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Eras slipped by, each one too vast to be marked by numbers, each fading into the next like the dreams of gods between lifetimes. The Cosmos grew—swelling until its borders were nothing but a myth among the stars.
In the beginning, the Laws that bowed to Yuan Zu governed all with quiet fidelity, but even Laws have a life, and lives always dwindle. One by one, the first generation fell to oblivion, fading into cosmic memory.
Yuan Zu himself changed—his ageless face now marked by the stern lines of time. He stood in the twilight of his own era, watching as the old Laws were replaced by new ones: the second generation, born from the patterns of existence, but refued to submit to Yuan Zu. They followed the Law of Final Death, independent and proud.
As eras passed by, even more generations arose. The Laws multiplied and differed, stubborn as they were vast. By the third generation, not a single Law remained that recognized Yuan Zu as master. The Cosmos, swollen with chaos, had reshaped its own hierarchy. Amidst this storm, the ten children and countless creations of Yuan Zu thrived, surviving and prospering in the new order.
It was near the end of an era when the Law of Final Death arrived, silent and immutable.
The scene was simple: a table set in the space, between stars, a jar of wine radiating a faint, dying light. The Law of Final Death sat opposite Yuan Zu, pouring wine into two cups. "This is fine wine, extracted from a dying star," Final Death murmured.
Yuan Zu chuckled softly, lifting his cup, watching as wrinkles crept across his once flawless skin, his starlit hair fading to pure white. He drank deeply, savoring the taste. "Not bad," he said, voice edged with nostalgia.
Final Death set his cup down, gaze solemn. "Yuan Zu, your time is here. You are the essence of creation, and out of respect, I did not come to annihilate you without a final conversation."
Yuan Zu smiled—a breath of calm amid the chaos. "I'll go with you, but wait." With a single gesture, he drew out his blood essence, dividing it into eight glowing portions. He pushed them toward Final Death. "Old friend, by your essence, all things must perish—even I am no exception. Take this essence and forge eight new lives from it. From them, choose a successor to your Law, and Let the remaining children choose new mentors, whether they be Laws themselves or my own eldest children."
Final Death's eyes widened, stunned. "Your blood essence is the origin of creation itself. By giving me this, you strengthen my nature beyond measure."
Yuan Zu leaned back, voice quiet as the void. "From birth, I had everything. Worship, fear, surrender—none challenged me except you, and the Law of Inverse World. Among you both, you alone grew into a friend. I still remember your delight when you discovered wine, your playful experiments with celestial vintages. To be truthful, I'd like to taste a wine condensed from my own death—from the essence of creation itself."
Final Death laughed—a sound like distant thunder. "Our friendship runs too deep. I will never create wine with your final breath or essence."
Yuan Zu's eyes softened, ancient and accepting. "Friend, take my breath. I have no regrets. When all is done, condense my essence into my eyes and cast them into the endless Cosmos. Let them guide what comes next."
They drank together, silent as the noon before night, as time itself paused in reverence for the end of creation's beginning.
...
As the two cups met with a soft clink, and their wine mingled in silence, Yuan Zu's breath stilled. A sudden stillness erupted from the place where creation's origin took its final gasp. An echo rolled outwards — deep, resonant — like the mournful cry of the cosmos itself, grieving the passing of its primordial ancestor.
Rain began to fall, first as a gentle mist, then as torrents engulfing every planet, washing over worlds old and newborn. Stars, giants of blazing heartbeats, cried out in silent agony as energy erupted violently from their cores — a reverberation of loss felt through every corner of existence.
One by one, Yuan Zu's ten children arrived, drawn like moths to the dying flame. They converged on the place where their father's breath ceased, the very essence of life paused in reverence.
The Cosmos itself seemed to bow, holding its breath, halting its endless dance—for no star moved, no time progressed. It was a stillness born of respect, a solitary tribute to the Primordial Ancestor of all creation and life.
And then, a weight fell upon the universe.
For ten long years, no new life stirred. No spark from birth's fire kindled anew. But deep within the silence, beyond the reach of any Law, a faint pulse stirred—the first beat of creation remembering its maker.
...
With the passing of Yuan Zu, Primordial Ancestor of Law and life, a profound shift rippled through the cosmos.
The Laws of Past, Future, Fate, and Probability—once upheld and balanced by his eternal presence—began to weaken. His absence removed the barrier that had held their fading at bay, and now, vulnerability crept into the very foundation of existence.
From this void of power and stability, new and enigmatic Laws emerged—unseen during Yuan Zu's reign. Among them was the--
Law of Eternal Now - carving pockets of reality where time bent and broke, allowing places to exist entirely outside the linear flow of moments.
The Law of Absolute Probability - unraveled fate's threads, casting events into chaotic randomness, no longer bound by time's steady march.
And the Law of Fractured Destiny - whispered that destiny itself was no longer fixed, but fluid and uncertain.
Yet, while some Laws weakened, others grew fierce in their influence.
The Law of Non-Existence surged mightily, fed by the death of the reincarnation cycle. Without return, nullification became absolute—complete erasure from reality.
The Law of Karma and Consequence transformed as well: morality dimmed, replaced by a ruthless physical retribution. Actions no longer carried spiritual weight, but their consequences struck with brutal inevitability.
Meanwhile, the Law of Energy Transfer blossomed in strength, opening the gates for all beings to become cultivators. Aptitude no longer mattered; anyone could forge their path through the cosmos by seizing the raw power of energy itself.
In this new era, the cosmos grew wild, unpredictable, and free—shaped by laws no longer bound by the will of its first creator, but by the endless dance of change and chance.
...
From that moment onward, the number of Laws within the cosmos neither remained fixed nor random.
Instead, it expanded and contracted in a cosmic rhythm, revolving endlessly around the vast number of 111,333,666,999-One hundred eleven billion, Three hundred thirty-three million, Six hundred sixty-six hundred thousand, Nine hundred ninety-nine.
One for Origin, Three for Balance, Six for Evolution, Nine for Eternity.
The Laws pulsed—sometimes multiplying beyond measure, sometimes thinning to near silence—but always returning near this mysterious count.
This number became a celestial heartbeat, marking the eternal dance of creation and dissolution. The Laws, like stars themselves, were born and faded in waves, shaping reality in unpredictable and ever-shifting patterns.
No being, mortal or divine, could fully grasp the scale or the meaning of this cosmic cadence—only that it underscored the dynamic and living nature of all existence.
...
After the passing of Yuan Zu, all his children, many of his greatest creations, and the Laws that governed the cosmos gathered in the void—silent and heavy with grief.
His eldest son, the Boundless Great Space, stood motionless. His body shimmered like the infinite void of a starry night, vast and unyielding. He watched, heart frozen, as his father's form remained still, the wine cup still poised at his lips.
Near him, the seventh daughter, the Desolate Primordial Moon, wept openly. Her golden eyes streamed tears that glistened like liquid light, her silver hair cascading over a dress woven from petals of falling peach blossoms. Even in the void's emptiness, moonlight danced softly on her skin—a fragile light in the darkness.
Each of Yuan Zu's children bore the weight of loss in their hearts, mourning the death of the Primordial Ancestor who birthed all things.
The Law of Final Death sat across from Yuan Zu's body, expressionless yet tear-streaked. Silence deepened, broken only by the soft drip of grief.
Then, the third son, the Primordial Yang Star—marked by hard black horns and blazing red hairs, with a great star tattoo emblazoned on his forehead—erupted in fury. Madness overtook him; with a roar, he launched himself at the Law of Final Death.
Final Death set his cup down deliberately, his single finger tapping the table with quiet authority. Instantly, a wave of space rippled forth, pausing the furious son mid-strike. The son's pupils locked on Final Death's calm gaze as tears spilled down his face.
Without a word, Final Death rose and approached. A gentle tap to the son's forehead sent a shockwave rippling through his frame, throwing him backward. Slowly, the son steadied himself, bowing his head.
"Senior Final Death, forgive me. I lost my mind."
Final Death remained silent.
Minutes stretched into eternity. Then, Yuan Zu's body dissolved, except his eyes, transforming into countless golden spheres of energy that scattered across the vast universe—a final blessing sent forth to the Laws, to his children, and to all creation.
Every being there witnessed this sacred gift and understood: Yuan Zu's last wish was for all life to flourish and thrive.
For the first time, the Law of Final Death clenched his fist. Where Yuan Zu's body had been, the wine cup still hovering with crimson liquid at its rim, the wine stirred as though alive. Energy erupted in a silent explosion—subtle yet immense—until the liquid began to swell, expanding outward.
All beings stepped back as the wine expanded, condensing into a radiant, burning star. From this star, life was born—the first life created by the Law of Final Death, fashioned in tribute to his dear friend and the Primordial Ancestor of all laws and life.
In this act, even death bore the seed of beginnings.
—--
Han Chen's eyes fluttered open to a sea of countless flowers stretching infinitely beneath a still, unmoving sun hung high in a clear sky. The fatigue from the grueling refinement process had vanished as if it had never been, and the injuries that marred his body moments ago were now fully healed.
He murmured softly, "Where am I…" Recognition dawned slowly as he recalled the place—the Grassland of Flowers, the space where the Dome teleported challengers between each trial. He had finished the second trial. He had been teleported here.
His gaze drifted to his hand. There, nestled in his palm, was the Grade One Spirit Condensing Pill. It shimmered silver, surrounded by a faint, chilling aura of Death Qi.
"Oh…" he thought, "The pill was teleported with me."
His senses sharpened as he came fully awake. "Even Yuan Zu died… so, what am I cultivating for? Just to live a little longer?"
Those words echoed in his mind, the weight of his recent dream still lingering—the legends of Yuan Zu, the primordial ancestor of laws and life itself.
A slow smile curled on his lips. "That's the more reason. I have to attain immortality… to stand at the absolute top, where even Yuan Zu could not reach." Without hesitation, Han Chen consumed the pill.
The silver orb dissolved smoothly in his throat, sending a rush of warmth and soul energy through his body.
For the next hour, he circulated the energy of his Soul Bead in the Upper Dantian, feeling the unstable and damaged foundation of his soul repair itself.
Bit by bit, the fractures mended, and calmness settled deep within his spirit.
The grinding pain of instability eased until it was gone entirely, replaced by a steady pulse of strength—a solid foundation now stable amid chaos.
Han Chen opened his eyes again, steady and clear, ready for the challenges that lay ahead.
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----