They descended from the mist-shrouded peaks of the Heavenly Ancient Corpse Burial Ground, leaving behind the tragedy of the Middle Continent Princess. The atmosphere was heavy, the air thick with the unspoken weight of millions of years of death, but Ling Feng moved with a spring in his step that seemed almost sacrilegious.
He didn't immediately teleport back to their temporary camp. instead, he stopped in a valley teeming with wild, untamed energy. He raised his hand, and the Green Chaos Emerald within his Inner Void flared to life.
"Chaos Control: Vacuum Mode," he muttered.
The Chaos Force didn't just ripple; it expanded like an invisible, predatory dragnet. In the cultivation world, harvesting spirit herbs was a delicate art. Alchemists would spend hours chanting mantras and using jade spades to ensure not a single root hair was damaged, lest the medicinal essence leak away.
Ling Feng didn't care about art. He cared about volume.
Whoosh.
The valley groaned. The soil churned as if boiling. Suddenly, centuries-old Ginseng, radiant Spirit Ores, and hardened Earth Metals were ripped from their earthen cradles. They flew through the air in a glittering stream, vanishing directly into Ling Feng's Inner Void.
"Young Noble, you're... you are plundering the very earth itself," Li Shuangyan noted, her icy eyes wide with a mixture of horror and awe. As a descendant of a prime sect, she had been taught to respect the land's geomancy. "Usually, extracting a single root of Dragon Saliva Grass takes half a day of careful work."
"Ain't nobody got time for that," Ling Feng replied, dusting off his hands as the last chunk of ore disappeared. "Efficiency, honey. Why use a teaspoon when you have a Dyson?"
"A... Die-son?" Xu Pei blinked, confused by the strange word, but she smiled nonetheless, accustomed to his incomprehensible dialect.
They continued their trek, the landscape shifting from lush, deceptive hills to jagged, rocky crags. Ling Feng paused near the edge of a massive, abyssal pit. It was a wound in the earth, so deep that even the light of the sun refused to touch its bottom.
Deep down, in the suffocating darkness, something stirred.
It was a presence so ancient, so fundamentally terrified and terrifying, that it made the aura of Princess Bu Lianxiang feel like the tantrum of a toddler.
The "Old Ghost." The legendary alchemist trapped in the frog, the ominous existence that Li Qiye had warily negotiated with in the original timeline.
Ling Feng stared into the abyss. His Chaos Sense, usually a roaring river of information, suddenly spiked with a shrill warning.
[Danger Level: Extreme. Do not Poke. Do not engage.]
"Should I go say hi?" Ling Feng mused aloud, tilting his head as he peered into the gloom. "I could probably scam a few Immortal Medicines off him. Maybe tell him I know a guy who can cure frog-skin."
He tapped his chin, the thrill of the gamble warring with his survival instinct. Then, he shook his head.
"Nah. Too much effort. The guy is grumpy, likely senile, and probably smells like a sewer mixed with sulfur. We're good."
He turned to the three women, his expression brightening. "Alright, ladies. Beam me up."
He snapped his fingers. The Cyan Chaos Emerald spun.
Zwoop.
Space didn't tear; it folded. The nauseating lurch of a teleportation formation was absent. Instead, reality simply refreshed. One moment they were standing on the edge of the abyss; the next, they were back at their base camp near the perimeter of the Burial Ground.
The sun was beginning to set, casting long, blood-red shadows across the eerie landscape. The strange, mournful cries of unknown beasts began to echo from the deeper ridges.
Ling Feng stretched, his spine popping with a series of satisfying cracks. He didn't assume the lotus position to meditate or consolidate his gains. Instead, he flopped down onto a large, flat rock as if it were a recliner, sighing with content.
"Come here," he commanded gently.
He pulled Chen Baojiao into his lap. The fierce beauty let out a startled squeak, her body stiffening for a fleeting second before she melted against him. He wrapped a strong arm around Xu Pei's waist, pulling the gentle girl to his side.
"Good haul today," Ling Feng said, his voice a low rumble. He nuzzled his face into the crook of Chen Baojiao's neck, inhaling her scent—a mix of wild orchids and the metallic tang of her saber. "But fighting zombies and haggling with dead people is exhausting. I need a recharge."
Chen Baojiao's face flushed a brilliant crimson, her usually sharp eyes turning misty. "Y-Young Noble," she stammered, glancing nervously at the open perimeter. "We are in the open... anyone could see..."
"So?" Ling Feng smirked, nipping lightly at her earlobe. "Let them watch. They're just jealous they don't have a supreme beauty in their arms. Most of these cultivators are single dogs anyway."
He looked up at Li Shuangyan. The descendant of the Nine Saint Demon Gate was standing guard a few feet away, her hand on her sword, trying desperately to maintain her icy, aloof facade. But the slight flush on her porcelain cheeks gave her away.
"You too, my dear," Ling Feng beckoned, extending his hand. "Come here. Stop acting like a statue. The perimeter is fine."
Li Shuangyan bit her lip, her composure cracking. She sheathed her sword and walked over, sitting gracefully beside him on the rock. Ling Feng immediately took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. His thumb brushed over her knuckles in a rhythmic, soothing motion.
He didn't treat them like servants, nor like 'Cauldrons' for cultivation. He didn't look at them with the cold, assessing gaze of an Immortal Emperor weighing their utility. He looked at them with genuine, unmasked affection.
"You three did good today," he said softly, looking from one to the other. "I know this place is scary as hell. It's basically a haunted house on steroids. Thanks for sticking with me."
Xu Pei rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. "Wherever you go, Feng, we go. Even if it is to the Yellow Springs."
"That's the spirit," Ling Feng kissed the top of her head. "But we aren't going to the Yellow Springs. Stick with me, and I'll make sure you all reach the apex. No bottlenecks, no tribulations, no tragic backstories. Just pure, unadulterated winning."
"You speak so casually of defying the Heavens," Li Shuangyan sighed, a small, rare smile playing on her lips. It transformed her face, melting the ice. "But with you... I actually believe it."
"The Heavens are overrated," Ling Feng scoffed, looking up at the darkening sky. "Just a buggy operating system run by a temperamental child."
Their peaceful moment lasted for a few hours, a rare island of tranquility in a sea of danger. But as the moon rose, the silence was broken.
Li Shuangyan's expression tightened. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a communication jade that was pulsing with urgent light. She pressed it to her forehead, her brows knitting together.
"Young Noble," she said, her voice turning sharp and serious, the softness of the previous moment vanishing. "News from the perimeter. The major powers are arriving."
"Who specifically?" Ling Feng asked. He didn't move, continuing to play with a lock of Baojiao's silky hair, twirling it around his finger.
"The Azure Mysterious Ancient Kingdom," Li Shuangyan listed, her tone grave. "They have brought a massive army. Along with them, the Divine Sword Sacred Ground, Mysterious Bamboo Mountain, and the Heavenly Dao Academy. Even the Southern Heavenly Kingdom has sent out their cavalry."
At the mention of the Azure Mysterious Ancient Kingdom, Chen Baojiao's body tensed in Ling Feng's arms. Her eyes flashed with a cold, hateful anger.
"The Azure Mysterious Ancient Kingdom..." she hissed. "They are arrogant. They believe this territory belongs to them by right, simply because their Ancestor once walked here."
Ling Feng snorted, a sound of pure derision. "Azure Mysterious? More like fat sheep. They're still riding the coattails of their ancestor from eras ago, flexing a credit card that's about to be declined."
He stood up, the lazy, lounge-lizard aura vanishing in an instant. In its place was a sharp, dangerous glint that made him look like a unsheathed blade.
"Let them come. If they want to play nice, we trade. If they want to start shit..."
He raised his right hand. The Red Chaos Emerald materialized, hovering above his palm. Its crimson light pulsed with the terrifying frequency of Absolute Force—a power that ignored defense, ignored laws, and simply erased matter.
"...I'll show them why the Heavenly God Sect is cowering about us now. I'll turn their ancient legacy into a parking lot."
...
Three days seemingly passed in an instant.
And on this day, while Ling Feng was relaxing with his girls, ground suddenly shook.
It wasn't a tremor; it was a convulsion. The sky above the Burial Ground turned a sickly, bruised shade of yellow, like old parchment rotting in the sun. The wind stopped dead. The birds fell silent.
Then came the sound. It was the roar of rushing water, echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once, a phantom tide crashing against the shores of reality.
"It's starting," Ling Feng said, looking toward the horizon where the energy density was spiking. "The Underworld River is flowing."
The phenomenon was apocalyptic. The sky didn't just darken; it seemed to decay. From the deepest, most jagged cracks of the Burial Ground, a spectral river began to surge upward. It defied gravity, flowing into the sky, a ribbon of black ink cutting through the void.
"Time to go," Ling Feng said.
He grabbed the girls, his Chaos Energy enveloping them in a protective bubble.
Warp.
They appeared at a rendezvous point on a high ridge overlooking the basin. Two groups were already there, waiting anxiously, the tension palpable in the air.
One was the Nine Saint Demon Gate faction.
The other was the War God Temple. A wizened Elder stood there, radiating a powerful, ancient aura that distorted the air around him. Beside him stood War God Mu, a man who looked less like a human and more like a forged blade, brimming with a sharp, suffocating battle intent.
When Ling Feng appeared out of thin air, War God Mu's eyes narrowed. He hadn't sensed the approach at all. His hand instinctively twitched toward his weapon.
"Ling Feng," War God Mu nodded, his voice deep and gravelly, sounding like stones grinding together. "You are late."
"Fashionably late, bro," Ling Feng replied, giving a lazy two-finger salute. "And I could say the same to you. Showing right up when the boats come? How dramatic. Did you wait in the bushes for the cue?"
The Elder from the War God Temple scrutinized Ling Feng. He tried to probe the boy's cultivation with his Divine Sense, but his mental energy hit a wall of static.
It felt... alien.
"So this is the genius the rumors speak of," the Elder murmured. "You have a strange aura, young man. Unfathomable."
"It's called charisma, gramps," Ling Feng grinned, winking at the stoic old man. "You should try it sometime."
The Elder frowned, his white brows twitching. He wasn't used to being addressed so casually. This boy had no manners, no reverence for seniority. But the pressure radiating from Ling Feng—specifically the suppression of the Chaos Force—kept the Elder from lashing out.
"The Boats are surfacing," the Nine Saint Demon Elder interjected, stepping between them to keep the peace. "We must secure a position at the riverbank. The competition will be fierce."
"Walk?" Ling Feng laughed, looking at the distant riverbank. "Nah. Grab on."
Before the War God Temple experts could protest or summon their flying treasures, Ling Feng snapped his fingers.
"Chaos Control."
The world twisted. The scenery smeared into a blur of colors.
In a split second, the entire group—dozens of people, including the heavy coffins they carried—teleported instantly from the ridge to the very edge of the Underworld River.
"What?!" War God Mu stumbled, his balance thrown off by the instantaneous shift. He looked around in shock. They had crossed hundreds of miles in a blink. "Space transfer? Without a formation? Without burning Blood Energy?"
"Just a little parlor trick," Ling Feng winked, enjoying the look of shock on the legendary warrior's face.
The scene before them was magnificent and terrifying.
The Underworld River was vast, its waters black and silent, flowing with a heaviness that suggested it was made of mercury rather than water. Floating upon it were countless boats. Some were made of rotting wood, some of paper that inexplicably didn't soak, some of gold, and some were simply coffins drifting on the current.
And the crowd... it was a sea of cultivators.
Suddenly, the earth cracked.
Rumble.
Treasure Lords.
From the depths of the burial ground, figures wrapped in ancient shrouds emerged. They weren't mindless corpses; they were merchants of death. They carried stone tablets and ancient boxes, their eyes glowing with the green fire of greed.
The air thickened with Corpse Qi, suffocating and cold.
Ling Feng watched the stone tablets and ancient boxes appear in the hands of the Treasure Lords, his eyes half-lidded. To him, this wasn't a sacred ritual; it was a pop-up shop.
"Merchants of death," he muttered. "Even the afterlife runs on microtransactions."
Around the riverbank, the atmosphere boiled over.
War banners flapped in the corpse wind, the sound like thunder. Battle chariots hovered above the Underworld River like predatory birds, their engines roaring. From all directions, the great lineages of the Grand Middle Territory descended—old monsters who usually stayed hidden behind mountains of incense and generations of juniors were now out in force, dragging their dying bodies for one last gamble.
The competition for the boats had begun.
"The Azure Mysterious Ancient Kingdom has arrived!"
A shout rippled through the crowd, carrying a tremor of fear.
On the horizon, a colossal citadel-ship tore apart the clouds. Its hull was forged from divine metal, shimmering with cold light. Its decks were lined with armored experts, their killing intent uniting into a cloud that blocked out the sun. The banners bore the mark of two Immortal Emperors—the prestige of Azure Mysterious pressing down like a physical mountain.
Behind them came a rain of sword light.
The Divine Sword Sacred Ground's entourage descended as streaks of pure sword intent. Each sword ray condensed into a figure in snow-white robes, their blades sheathed but their intent unsheathed, cutting the very air around them.
In another direction, bamboo shadows stretched across the sky, distorting space. The elders of Mysterious Bamboo Mountain arrived seated upon immense bamboo segments. Each node of the bamboo contained a small world, their auras deep and unmeasurable.
Floating high, like a mobile academy above the dead, an ancient ark bound by chains of runes approached—the Heavenly Dao Academy. Old men with snow-white brows stood upon its prow, their gazes unfathomable, seemingly reading the Dao in the flow of the dead water.
Farther away, drums boomed like thunder. The Heavenly Southern Kingdom's cavalry galloped across the void, warhorses neighing, Life Wheels burning behind the riders like miniature suns.
Next to Ling Feng, the War God Temple Elder's face was solemn. He watched the sky fill with giants of the current era, then glanced sideways at the youth in a corpse-cloak who leaned on his gong like a bored doorman.
"Young Noble Ling," the Elder said in a deep voice, a warning tone lacing his words. "All the great powers of the Grand Middle Territory have gathered. Please… restrain yourself somewhat. If you cause trouble in the Heavenly Ancient Corpse Burial Ground, even my War God Temple will not be able to protect you against the world."
Ling Feng smirked, checking his fingernails. "Relax, gramps. I didn't come here to cause trouble. I'm a pacifist. Usually."
He looked down at the black river where countless boats silently drifted, each an obituary waiting for a name.
"I came here to win."
The Underworld River was quiet, but it wasn't still.
To ordinary cultivators, the boats were indistinguishable—every coffin, every skiff, every paper ferry was a gamble with life as the stake. Only rumors existed: choose right, live again; choose wrong, become an eternal Earth Corpse, enslaved to the land forever.
To Ling Feng, the river was an interface.
He let the Chaos Force surge silently. The Green and Cyan Chaos Emeralds spun in his Inner Void, his perception slipping out of the world's normal framework.
The river changed.
The black water became a flowing matrix of probability and karma. To his Chaos Eyes, the boats lit up one by one with faint, colorless "tags"—lines of information etched in the language of fate.
[Result: Eternal Earth Corpse] [Result: Sealed Punishment – Deep Layer Burial Ground] [Result: Lifespan Extension – 100~300 years, Success Rate: 1.3%] [Result: Immediate Death] [Result: Lifespan Extension – 500~700 years, Success Rate: 2.9%]
Ling Feng narrowed his eyes, reading the data streams.
"So that's how it is…"
Most boats were traps—paths that ended in eternal corpse-hood or being dragged to deeper, more terrifying regions of the Burial Grounds. A few were slightly less terrible. Only a tiny handful—two, to be exact, at this ferry—shone with a rare clarity.
Two boats whose karmic threads did not spiral down into Corpse Qi, but stretched outward, back toward the Mortal Emperor World.
Premium tickets.
He snorted softly. "Gambling hell with a two-percent win rate. The house always wins. Figures."
Beside him, Xu Pei looked up with a gentle but tense expression. She could feel the shift in his focus. "Feng, what is it? Did you discover something?"
"Boats that are worth a damn," Ling Feng said lazily, pointing with his chin. "Don't worry about it yet. Let the plebs fight over the trash."
Down at the river's banks, chaos erupted.
Treasure Lords unleashed Grand Dao arts that made the river heave. Earth Corpses surged forward, their affinity with death energy letting them climb into boats more easily than the living. Royal Nobles and Enlightened Beings fought like starving wolves, each trying to throw their ancestors' coffins onto drifting vessels.
Sky-piercing blades, Immortal Bells, Emperor-level treasures—rays of destruction crisscrossed above the river.
From the Azure Mysterious side, two ancient figures burned something scarlet within their Life Wheels. Waves of blood energy rolled out like a galactic ocean, suppressing the river's fury for a moment.
"Immortal Emperor Longevity Blood..." Li Shuangyan's eyes narrowed, recognizing the aura. "They would actually use such a thing just to steady their boats. That is the blood of their Ancestor."
Chen Baojiao snorted coldly, her hand gripping her saber. "Dogs relying on ancestor bones. Without their Emperors, they are nothing but scum."
Xu Pei, always gentle, still tightened her grip on Ling Feng's sleeve. "So many people… Almost all of them will fail, right?"
"The chance to live again is smaller than the chance of me joining a monastery," Ling Feng said, his tone casual but his words sharp. "Most of them will just be fertilizer. That's how this place works. It eats hope."
He could feel War God Mu's gaze.
The old War God stood silent at the river's edge, his battle-honed aura like a sheathed blade. His coffin was behind him, its surface carved with countless battle marks, each stroke a legend from his previous life.
He did not speak. He only watched the boats, his eyes filled with a grim determination.
Ling Feng let his eyes sweep the river again, locking in the two "premium" boats.
One was drifting closer to the War God Temple's position, dragged by subtle karmic lines—this was the boat War God Mu was destined for, the one he had used in the original history to obtain another life.
The other…
Ling Feng's gaze shifted farther along the riverbank.
There, half-shrouded in the death mist, stood a lone coffin and a peerless silhouette.
Bu Lianxiang.
She had not donned any cloak to disguise herself. The death aura coiled around her like a royal gown, her bearing still as regal and aloof as when she ruled the Middle Continent. Even standing among legions of Kings and Sect Masters, she was a world unto herself.
Her boat—the second premium ticket—was slowly drifting by.
Ling Feng could see the karmic line attached to it. It didn't just point to life; it ran backward through millions of years, connecting to the Middle Continent's fallen kingdom and the shadow of Chu Yuntian's choice. The boat carried not just years of life, but the stubborn will of a woman who refused to yield to fate's silence.
Around them, the panic of the cultivators reached a fever pitch.
"Which boat is the right one?!" a Sect Master screamed, his hair disheveled.
"Ancestor, don't worry! This disciple will find you a divine boat!" shouted a young genius, crying tears of blood as he pushed through the crowd.
"Shut up and hurry! If you choose wrong, our clan will be finished!"
The Underworld River's current picked up, the boats drifting faster. Every heartbeat meant one less chance. Every second wasted was a step closer to eternal death.
Ling Feng cracked his neck.
"Alright," he said, stepping forward. "Showtime."