Chapter 280

Chapter 280: Deadland

Wang Jie was always forced to fight experts above his realm, which was why the Myriad-Stars Finger Art felt underpowered in his hands. Even so, it still wasn’t anywhere near terrifying enough to sever a nebula with a single finger.

Xi Liu smiled. “Junior Brother, what you learned really is the genuine Myriad-Stars Finger Art. You picked it up from the phantom in the martial hall, didn’t you? Like the Heaven-and-Earth Luo Xuan Finger?”

Wang Jie nodded. What other explanation could there be?

Xi Liu studied him for a moment. “The Myriad-Stars Finger Art is easy to begin, but profound beyond measure. The Jia Yi Sect’s records are clear: an ancient elder once severed a nebula with one finger. That was no exaggeration.”

She continued, “That elder cultivated the Myriad-Stars Finger Art at Myriad Stars Cliff. There’s a special method there designed specifically for this art. If you want to increase its power, Myriad Stars Cliff is your best destination.”

Wang Jie bowed deeply. “Thank you for the reminder, Senior Sister.”

Only an idiot would go.

The Myriad-Stars Finger Art was a lost martial inheritance of the Jia Yi Sect. If he stepped into their territory, whether he’d walk back out was another matter entirely.

Xi Liu didn’t press him. Instead, she told him to keep using the Bodyfall Pill to absorb Lockforce and store more of it within his body.

That suited Wang Jie perfectly. Once he left Star-Devourer, the sheer amount of Lockforce in him would be impossible to replenish unless he found another sect’s special planet like Star-Devourer. If he relied on calamity materials instead, he had no idea how many he’d need—and it would never be enough.

…If the Roaming-Star Realm was adapting to the starry sky, then the Star-Refining Realm was becoming something that belonged to it.

Under the vast darkness of space, a single calligraphy character shot sideways through the cosmos at terrifying speed.

Inside that character, Wang Jie lay flat, watching the blackness streak into long lines. Movement pressed him thin, like he was being stretched by the rush of the void itself. He was inside Gu Xun Yi’s character.

There were others inside as well—he could feel their presence—but none of them showed themselves, and he had no idea who they were.

Gu Xun Yi was taking him to that road.

With Star-Refining Realm speed—Gu Xun Yi wasn’t even an ordinary Star-Refining Realm cultivator—and with his aura concealed to avoid the Ancient Sword Bridge-Pillar’s detection, they reached the destination quickly.

Wang Jie sat up. To his right stretched an endless asteroid belt. He turned left—

And his pupils shrank.

To the left was a boundless ocean of darkness. No asteroids. No stars. Nothing at all. Only bottomless black, and now and then thin streaks of light threading through it like cracks.

“Senior,” Wang Jie asked carefully, “where is this?”

Gu Xun Yi’s voice drifted out from the character. “The edge of the nebula. To the right, you enter the nebula. To the left…”

He paused, then spoke slowly. “Out of the Bridge-Pillar.”

Wang Jie had suspected it, but hearing it confirmed still shook him.

This was the edge of the Beidou Bridge-Pillar.

They said the four great nebulae coiled around the Beidou Bridge-Pillar, winding upward like a colossal spine. Beyond the nebula lay the true universe’s immeasurable deadland. The Bridge-Pillar looked vast. The nebulae looked vast. Yet compared to that deadland, they were nothing more than a single pillar in endless dark.

Like a bridge you could see but could never touch.

For living beings, the nebula was the whole of existence. But in the true darkness beyond, it was only a road.

Wang Jie had never imagined he would one day stand at the edge of that road.

“You should feel fortunate,” Gu Xun Yi said. “Few people with low cultivation ever get to see the boundary. You’ve seen the real universe.”

Wang Jie stared into that devouring darkness. “If we go left… are we dead for sure?”

“Pretty much.”

“Then the road we’re taking…?”

“Jump over deadland.”

Wang Jie looked down instinctively.

“Don’t look at me like that. Wrong angle.”

The calligraphy character floated up, hovering directly above him. “This is the right angle.”

Wang Jie stared up at it. “Senior, you’re saying the route crosses deadland?”

“Correct.”

“Then won’t I die?”

“If you were certain to die,” Gu Xun Yi said flatly, “why would I bring you here?”

“Then why don’t you go yourselves?”

“I told you. Our cultivation is too high.”

Wang Jie frowned. “Outside the Bridge-Pillar, does cultivation even matter?”

“Not much,” Gu Xun Yi replied. “But it still matters. Like how a guarding star realm position might require the Roaming-Star Realm in one place, and the Hundred-Star Realm in another. Same principle.”

He paused, tone unchanged. “If you still don’t understand, I’ll put it another way.”

“We’re afraid of dying.”

Wang Jie went silent.

“Does that explanation satisfy you?” Gu Xun Yi asked, as casually as if he were discussing the weather.

Wang Jie let out a bitter laugh. “This junior is afraid of dying too.”

“The moment you stepped onto Star-Devourer, your life was already gone,” Gu Xun Yi said.

Wang Jie’s expression darkened.

“Defeating the Ancient Sword Bridge-Pillar is too important. If we weren’t reasonably confident, we wouldn’t send you into this. Because once you go, you won’t come back,” Gu Xun Yi continued. “Our move depends on you reaching the other side of the Dual-Wind Line and confirming the time for the counterattack.”

“So even if you fail, we’ll act at the appointed time regardless. Without coordination, we’ll be in danger too. The only difference is whether it’s sooner or later.”

Wang Jie understood the logic. Their goal was a counterattack, not his death.

And still… going outside the Bridge-Pillar terrified him in a way he couldn’t fully explain. Like an ordinary man stepping into lava—knowing it would kill him, yet being told to jump anyway.

His fingers brushed his storage ring. Could the Star Vault Vista Jade save him in a critical moment?

Or—he glanced toward the character—should he come clean and refuse?

But Gu Xun Yi wasn’t some ordinary powerhouse. On the battlefield, he could take on three at once. Wang Jie had no confidence the jade could block a killing strike and teleport him away before Gu Xun Yi finished him.

And even if the jade did block it, if he still ended up flung into deadland afterward, what then? The jade’s protection wouldn’t last forever.

He hesitated.

The character circled him once, like a hawk gliding around prey. “What are you hesitating for? You’re a smart man. You became Fengmen’s mole, drove off a Six-Path Roamer, and stayed alive to this day. That’s not simple.”

His voice cooled slightly. “Now you hesitate. Do you have a way to escape right in front of me?”

Wang Jie’s spine tightened.

“Don’t try it,” Gu Xun Yi said. “Save your methods for later. I am Gu Xun Yi.”

Wang Jie exhaled slowly, then bowed. “This junior will follow Senior’s orders.”

“Good.” Gu Xun Yi’s tone warmed by a hair. “If you succeed, you’ll earn our goodwill. You’ll become the only Six-Path Roamer in Black-White Heaven’s history below the Roaming-Star Realm—and you’ll keep your credibility intact.”

“And,” he added, “you’ll be one of the few who can go outside the Bridge-Pillar and come back alive.”

Wang Jie stopped weighing the benefits. Every benefit depended on living long enough to claim it.

Gu Xun Yi led him farther. Only then did Wang Jie realize the earlier position had been deliberate—Gu Xun Yi had shown him the route so he could make his last choice.

Not long after, they reached the true destination.

“Step onto it.”

Wang Jie stared at the thing and nearly laughed from disbelief.

Ahead was a thin membrane spread flat in space—not very large, like a spring bed laid across nothingness. It didn’t resemble a road at all. He’d imagined an actual path extending out from the Bridge-Pillar, a visible line into the dark… not this.

“Senior,” Wang Jie said, voice tight, “you’re joking. What is this supposed to do?”

Gu Xun Yi answered without humor. “We don’t joke with our own lives. Get on. The Void Mountains made this by imitating a mysterious cosmic phenomenon Bu Zou Guan once saw. It uses void as spring force. It can fling you far.”

“Your landing point will be on the other side of the Dual-Wind Line.”

Wang Jie looked from Gu Xun Yi to the membrane again, feeling as if death had become something tangible, creeping up behind him.

“Hurry,” Gu Xun Yi urged. “We’re not far from the Dual-Wind Line. A Star-Refining Realm expert could check this region at any time.”

Wang Jie drew a deep breath and stepped onto the membrane. It felt soft—like stepping onto void itself.

The next moment, Gu Xun Yi did something he couldn’t see. The membrane pressed downward. Wrinkles formed in the surrounding void as it stretched and pulled, and an invisible force gathered under Wang Jie’s feet.

His heart climbed into his throat. Instinctively, he reached for something to hold onto—there was nothing.

On impulse, he took out the boat and climbed into it, lying flat. The Black Realm Lord’s Void Splint was supposed to keep him safe, but he trusted the boat more. At least the boat could move through Cloudstream—something even Star-Refining Realm cultivators couldn’t do.

Gu Xun Yi didn’t stop him. As long as Wang Jie stayed on the membrane, it didn’t matter.

“Remember the time,” Gu Xun Yi said. “Remember what it feels like to move through deadland.”

Then the membrane snapped.

Wang Jie was launched.

He clutched the boat as everything became a blur. He couldn’t see; he could barely breathe. It was like plunging from air into deep water—pressure crushing down on his organs, a suffocating weight that made his insides feel wrong.

A strange howl filled his ears, sharp and grinding at once. He pressed his hands over them without thinking, but it didn’t help. The sound wasn’t outside him.

It was inside.

He was outside the Bridge-Pillar.

Outside the region where life could exist.

If the “springboard” failed and didn’t fling him back into the Bridge-Pillar’s shelter, he was finished.

The distance might have been short—he was being thrown from one curve of the nebula to another—but for him it stretched into eternity.

The pressure worsened. The shriek rose. His thoughts turned to mud, then slipped away entirely.

Why did this keep happening?

Still too weak.

In the fog of his mind, memories surfaced: an orphanage, the director standing in the doorway, waving fried chicken at him. It looked so good, the skin crisp and golden. Why hadn’t the director added chili?

As that thought formed, a ray of sword light punched through the orphanage wall and hovered before him.

He stared at it. He’d never seen it. It was utterly unfamiliar—yet the name rose in his mind as if carved there.

“Undying Sword Light.”

Boom!

The boat slammed into something, jolting Wang Jie awake.

Something?

But deadland was supposed to contain nothing at all.

Unless—

He gripped the sides of the boat and sat up. The rush around him was slowing. Boom—another impact. An asteroid.

The boat smashed through asteroid after asteroid, turning them into dust.

He wasn’t in deadland anymore.

He was back inside the Bridge-Pillar.

Wang Jie nearly laughed in relief. He was alive. Those old monsters… at least they hadn’t lied. He hadn’t died outside.

The boat kept colliding with stray rocks. He hurried to steady it, terrified he’d smash the boat itself. Only after a long while did it finally slow to a stop.