Chapter 35
He added a third point of light, brighter than the previous two, larger, more pulsating, like a heart beating in the palm of his hand.
"Third, Radiant World, with 759 to 1,217 Longitudes. In this realm, your Longitude no longer merely whisper—they begin to sing, to dance, to form patterns you cannot control yet cannot ignore. And lastly—"
He added a fourth point, the brightest, the largest, the most pulsating, like a miniature sun born between his fingers.
"Anti-Star, with 2,222 to 9,999 Longitude. The peak of Heavenly Longitude. The gateway to the next realm that even some cultivators claim they have never set foot in."
Ling Xu frowned, his fingers unconsciously beginning to count in the air—a motion he had never done since his days learning to mix herbs in that shabby hut that used to be a god's stable—because the numbers he had just heard felt like a puzzle deliberately made complicated by someone who enjoyed watching others get dizzy.
"Wait, Zhao Wei," he said, his voice caught between confusion and mild annoyance, because he felt that this cultivation system seemed as if it had been designed by a group of drunk people tossing dice to decide the boundaries between realms.
"From Bright Sky, which is said to be 1 to 100 Longitude, it suddenly jumps to Luminous Lantern at 243 to 524? Then Radiant World to 759 to 1,217? And Anti-Star to 2,222 to 9,999? Where did the numbers between 101 and 242 go? Or 525 to 758? Or 1,218 to 2,221? Were those numbers swallowed by a black hole or eaten by a starving dragon?"
Huan Zheng chuckled.
Not a loud, booming laugh, but a soft chuckle that slipped out from behind his hand, which he raised to cover his mouth, like a teacher hearing a silly question from his favorite student but unwilling to appear too mocking by laughing outright in front of him.
"You know, Liu Xin," he said after his chuckle subsided, his lazy eyes suddenly gleaming with a strange warmth.
"That question has been asked by countless disciples across every sect in every universe. Even when I was still learning—back when my hair was still black and I still had the motivation to wake up early—I asked my master the same thing."
Fhhh!!
"And the answer, Liu Xin," Huan Zheng exhaled—a breath that sounded like someone about to open an old cabinet filled with thousands of memories, "is simple yet complicated, like most things in this cultivation world."
He raised both hands, and in the air before him, he began forming numbers with pale blue light.
Not to show off, but to help Ling Xu, who still looked dizzy from the illogical leaps of numbers.
"The vast differences from one realm to another are indeed the foundation of the cultivation system in this world and across the infinite universe. It is not a mistake, not a coincidence, nor the result of failed calculations. This is a system that already existed when the Gods still ruled the universes they once inhabited, a system that existed before the Gods were forced to scatter in all directions after their defeat in the Harmony Conflict, a system that existed long before the God of the Vast Cosmos decided to blow himself up—or more precisely, commit unilateral suicide—in an act that is still debated to this day whether it was heroism or irresponsible collective suicide."
Ling Xu looked at Huan Zheng with an expression he could not hide—caught between awe and confusion, between wanting to ask further and realizing that the more he asked, the longer the answer would be, and tonight was already too late for a long history lesson of the universe's cultivation system.
"But that doesn't mean cultivation knowledge has no way to address the 'gaps' you mentioned earlier, Liu Xin," Huan Zheng continued, his tone now more relaxed, lighter, like someone explaining the rules of a card game to a friend who had just picked up a deck for the first time.
"Cultivators—even before the Harmony Conflict was held, in times when Gods and humans still sat at the same table to discuss the future of the universe without stabbing each other in the back—agreed on one thing: a designation for those whose Longitude count has met the percentage of a level but cannot yet reach anything in the realm above."
He raised a finger, and at its tip, the pale blue light began to change shape, writing a word in the air.
A word that sounded unfamiliar to Ling Xu yet strangely heavy, like a stone dropped into a very deep well.
"Old. They are called 'Old.' Bright Sky Old for those with 101 to 242 Longitude. Luminous Lantern Old for 525 to 758 Longitude. Radiant World Old for 1,218 to 2,221 Longitude."
He pressed the word "Old" with his index finger, and the light shattered into tiny fragments that scattered in the air like fireflies that had lost their way.
"Not because they are truly old in age, Liu Xin. But because they are trapped. They have gathered enough Longitudes to leave one realm, yet not enough to enter the next.
They are like wanderers who have passed through one gate but have not found the next, walking through a dark corridor without knowing when light will appear at the end of the tunnel."
The small town that would be their assignment for the next twelve days greeted Ling Xu and Huan Zheng with a silence denser than death.
Buildings of wood and stone stood like skeletons abandoned by their owners in the middle of the night, shattered windows gaping like silent mouths, and in the narrow streets, dust piled up as thick as two fingers, undisturbed by footsteps, brooms, or even the wind daring enough to enter.
"There are no signs of battle here," Ling Xu whispered as he walked beside Huan Zheng, his vigilant eyes scanning every corner, every alley, every half-open door, "nor any signs of life.
It's as if the entire town vanished overnight.
Kidnapped?
Or… fled?"
Huan Zheng, walking with his usual lazy steps, merely shrugged, his half-closed eyes seemingly unconcerned with the mystery before them—but Ling Xu knew that beneath that laziness, the man was calculating every possibility, every threat, every escape route they might need if an attack came in the dead of night.
"There are no God troops, no human soldiers," Huan Zheng finally said, his voice flat like someone reporting the weather, "just the two of us alive in this dead city for the next twelve days. And because of that—"
He stopped in front of a building that might once have been a small town hall, with a roof still intact and walls still sturdy.
"… We will take two days off. Two days without patrol duty across every corner of this city. Two days to do what we should have done since reaching Supernatural Star Level 33."
To be continued…