Plate 142: Black Stone and Heavy Water

Countless predecessors envied the prosperity and wealth of the Blackstone Star Domain, yet one after another, whether they were Xuan-level, Yuan-level, or even cosmic-level experts invited from afar, all fell to the overwhelming exclusivity of its metallic energy.

During the tens of thousands of years it took for the Blackstone civilization to rise from level three to level six, there were brief periods of improvement. Unfortunately, once the key researchers passed away, things reverted to their original state. The only change was the addition of a few small life-bearing planets within protective shields, much like fruit trees in a greenhouse—no matter how carefully tended for decades or even centuries, they eventually needed replacement.

The allure of the Heavy Water World surpassed that of the Blackstone Domain. In terms of the strength of its people and technological advancement, it had reached the level of an advanced civilization. Yet, no matter how powerful, lifespan was limited to three hundred years. Even the highest-tier Yuan-level experts, capable of living tens of thousands of years elsewhere, only lived for three centuries here.

The inhabitants of Heavy Water World tried countless methods, treading risky paths in their civilization’s progress. They attempted genetic hybrids by injecting animal or plant genes into their bodies, experimented with cyborg enhancements, and even sought to convert themselves into pure spiritual beings. Yet, these efforts only extended lifespans by a mere handful of decades, failing to scale in proportion to their power levels—barely a fraction of what was expected.

However, these years of research were not in vain. They discovered the cause of the brief lifespans: Heavy Water World sits precisely at the convergence point of another dimension. It is estimated that an unknown energy factor invaded during a massive dimensional collapse, embedding itself in everyone born there—from their souls to their very bodies. This factor makes cultivation more efficient but hinders longevity.

Blackstone and Heavy Water—one wealthy, the other powerful—if both could be tamed, it would be like gaining wings on both sides.

As for solutions, records mention that the Blackstone world requires five cosmic-level masters, each attuned to a single element of the Five Phases, and one master versed in all attributes to harmonize them. They would arrange a Five Phases formation: metal generates water, water generates wood, wood generates fire, fire generates earth, and earth generates metal—an endless cycle to gradually alter Blackstone’s energy structure. Encompassing an entire world in such a grand elemental formation demands enormous resources, but Blackstone’s immense wealth and abundance of energy stones make this feasible.

On the other hand, Heavy Water World has no known solution. Sang Sang favored it precisely because that unknown factor was said to possess temporal-spatial properties. Heavy Water World’s link to time and space is significant, and nearly one-fifth of its population were cultivators of temporal-spatial laws. All predecessors who once improved Heavy Water World’s condition had practiced these laws.

This was likely why Sena recommended Heavy Water World to her.

Sang Sang found herself torn when the Celestial Emperor returned, reeking of blood—so strong that it could be smelled from light-years away.

Little Jin charged forward atop the Celestial Emperor’s head, curling into a ball before springing toward Sang Sang. It sprawled on her, crawling up to perch on her shoulder, and complained, “Sang Sang, you need to discipline the Celestial Emperor. He’s becoming more unruly. When we tell him not to do something, he does it anyway.”

No sooner had the words left Little Jin’s mouth than the Celestial Emperor slid onto the swing, arms spread wide, leaning back until the swing soared into the air. “You should discipline Little Jin too,” he retorted. “He’s getting out of control. When I tell him not to do something, he insists on doing it.”

Sang Sang didn’t open her eyes but patted Little Jin, brushing aside the Celestial Emperor’s hand resting on her shoulder. “You both have different stories. Whose should I believe?”

Little Jin puffed out his chest proudly. “Of course mine. You like me best. The Celestial Emperor is unreasonable. I was going to turn the Seven-Color Civilization into your domain of faith, but he ruined it.”

The Celestial Emperor pinched Little Jin and tossed him into the air. “Don’t listen to his nonsense. He behaves well in the temple but goes crazy when released. He thinks he’s the god of the network, omnipotent. He nearly got detained by the referees... What’s going on with you?” His tone shifted suddenly, jumping up in disbelief.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Little Jin puffed back, flying over. “Sang Sang, is there really something wrong with your soul?”

Sang Sang opened her eyes, reached out to catch Little Jin, her voice calm. “It’s a good thing, just with some minor side effects.”

The Celestial Emperor winced in pain again, now certain the source was Sang Sang herself. “What side effects? Let me see.” Entering her spiritual sea, he couldn’t help but curse. “You’re twisted. How is this even possible?”

Outside, it was undetectable. It only seemed that Sang Sang’s soul had split in two, with the other half unknown whereabouts, sensed intermittently. This caused the newly healed wounds to feel as if they were being picked apart, pain surging in waves. At first, he thought he had sustained hidden injuries during the temporal gap but found nothing upon inspection. He then guessed something was wrong with Sang Sang’s soul, using the Eye of Time and Space to divine a vague answer—it wasn’t bad news.

Now, inside Sang Sang’s spiritual sea, the anomaly was clear.

Deep within, Sang Sang’s spiritual consciousness, though greatly diminished in size, remained solid—clearly well-healed after the split. With proper nourishment and rest, it would recover fully.

The problem lay in the nearly halved soul: atop its head was a fine white thread, as thin as a hair and about two feet long. Countless insights into laws flowed through this thread like water into the soul before being channeled into the Ten-Thousand Laws Pen of the temporal-spatial manifestation, nourishing the pen’s rule-based stars. The pen’s tip shimmered, constantly elevating its mastery of laws every moment.

The Celestial Emperor muttered, “Connecting the Origin Sea... this is cheating!”

Sang Sang’s soul gently held the Ten-Thousand Laws Pen, lifting her eyes to glance at him calmly. “Xuan level cultivators can connect to the Origin. I’m just a little ahead.”

The Celestial Emperor snorted. “Don’t try to fool me. Xuan-level connection to the Origin is just the core of the law star, nothing like you, who plugged a pipe into a rice jar and can siphon as much as you want. You’re the Child of Fate, the illegitimate daughter of the Universe’s will. How did you come up with this?”

Sang Sang replied, “If connecting to the Origin Sea makes one the Universe’s illegitimate daughter, then the Hundred Flowers Saintess must be the legitimate daughter of the Origin’s will. This kind of pulling technique was stolen from her. I’ve only grasped the surface, far less than her innate talent.”

“So it’s her,” the Celestial Emperor sneered. “Can she compare to you? No matter how great her talent, in her hands it’s weak as dust, her mind full of stones. When you reach her age, you’ll crush her with a single finger.”

He leaned over, reaching out to touch the white thread atop Sang Sang’s head. “Not sturdy enough. Any way to make it steadier?”

“I’m focusing on the pulling-related laws. It will strengthen soon.” Sang Sang closed her eyes again. For the Ten-Thousand Laws of Time and Space, most cultivate one or two laws mainly, but she cultivated thousands simultaneously—special methods were essential.

“I’ll try adding one too,” the Celestial Emperor said.

He closed his eyes as well, using their contract to copy the pulling-origin laws from Sang Sang into himself. Unable to seize the breakthrough to communicate with the Origin directly, he took the spoils from this battle—leaves from the Path Enlightenment Tree—and entered the Origin Sea through them to refine an external avatar.

Soon, a thin thread also appeared atop his spiritual consciousness, though more fragile than Sang Sang’s.

The next moment, the Celestial Emperor’s soul was wracked with pain. His external avatar lost contact, and the pulling-origin thread disintegrated.

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