xuan Yuan Sect, who bullied Lin Qing'er and had his throat pierced by his wooden sword. He didn't remember the man's name, but the chain of cause and effect did.

He thought of the hundredth person he had killed. An opponent on the battlefield of the Hundred Sects, whom he did not know and had no enmity with, but whoever wanted to kill him, he had no choice but to fight back.

He thought of the ten-thousandth person he had killed. A gatekeeper on a certain timeline, devoid of emotion, devoid of self, existing only with rules. It didn't want to die, but it had no choice.

He remembered the millionth person he had killed. The Chaotic Heaven.

Each name was like a nail driven into his back. The nails themselves didn't hurt; the pain came from pulling them out. The chain of cause and effect wasn't meant to punish him, but to make him see clearly—everyone he killed had once lived.

Qin Yuan stood up straight.

He didn't stand up gradually; rather, in a single instant, his body decided not to bend down any further. Knees locked, spine straightened, shoulders broadened. In that same instant, the black markings on his back turned gold. Not a replacement, but an infusion. The gold spread outwards from the center of the markings, like ink spreading on rice paper.

Looking at the golden patterns, the Queen of Cause and Effect spoke a complete sentence for the first time.

"You are not without cause and effect. Your cause and effect have become a form of protection. Rare."