Mo Huyan stood motionless at the edge of the chamber, her figure frozen as she watched everything unfold.

For the first time since her fall into this cursed dimension, she forgot to breathe.

Her long lashes trembled, casting faint shadows against her pale cheeks as her gaze locked onto Wang Chen's silhouette. She did not dare blink. Not even for a heartbeat. Some instinct buried deep within her screamed that missing even a single moment of what was happening now would become a regret that followed her for eternity.

"This atmosphere…"

Her lips parted slightly.

Badum. Badum.

Only then did she realize her heart was racing.

Each beat echoed heavily in her chest, loud and invasive, as if it were trying to escape. An invisible pressure spread through the chamber, not violent, not oppressive in the conventional sense—but absolute. The air itself felt thinner, brittle, as though reality had been reduced to a fragile shell.

And with it came a sensation Mo Huyan had not felt in countless ages.

Déjà vu.

No—something deeper.

An ancient, unfathomable presence was coalescing above Wang Chen's figure. It did not belong to the Nine Realms. It did not belong to the Upper Heavens. It did not even belong to existence as it was currently defined.

It was older.

She knew this force.

She had touched it once.

Long ago—back when she tore open the cycle of reincarnation with her own hands and laid the foundations of the Nether Realms. Back then, in her arrogance and defiance, she had brushed against the outermost boundary of this same power… only for it to reject her.

Her pupils shrank violently.

Her throat tightened.

A whisper escaped her lips, fragile and reverent, like a forbidden prayer spoken to the void.

"Non-Existence Authority…"

The words tasted unreal.

How could this be?

How could a mere mortal—an unnamed cultivator from a lower world—comprehend the most transcendent principle that even the heavens themselves feared?

It was lunacy.

In the Upper Realms, god-kings, saints, sovereigns, and ancient monstrosities beyond count had sought the Authority of Non-Existence. Every single one of them had failed. Some shattered their cultivation. Some erased their own souls. Others were devoured by the concepts they dared to touch.

Because all Authorities—fate, time, destiny, space, the elements—were ultimately owned by Heaven.

To transcend them, to truly escape the shackles of creation, one had to reach beyond existence itself.

To comprehend what came before existence.

That was what Non-Existence represented.

Not destruction.

Not annihilation.

But the absence that preceded creation.

The silent, absolute void where laws had never been written and authority had never been claimed.

A realm where even Heaven was nothing more than an afterthought.

Mo Huyan's heart trembled violently.

Even she—an immortal who had defied epochs, overturned cycles, and mocked the heavens for untold years—had failed to touch its essence. Decades spent beneath the crushing will of eternity had taught her a cruel truth:

Some doors were simply not meant to be opened.

And yet—

Here it was.

Manifesting around Wang Chen.

Not violently.

Not forcibly.

But naturally.

As if the concept itself had acknowledged him.

Her breath hitched.

Her thoughts froze.

For the first time since she had become Mo Huyan—the Nether Empress feared across realms—she felt something dangerously close to reverence.

And something even more terrifying.

Hope.

The number of times Wang Chen had left her astonished was already beyond counting.

And yet, this moment eclipsed all of them.

[Ding! Congratulations, Host.]

[Minor comprehension of Non-Existence Authority achieved.]

[A path beyond the Supreme has been revealed.]

Wang Chen did not know how long he had been submerged in meditation when his eyes finally opened.

For a fleeting instant, galaxies bloomed within his pupils.

Countless stars spun, collided, and were extinguished—swallowed whole by an endless, soundless void. Creation and destruction replayed themselves in silence, over and over, until even those concepts lost meaning.

The thousands of heavenly runes that had once revolved around his body began to tremble.

Then twist.

Then collapse inward.

What had been many fused violently into one.

A single rune emerged.

It was not divine.

It was not demonic.

It radiated neither light nor darkness.

It radiated nothing.

Sound ceased.

Light withered.

Existence itself recoiled.

Where the rune hovered, all creation was stripped away—peeled layer by layer until nothing remained but pure conceptual emptiness. No matter. No energy. No law.

And yet…

Within that absolute void, something stirred.

A minuscule spark.

Creation, born from oblivion.

"So… this is the source of everything…"

Wang Chen's whisper trembled, disbelief bleeding seamlessly into awe.

He could not truly feel the rune. It lay beyond touch, beyond perception, beyond comprehension. And yet, within that infinite nothingness, he sensed something terrifyingly clear.

There was no fate.

No time.

No karma.

No destiny.

Only the void that existed before all things.

"The power to…" His breath hitched. "To steal even fate itself…"

His blood thundered through his veins.

Without realizing it, his fists clenched until his nails pierced flesh, warm blood dripping silently to the ground. Three centuries of struggle, isolation, and sacrifice compressed into a single, unbearable instant.

The rune shimmered faintly.

Then drifted downward.

Slowly.

Inevitably.

It embedded itself at the center of his brows.

The moment it made contact, Wang Chen's entire spiritual world screamed.

Cracks exploded outward like spiderwebs. The walls of his inner domain convulsed violently—then shattered, collapsing into nothingness.

Reality itself roared.

Space buckled.

4.1 kilometers.

4.2 kilometers.

His divine sea expanded uncontrollably, serenity obliterated by the surge of an Authority that should never have been touched. The pressure warped the very structure of the dimension, bending laws as though they were fragile parchment.

In the external world, spiritual qi from every direction was ripped free.

Mountains went barren.

Rivers ran dry.

Life itself trembled.

All of it was dragged toward him, spiraling into a colossal silver vortex that devoured vitality from miles around—an omen visible even to the blind.

And at the center of that storm…

Wang Chen stood.

No longer merely walking the path of cultivation.

But standing at the threshold of something that even Heaven feared.

The skies dimmed.

The ground shook.

The violent expansion only came to a halt when Wang Chen's inner world finally stabilized—five kilometers wide, a spiritual sea vast enough to rival those spoken of only in the oldest myths, the domains once ruled by ancient god-kings.

Had this occurred before the reemergence of the cultivation age, the surrounding lands would have been reduced to nothing but drifting dust. Fortunately, the Heaven-Rending Empire's leyline stabilization arrays groaned into action, their ancient runes flaring as they anchored reality itself, barely preventing the entire region from collapsing under the unbearable pressure.

Then—

Silence returned.

Wang Chen stood alone.

Above him hovered a faintly glowing symbol.

The rune of Non-Existence.

It did not shine brightly. It did not pulse with power. And yet, its mere afterimage warped the air around it, as though reality itself hesitated in its presence. Nothing visibly radiated outward, but everything nearby felt subtly rewritten at the most fundamental level.

As if the concept of being itself had become fragile.

Wang Chen let out a soft chuckle.

Joy welled in his chest—quiet, overwhelming, and undeniable. For the first time in centuries, a genuine smile tugged at his lips. Not the smile of conquest. Not arrogance. Not triumph.

Relief.

He had done it.

Truly done it.

Three hundred years of solitude, obsession, and relentless trial had finally borne fruit.

Without lingering even a heartbeat longer, he rose to his feet. Power surged through his body, smooth and absolute. Behind his head, faint silver threads from the rune of Non-Existence spread outward, forming a halo that seemed both divine and blasphemous.

He raised his hand.

Sword-light scattered like falling stars.

The resentful ghosts that had haunted this realm for centuries didn't even have time to scream. They were erased instantly—cut apart like brittle paper, their existence severed so completely that not even echoes remained.

Wang Chen no longer needed to fight.

He commanded existence.

From the shadows, Mo Huyan watched in silence.

Her regal gaze softened, an unfamiliar emotion stirring behind her eyes—something dangerously close to awe. She wanted to speak. To ask him what drove him. What he intended to do with a power even the heavens feared.

But in the end, she said nothing.

Some moments did not belong to words.

And some destinies were not meant to be interrupted.

Then—

Before her astonished gaze, space itself folded inward around Wang Chen.

His figure shimmered, fracturing into countless threads of pale light. The avatar unraveled quietly, without resistance, dispersing like morning mist beneath the rising sun.

Gone.

Leaving only silence.

And Mo Huyan, standing alone in that endless, hollow expanse—staring at the place where a mortal had stepped beyond the reach of Heaven itself.

...

Wang Chen perception shifted before he realised he was back in real world, sitting cross legged in his meditation chamber.

The entire world outside didn't seem to realize the absence of Qi in the entire city.

The faint thread connecting him and the Ancient beast egg, pulsed as Wnag Chen precious luck flowed through it.

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