At the abyssal entrance, Ben Coates arrived with a host of Grand Witches and Witch Kings. Of the hundreds of Wild Di divine-ability warriors, less than a hundred now remained—the rest had all perished in the unfathomable, treacherous forests of Nethergloom Ravine.
Even though countless waves of Loulan Golden Palace’s Grand Witches had explored this place before, this large-scale expedition still resulted in disastrous casualties.
To Ben Coates, the number of deaths meant nothing—as long as his own life was spared. These warriors, Grand Witches, even Witch Kings, were always expendable; he brought them here solely to shield himself, piling their corpses into a road toward the heart of the ravine.
As a monster who had lived for ten thousand years, he had long ceased to care about anyone’s life but his own.
"Finally, we’re here," he murmured.
Ben Coates stood at the edge of the abyss, peering down with a trace of obsession. Sixteen years ago, Nethergloom Ravine had first come to his attention: that was when the sky-ship from beyond the heavens crashed, drawing the focus of three great powers.
Loulan Golden Palace, the Cult of the Heavenly Demon, and Great Thunderclap Temple all turned their eyes here. Back then, the Cult had no Cult Master and the Thunderclap Temple’s Tathagata knew certain secrets—yet neither delved deep into this place.
At that time, Ben Coates himself was already near death; cherishing his own life, he did not come in person, but hid away in the Golden Palace awaiting the birth of his Reincarnated Holy Child. Yet the broken sword the Witch King brought back from Nethergloom made him realize the sky-ship was anything but ordinary.
Now, having succeeded in reincarnation, he could finally come here himself. With Khan Roland preparing to wage war against Everpeace, he could use Roland’s armies to force his way in.
"Gordon, do you feel it?" he asked.
Ben Coates whispered, "This place is saturated with soul power. The energy of shattered souls breeds these bizarre lifeforms—this is the perfect holy land for Grand Witches to cultivate."
Beside him, the Grand Witches and Witch Kings felt their own souls quiver; the aura here made their Primordial Spirits leap with excitement.
This place overflowed with spiritual and soul energy—far surpassing even Loulan Golden Palace!
All along the way, they had witnessed the strangeness of Nethergloom’s lifeforms. To Wild Di warriors, these creatures were nightmares; but to Grand Witches, they were walking elixirs—albeit dangerous ones.
Grand Witches, after all, cultivate by refining the souls of other living beings!
Witch King Gordon greedily breathed in the aura rising from the abyss, where the spiritual and soul energy was even stronger. He exclaimed, "If our Golden Palace could establish itself here, we’d greatly strengthen our Grand Witches. Cultivation would be twice as effective! This energy is a huge boon for advancing our Primordial Spirits!"
Loulan Golden Palace already excelled in soul and Primordial Spirit arts—their mastery outstripped even Great Thunderclap Temple’s.
But their methods were notoriously bizarre, refining souls from living beings—a practice much reviled. If they could seize this place and harness its energy, Loulan Golden Palace would grow beyond imagination!
If this prairie holy land rose to power, it could dominate the Central Plains and overshadow all other sacred lands!
"But Nethergloom’s real prize isn’t this—it’s that sky-ship from beyond the heavens."
Ben Coates’s gaze grew obsessed as he murmured, "What draws me here isn’t how to cultivate with this energy, but how to break through—the boundary between man and god. That ship must hold what I seek. It came from beyond the heavens..."
He said no more, leaping down. The other Grand Witches, Witch Kings, and surviving Wild Di warriors followed, surrounding him protectively.
Ben Coates had lived ten thousand years and knew countless secrets. Other sacred lands, like Great Thunderclap Temple and Dao Gate, relied on written histories—records that could be biased.
He, however, recorded history through personal memory—his experiences spanned eras.
Though his lifespan was not as long as the histories of Great Thunderclap Temple or Dao Gate, Ben Coates had once risen to their highest ranks, and had even visited Little Jade Capital, witnessing its hidden secrets.
"This ship might come from that mysterious place—the only one in all worlds where one can truly become a god. No matter what, I’ll seize it and go there!" he thought to himself.
Midair, they were attacked again by all manner of strange abyssal creatures. The warriors, Grand Witches, and Witch Kings fought desperately to protect Ben Coates, leaving another dozen corpses behind before reaching the bottom.
On the sky-ship, Quinn Shepherd watched the retreating demonic qi, hesitating inwardly.
There was certainly a terrifying presence within that demonic qi—perhaps a Youdu entity, with power far beyond the two White Bats. Yet, with just a single phrase in Netherworld Tongue, Quinn had made it retreat. Something here didn’t add up.
Once the demonic qi withdrew, the piercing screams that haunted the place vanished too. Silence fell, and all the bizarre creatures from Youdu disappeared without a trace.
The silence only made everything more uncanny.
"The terrifying presence that exhausted those two high monks must have boarded this ship!"
Quinn Shepherd frowned—the ship was now so quiet it was almost frightening.
"Dragon-Qilin, Ethan, Noah, let's go inside and take a look. If anything goes wrong, we pull out immediately!" Quinn said, striding forward.
Ethan Fu and Noah Fu quickly moved ahead, wings unfurling as they flew in silence, hanging upside down before Quinn. Dragon-Qilin followed close behind, ready for anything.
They advanced along the left side of the sky-ship, reaching the center where the honeycomb seal was still tight—only faint cracks leaked wisps of demonic qi.
Suddenly, a nearby building creaked and groaned; a door slowly swung open, letting out a dim light.
The two White Bats darted aside, hanging upside down on either side of the doorway, peering inside.
The room sat in the deck superstructure, seven zhang square, screened and set with a jade table. Candles still burned on the jade stand, and a bronze crane held a censer, smoke curling from its beak.
No one was present, but judging by the candles and incense, someone had just been here.
"It’s safe!" Ethan Fu announced.
Quinn activated his Azure Firmament Heaven-Eye, then swept the room again with Crimson Firmament Heaven-Eye, but found nothing amiss.
They entered and looked around. "Strange," Noah Fu said. "This door has never opened before. How did it open today...?"
"Never opened before?" Quinn paused, surprised.
The bats nodded. "The doors on this ship can’t be opened—no matter how much force you use. It’s bizarre."
There weren’t many objects in the room. The screen was embroidered with green mountains and water, a lone boat drifting midstream, an old man fishing at the prow. One bat tried to lift a candlestick for light, but couldn’t budge it and gave up.
Quinn inspected the room, sensing as if something was watching them—but he couldn’t pinpoint the source, and stayed on guard.
He scanned the surroundings—the feeling of being watched lingered. Quinn whipped around, but saw nothing.
He released his vital qi, shaping it into a mirror to reflect the room. Suddenly, he saw the old man in the painting quietly turn his head, secretly watching them.
Quinn lunged at the screen. The fishing old man, startled, dropped his rod and sprang out of the painting, darting up the wall and vanishing through another doorway.
Quinn rushed after him, flinging open the door and charging inside—when suddenly, behind him, the door slammed shut. Startled, Quinn jumped back, his Worryless Sword sprang up, forming a Cloud-Sword stance to guard him. He reached out and pushed open the rear door, calling, "Fu brothers, Dragon-Qilin, hurry in! Fu brothers..."
Quinn turned, confused—the open door led not to the room he'd entered, but to a woman's embroidery chamber!
The room he'd come from had vanished without a trace!
Ethan Fu, Noah Fu, and Dragon-Qilin also flung open doors, but Quinn was nowhere to be found. Their faces changed; they frantically opened other doors, yet couldn't locate him.
"Something's wrong!"
Dragon-Qilin slammed open a door with his paw, peeked inside, and blurted, "This isn't the room we entered! There's something weird about these rooms!"
The White Bats closed and reopened doors, only to find the rooms changed again. Every time they shut and opened a door, the room was different!
"We're doomed!"
Noah Fu turned pale. "If we can't find him, once the poison kicks in, our White Bat clan is finished!"
"Don't panic," Dragon-Qilin said.
Dragon-Qilin continued, "There must be a finite number of rooms here, not endless ones. If we find the same room again, we’ll figure out the pattern. By the way, how’s your skill with divination arts?"
Quinn’s heart raced as he entered the embroidery chamber, closed the door, and looked around. "I entered through this door, but when I come out, it’s a different room? There must be some spatial folding at work. The ship is huge, but the rooms can’t be infinite—there must be a limit. If the number of rooms is finite, there’s a pattern to be found."
He calmed himself and looked around. The chamber was lit by wall lamps, with several embroidered hangings and a table. A handkerchief embroidered with dragons chasing the wind lay nearby.
A lower writing desk held brush, ink, paper, and inkstone; below was a cushion for sitting. On the paper, fresh ink read: "Dew moistens tender yellow, wind stirs emerald. Earthly beauty blooms not by chance, celestial grace wears a simple face. Who can compare?"
The writing broke off suddenly—clearly interrupted by some urgent matter.
Quinn studied the handwriting, secretly admiring it. "Their brushwork is no worse than mine—just a bit more delicate."
Just then, the old fisherman from the painting dove into the calligraphy, winking at Quinn. Quinn sneered and swiped his brush at him—the old man leapt onto the table, dashed up the wall, and escaped through another door.
Quinn grabbed his brush and chased after. The old man vanished into another room, nowhere to be found.
Quinn entered the new room—a study, filled with ancient books. He pulled one out, but couldn’t open it.
Suddenly, the old man jumped out from the book and dove into another volume.
Quinn quickly snatched up the second book—this time, he could open it. Inside was a family genealogy.
"First generation: Kaihuang Qin, styled Ye—the lord of all under heaven..."
Quinn paused. "Kaihuang, the founder whose sword opened a sea of blood? He’s surnamed Qin—same as me."
The genealogy was thick, each Qin ancestor’s life and marriage recorded in a few words. Quinn flipped through, searching for the old man from the painting. On the last page it read: "One hundred and seventh generation: son of Hanzhen, Fengqing."
There, the genealogy ended.
[Author’s Note: The author is still in Shanghai, caught a cold after flying in last night and renting a hotel. Couldn’t go home today due to a sore throat, so staying in the hotel and hoping to return tomorrow. Been away for over ten days, missing home and kids. Feeling a bit out of it; will try to post a second update tonight, but if not, will catch up after recovering.]