Chapter 61

Chapter 61: Loser’s Will

Two months passed in the blink of an eye.

Every day, Wang Jie was pushed through the streets and alleys of Jin Ling Base. The altar that had once been used to build the bridge had felt like the darkness before dawn. Wang Jie had broken that darkness, and now light had arrived.

Mutated creatures could no longer threaten the base.

Team captains swept the wilderness again and again, widening the safe zone. Rumor said Nan Guo Base was already preparing to go after the ocean.

During these two months, the heat from the wrist guard spread through Wang Jie’s body until it flowed everywhere, like molten blood.

One day he said quietly, “Take me back.”

Qing Zheng pushed him with a grin. To him, as long as Old Boss was breathing and Blue Star wasn’t destroyed, everything else was nothing.

“Old Boss, what are we eating today?”

“You decide.”

“Barbecue,” Qing Zheng said immediately. “Extra chili.”

Wang Jie laughed. “Fine.”

Night fell.

Wang Jie lay in bed, staring into the dark, and then slowly sat up.

He could move.

He exhaled deeply, savoring the simple miracle. Being able to move felt like being reborn.

His gaze drifted to the wrist guard. Without it, he would’ve died in his first duel with Shu Mu Ye. He never would’ve lasted long enough to see this night.

It was absurd. It was miraculous.

A familiar voice sounded beside his ear—cold, steady, almost eager.

“Now begin the eighth set of basic fitness routine.”

Wang Jie didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the medicine Si Yan had prepared over these months, smeared it over his body, and started.

One, two, three, four.

Two, two, three, four.

Pain hit like a tide.

It was the same agony he’d endured when Shu Mu Ye crippled him—the sensation of being torn down and rebuilt—but worse. Bones crackled. Blood churned. Meridians reconnected in itching, crawling lines that made his skin feel too tight.

Every kind of pain took turns.

When he finally finished, he collapsed onto the floor, sweat soaking the ground beneath him.

Then the pain ebbed.

What followed was a rush of comfort so intense it almost felt obscene. He wanted to lie there forever.

Pain really was addictive. The deeper it went, the sweeter the recovery.

He forced himself up and took a shower.

His cultivation was gone. His Eighth Seal had been smashed apart, but the strength in his body remained—dense, stubborn, heavy with potential.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. Had his skin gotten lighter? His eyes looked deeper, darker, as if something had settled behind them.

“Old Boss.”

The door creaked open.

Qing Zheng stood there, frozen.

Wang Jie walked out, towel over his shoulder. “What?”

Qing Zheng stared as if Wang Jie had grown a second head. “O-Old Boss… you’re recovered?”

“Not fully,” Wang Jie said, drying his hair. “I can walk again. What’s with that expression?”

Old Five and Old Nine crowded in behind Qing Zheng.

Qing Zheng looked embarrassed. “I smelled something awful. I thought you couldn’t take care of yourself and… had an accident.”

Wang Jie stared at him, then sighed. “Idiot.”

Even with his body restored, Wang Jie didn’t show himself publicly. It was too fast. Too suspicious.

And his cultivation was gone. Strength alone could still crush most people, but caution had kept him alive this long.

He would never forget how Zuo Tian had once thrown a group of orphans into a firestorm for one reason only—because he wanted to see what would happen.

Later, sitting by the window, the world around him shifted. The room peeled away like a curtain, and he found himself back in the fields.

It had been a long time.

In the first plot, eight green sprouts swayed gently. They represented Myriad-Stars Finger and Star-Gazing Sword Form.

The second plot was still empty—silent, stubborn. He had tried everything before. Nothing grew.

He walked to the sprout tied to Myriad-Stars Finger.

Myriad-Stars Finger required five materials: Loser’s Will, Villain’s Severed Palm, Sweet Tears, Ten Proposal Letters, and Snow-White Canine Tooth.

He had obtained the last four.

Only Loser’s Will remained a mystery.

During the decisive battle against Shu Mu Ye on the altar, something had flashed through his mind. Now he wanted to test it.

He raised his hand and touched the sprout.

His memories surged—three battles against Shu Mu Ye.

In truth, he had lost all three.

The first loss had been effortless, without suspense.

The second had been brutal. He’d forced Shu Mu Ye to reveal more of his power, but he had nearly been beaten to death.

The third time, he had managed to crush Shu Mu Ye only by borrowing force—and if the wrist guard’s heat hadn’t kept him alive, he would have truly died.

In a fair fight, three battles meant three defeats.

So what?

He hadn’t given up. Not once.

No matter what the trialists said, he hadn’t stopped. He’d challenged again and again. He’d fought again and again. That was his Loser’s Will—his refusal to kneel to defeat.

The sprout suddenly tightened, shrinking as if it had swallowed his resolve.

All five sprouts flared at once, their light gathering into a single point. A figure formed—half-shadow, half-glow—and raised a finger toward Wang Jie.

It was like Heaven-and-Earth Luo Xuan Finger… and yet, in the instant the finger moved, Wang Jie saw a starry sky turning, endless stars revolving in a vast, silent flow.

A cool point touched his forehead.

He stumbled back. When he looked again, all five sprouts were gone. The first plot held only three now.

Wang Jie stood there, stunned, as knowledge flooded his mind.

Techniques grown in this place didn’t need to be learned. The moment they appeared, you knew them.

He knew Myriad-Stars Finger now.

But he also knew something else.

He stared at his hand. Could he ever use it?

When he first learned Heaven-and-Earth Luo Xuan Finger, he hadn’t been able to cast it right away. Only after growing stronger again and again could he finally unleash it.

But Myriad-Stars Finger…

Even at the peak of Eighth Seal, he wouldn’t dare.

It would kill him.

This wasn’t a technique meant for anything within Ten Seals.

Wang Jie exhaled slowly, forcing himself to set it aside.

His gaze shifted to the remaining three sprouts. Myriad-Stars Finger might be unusable, but Star-Gazing Sword Form was different.

Like Heaven-and-Earth Luo Xuan Finger, it required only three materials. Once he rebuilt to Seventh Seal, he could use it.

The materials weren’t hard to obtain, either.

They were just… strange.

He left the fields and returned to his room, staring up at the sky.

Without the Martial Hall illusion, the heavens looked clearer than ever. The bridge was visible, hauntingly present, and yet impossibly untouchable.

The real question now was what path he should walk.

Imprint Power—what the trialists called Lockforce—was a shortcut meant for war slaves. As long as you had enough, you could reach Ten Seals quickly, almost without obstacles.

Blue Star had fumbled in the dark for ten years. The strongest had barely reached Seventh Seal.

Then the trialists arrived, and within a year Bai Yuan and others reached Ninth Seal.

If someone had taught them from the beginning, there would have been countless Ten Seals within three years.

Imprint Power was fast.

But it cost the future.

Wang Jie didn’t know how far that “future” extended, but he knew this: if he was rebuilding from the ground up, he didn’t want to walk that path again.

The problem was, Blue Star had nothing else.

No one had ever taught him how to cultivate anything different.

Qi?

Qi could merge with strength and explode into terrifying combat power, but he didn’t have a method to increase it. Only control.

The thought gave him a headache.

Lian Qin came by one day. “I never got the chance to thank you properly. I had business here, so I came to see you.”

Wang Jie smiled. “No need. I did it for myself.”

He’d said that to too many people lately.

Lian Qin’s smile softened. She’d changed, and Wang Jie could see it clearly.

She wasn’t the same flamboyant woman she’d been before. Even though her daughter, Lian Fei, was already grown, Lian Qin herself wasn’t even forty—she’d had her too young to ever fear age.

And yet now she looked older, not in years but in weight.

“I also need to thank you for myself,” she said quietly.

Wang Jie sipped tea and waited.

“If it weren’t for you back then,” Lian Qin said, eyes dim, “I would have collapsed. I thought I was strong.”

“As one of the five strongest, surviving the apocalypse… I thought I could face death calmly.”

She shook her head. “It was all fake. Being able to look at death only means you’re not being cruel. Fear is still there. Living beings can’t escape it.”

They talked for a while. When she finally stood to leave, she took out a folded note and handed it over.

“Zuo Tian left this for you.”

Wang Jie’s hand stilled. He looked up sharply.

Lian Qin gave a bitter smile. “Don’t look at me like that. I have nothing to do with him.”

“Before the beach battle, he had someone deliver this to me. That person only brought it now.”

Wang Jie unfolded the note.

Six words.

I’ll wait for you in the starry sky!

He stared at them until the ink seemed to blur.

Zuo Tian had gone to the stars?

How?

Before the beach battle meant he had already known he could leave.

Was the note meant for Wang Jie only if he survived? Or did Zuo Tian somehow know the outcome?

“I read it,” Lian Qin said softly. “No one knows how he left. But he couldn’t have known the beach battle’s result.”

“It was just a backup plan.”

“A backup plan?” Wang Jie asked.

Lian Qin nodded. “The messenger told me Zuo Tian gave an order. If you died in the beach battle, don’t deliver it. If you lived, then deliver it.”

“Afterward, everyone said you were dead. That’s why it didn’t reach me. Later, when news spread you were alive, he finally brought it.”

Wang Jie understood.

Zuo Tian hadn’t foreseen the future. He’d simply prepared for multiple outcomes.

But the question remained: how had he reached the starry sky?

Jia Yi Sect had taken Bai Yuan. Chu Yao had taken Liu Ying.

So what about Zuo Tian?

Wang Jie stared at the note again. Another possibility gnawed at him: maybe Zuo Tian had left this on purpose so Wang Jie would believe he’d gone, when in reality he was still on Blue Star—hiding.

Lian Qin left. She had come only to deliver the note. She knew the grudge between Wang Jie and Zuo Tian. Not bringing it would have weighed on her.

Not long after, Bai Xiao arrived.

The bright, beautiful girl looked worn thin. She spoke a dozen careful words of concern, circling what she really wanted until her voice broke.

“I don’t know where Bai Yuan went,” Wang Jie said first. “I can’t find him.”

Bai Xiao’s face drained of color. Her eyes went empty. “Since I was little… Father spoiled me. Whatever I wanted, he gave.”

“After the apocalypse, he blocked disasters for me. He loved me without conditions. He made me feel what it was like to be a daughter…”

Wang Jie didn’t interrupt. He was an orphan. He couldn’t understand the warmth she was describing.

Bai Xiao talked until her voice turned hoarse. Then she stood to go, paused, and suddenly dropped to her knees in front of him.

“I know it’s unreasonable. I know it’s selfish.” Her voice shook. “But please—if it’s possible, help me find Father.”

“I’ll do anything. Anything. Please.”

Wang Jie watched her leave afterward, her back fragile and lonely.

Bai Yuan was worth respecting. If Jia Yi Sect had truly taken him… how could Wang Jie ever find him?