276: Chapter 275 Xuan Binghai

In the spatial turbulence, there was no day or night, no direction, only the endless Void Realm and blinding white light.

Jiang Hanzhou's body drifted in the turbulence like a fallen leaf swept up by a gale, unable to resist and only able to go with the flow.

His consciousness was sometimes clear and sometimes blurred. When clear, he could feel spatial fragments slicing past him, cutting his skin and tearing his Meridians; when blurred, he could only see blinding white light and hear the howling spatial storm roaring in his ears.

The tiger soul saber turned into a streak of dark golden light, coiling around his side. The saber's body vibrated slightly, and with each vibration, a faint wisp of spiritual energy surged from the blade to protect his heart's pulse.

Intermittent messages came from the intelligence within the saber, as if saying, "Master, hold on, I will protect you."

The heavenly secret mirror floated an inch above his chest. The jade talisman was pure white, its surface silver patterns swirling frantically and emitting a faint hum.

Stimulated by the spatial turbulence, those patterns grew brighter and denser, extending from the jade's surface and weaving into a complex Formation diagram in the air.

The Formation diagram was profound and mysterious, each line containing an indescribable Great Dao of Heaven and Earth, like some ancient Legacy's protective Formation.

Jiang Hanzhou didn't know how long he had been drifting in the turbulence.

It could have been a day, two days, or perhaps just a few hours.

His perception grew dull under the tearing of the spatial turbulence, and his memories fragmented when his consciousness blurred. He could only rely on instinct to grip the hilt of the tiger soul saber tightly, using his will to live to hold onto his last breath.

On the first day, a spatial fragment sliced through his left arm, deep enough to see the bone. Blood gushed from the wound, turning into a fine mist in the turbulence before being instantly swallowed by the spatial storm. He used the Spirit Concentration Art to forcibly Seal the Meridians near the wound and stop the bleeding, but his left arm had already lost all sensation.

On the second day, a fist-sized spatial fragment struck his back, breaking two ribs. The broken bones pierced his lungs, and every breath brought excruciating pain. He reset the bones and used Pure Yang True Intent to cauterize the wound, evaporating the stagnant blood in his lungs. The intense pain nearly made him faint, but he gritted his teeth, using his willpower to keep from losing consciousness.

On the third day, the power of the spatial turbulence began to weaken. The blinding white light gradually dissipated, and the howling spatial storms subsided. Jiang Hanzhou felt his body falling rapidly. The sound of whistling wind reached his ears, and before his eyes was a gray sky.

He didn't know what was below or what awaited him. He just gripped the tiger soul saber tightly, closed his eyes, and waited for the end of the fall.

Just as he was about to lose consciousness, the heavenly secret mirror suddenly vibrated.

The silver patterns on the jade talisman erupted with blinding light, extending from the surface to weave an even more complex and profound Formation diagram in the air. In the center of the diagram, a fine golden thread emerged from the Void Realm and sank into his brow.

Fragmented information flooded into his Sea of Consciousness.

It wasn't a complete picture or a coherent memory, but countless fragments like a shattered mirror, each reflecting a blurred scene.

The figure of the Dragon Slaying True Person appeared repeatedly in the fragments. Sometimes it was his younger self, high-spirited with a long sword at his waist, standing atop a mountain; sometimes his middle-aged self, steady and reserved, standing with hands behind his back overlooking the East Sea; and sometimes his appearance before his dissolution, face pale, the five-colored radiance around him dim, eyes full of resolve.

In those fragments, one sentence appeared repeatedly like a brand or a curse: "The dao seeds are laid across the world's five regions. The East Sea, Southern Borders, Western Desert, Northern Territory, and Central Plains all have my hidden moves. When the thousand-year period arrives, the five regions will open simultaneously, and my dao foundation shall use the world as nourishment."

Jiang Hanzhou's pupils contracted sharply.

The five regions of the world. It wasn't just the East Sea or the Dragon Abyss Palace; the Dragon Slaying True Person had planted dao seeds across the entire world. Gu Cultivators in the Southern Borders, Buddhist Cultivators in the Western Desert, ice field Martial Artists in the Northern Territory, and Imperial Dynasty Cultivators in the Central Plains—every region had his hidden pawns and backup plans.

Once the thousand-year period arrived and the five regions opened simultaneously, all dao seeds would be harvested. At that time, the Dragon Slaying True Person's remnant soul would absorb the Divine Souls, Dao Principles, and lifelong cultivation of all dao seeds across the five regions to reshape his dao foundation and achieve Nirvana Rebirth.

That was not a disaster for a single sect or faction, but a catastrophe for the entire world.

The fragments continued to pour in.

A scene slowly unfolded in Jiang Hanzhou's Sea of Consciousness: a frozen ocean with countless massive ice floes floating on the surface, and bottomless ice crevices between them. At the end of the ocean was a vast white ice field, where sparse lights were faintly visible—traces of human settlement.

Below the scene, four ancient characters appeared: Mystic Ice Vast Sea.

The Northern Territory. The Far North, the Mystic Ice Vast Sea, tens of thousands of miles away from the East Sea.

The destination of the teleportation array was not some island outside the East Sea, nor the Endless Sea west of the Storm Kingdom, but the Northern Territory—the Mystic Ice Vast Sea. When the Dragon Slaying True Person traveled a thousand years ago, he left a secret Immortal Cave here, containing a backup Physical Body prepared for his cross-realm Possession.

Jiang Hanzhou's Sea of Consciousness jolted, and the fragments instantly vanished. The silver patterns on the heavenly secret mirror dimmed, and the jade talisman returned to its previous pure white state, floating quietly above his chest.

The third layer of the Seal had been unlocked.

But Jiang Hanzhou had no time to digest that information because he was falling rapidly.

The gray sky drew closer, and the whistling wind grew louder. Below was neither seawater nor land, but a frozen sea surface. Countless massive ice floes floated on the water, with bottomless ice crevices between them.

He gritted his teeth and poured the last trace of True Intent remaining in his body into the tiger soul saber. The four-colored radiance on the blade was so faint it was almost invisible, but the dark golden halo at the edge still flowed slowly. He held the saber across his body, using it as a shield to protect his vitals.

Boom.

His body slammed heavily onto an ice floe. The ice surface shattered, and freezing seawater surged from the cracks, soaking his black wetsuit. Intense pain spread from his back to his entire body, nearly tearing his consciousness apart. A metallic taste filled his mouth—a sign of internal organ rupture.

He struggled to sit up, but his body wouldn't obey. His left arm had lost sensation, his right leg was cut by a spatial fragment deep enough to see the bone, and two ribs in his back were broken, with every breath bringing agonizing pain.

More terrifyingly, his cultivation was Sealed.

It wasn't Sealed by a person, but by the power of the spatial turbulence. While the spatial fragments tore his body, they also injected wisps of spatial power into his Meridians. Those powers were like invisible chains, coiling around his Dantian, his Sea of Consciousness, and his four types of True Intent, locking his cultivation layer by layer.

He looked inside his body.

Deep within his Dantian, the inch-sized Dragon Fetus sat cross-legged, the four-colored radiance surrounding it so dim it was barely visible. Countless fine silver threads coiled around the Dragon Fetus; these threads were the remnants of spatial power, acting like chains to lock the Dragon Fetus firmly.

Most of his cultivation was Sealed. Only the Foundation of the Early Stage Dragon Fetus Realm remained, barely preventing his Physical Body from crumbling.

Deep within his Sea of Consciousness, the area of the lake of divine soul had shrunk by nine-tenths, leaving only a small puddle of turbid water. The Divine Soul Armor on the lake's surface had completely dissipated. The Heart Blade hung above the Sea of Consciousness, the dark golden dragon patterns on its body dull and lusterless, and the dark golden halo at its edge had also vanished.

The Thousand Tribulations Nirvana Gu Mother slept in a corner of his Dantian, its body curled into a ball, and the blood-colored patterns on its surface had stopped flowing. It had swallowed the power of several spatial fragments in the turbulence and fallen into a deep sleep, slowly digesting that power.

The heavenly secret mirror floated above his chest, the silver patterns on the jade's surface having stopped flowing, as quiet as an ordinary stone. Although the third layer of the Seal was unlocked, the power within the jade talisman had been exhausted in the spatial turbulence and also needed time to recover.

The tiger soul saber was stuck in the ice beside him, the four-colored radiance on its body completely gone. A faint message came from the intelligence within the saber, as if saying, "Master, I can't hold on anymore, I need to rest."

Jiang Hanzhou lay on the drift ice, staring at the grey sky, remaining silent for a long time.

His body was trembling, not from fear, but from the cold. The temperature of the Mystic Ice Vast Sea was terrifyingly low; water froze instantly upon dripping, and breath turned to frost. His black wetsuit, soaked through by the seawater, clung to his body, piercingly cold.

He wanted to circulate his Pure Yang True Intent to ward off the cold, but his Meridians were fractured in many places, making it impossible to circulate his True Intent at all. He wanted to use the Li Huo Golden Body Art to strengthen his Physical Body, but his Dantian was sealed by spatial power, preventing him from mobilizing his blood and Qi.

He could only lie on the drift ice, allowing the cold to erode his body and his injuries to consume his vitality.

His consciousness was blurring, his vision was darkening, and his breathing was coming to a standstill.

Just when he thought he was going to die there, a faint power slowly welled up from deep within his body.

That power was not spiritual energy, not True Intent, and not the Divine Soul; it was the power of fate.

[Late Bloomer], Rank Six.

This fate had been with him since the day he underwent Transmigration into this world. It made his cultivation slow and his progress difficult, yet it allowed him to walk this far, step by step, even when no one believed in him. It had never brought him any immediate power or allowed him to unleash an astonishing combat force at a critical moment, but it gave him one thing: a Foundation.

An incomparably stable Foundation.

With every Breakthrough and every promotion, his fate would tamp his Foundation to the extreme. His blood and Qi were several times more abundant than Cultivators of the same rank, his Meridians several times tougher, and his Divine Soul several times stronger. Those Foundations were usually unnoticeable, but when he was on the brink of death or at the end of his tether, they became his only hope for survival.

The power of fate welled up from the depths of his Dantian, slowly flowing along his fractured Meridians. That power was very faint—so faint it was almost imperceptible—but it was stable, so stable that no power could interrupt it.

It was repairing his damaged Foundation.

It wasn't a rapid repair, but an extremely slow one. It was so slow that every inch of his Meridians required several days to heal, and every broken bone required half a month to reconnect. But it would not stop, it would not be interrupted, and it would not change its rhythm due to external interference.

It was performing the sturdiest repair at the slowest speed.

At the same time, the extreme cold of the Mystic Ice Vast Sea was also tempering his Physical Body. The freezing chill seeped through his pores, flowing along his Meridians into every part of his body, intertwining with the restorative power of his fate. The chill stimulated his blood and Qi, slowly awakening the Li Huo power dormant within his flesh and blood; the chill tempered his bones, making those cut by spatial fragments even tougher after they were repaired.

The Li Huo Golden Body was growing slowly in the extreme cold.

It wasn't active cultivation, but passive tempering. Extreme cold and Li Huo, ice and fire—two opposing forces collided, intertwined, and underwent Fusion within his body, allowing his Physical Body to be tempered on the edge of life and death.

One day later, a tenth of his fractured Meridians had healed. He could barely circulate his Pure Yang True Intent to ward off the cold; although he could only channel a sliver, it was enough to stop his body temperature from dropping further.

Two days later, his broken ribs had healed. He could sit up and barely move his left arm and right leg. Although his movements were sluggish, he could at least tend to his wounds himself.

Three days later, a sliver of his cultivation was unsealed. His Foundation at the Early Stage of the Dragon Fetus Realm was completely stabilized. Although he could not activate his four types of True Intent or perform the Dao-Slaying Blade Intent, he could at least circulate the Li Huo Golden Body Art to strengthen his Physical Body and use Pure Yang True Intent to dispel the cold within him.

Sitting on the drift ice, he laid the tiger soul saber across his knees and used his thoughts to soothe the spirit within the blade. The blade's spirit sent back a faint response, as if saying, 'Master, I will recover slowly.'

He placed the heavenly secret mirror into his sumeru pouch and took the Thousand Tribulations Nirvana Gu Mother into his Dantian to nourish it. Then, he raised his head and looked into the distance.

The sky over the Mystic Ice Vast Sea was eternally grey, with no sun, moon, or stars in sight. Countless massive pieces of drift ice floated on the sea, with bottomless icy crevasses between them. In the distance, a vast white ice field was vaguely visible, with sparse black spots scattered across it that looked like rocks or perhaps buildings.

He didn't know what was on that ice field or if there were human settlements there. But he knew he couldn't stay on the drift ice. Although his injuries had been stabilized by the power of his fate, they were still severe; he needed medicine, food, and a warm shelter. He had to find a place with people.

He struggled to his feet and sheathed the tiger soul saber at his waist. His left leg was still a bit lame, and every step brought a dull pain. But he didn't stop, simply treading across the drift ice toward the ice field.

After walking for less than half an hour, he heard sounds coming from the distance.

It was the sound of oars rowing through water, and people speaking. They were speaking a Northern Territory dialect that he couldn't quite understand, but he could vaguely distinguish a few words: 'drift ice,' 'corpse,' and 'carry back.'

He looked up toward the source of the sound.

There, a wooden boat was slowly navigating between the drift ice. The boat wasn't large, about three zhang long and one zhang wide, made of some kind of black wood with a waterproof grease coating. Seven or eight people stood on the boat, dressed in thick fur coats and fur hats, their faces weathered by wind and frost. They held harpoons and spears in their hands and had short knives hanging from their waists; they looked like fishermen or perhaps hunters.

A middle-aged man stood at the bow, burly with a rugged face and a full beard. He held an iron fork in his hand, his gaze alertly scanning the surrounding drift ice. When he saw Jiang Hanzhou, his pupils suddenly constricted.

“There's someone over there!” he shouted in the Northern Territory dialect, and the other crew members turned their heads to look at Jiang Hanzhou.

Jiang Hanzhou stood his ground and didn't move. He didn't know these people's backgrounds or whether they were friend or foe. But he knew that in his current state, he couldn't resist at all. If these people wanted to kill him, he couldn't even escape.

He could only gamble.

Gamble that these people were kind fishermen who would save him rather than kill him.

The wooden boat slowly approached the drift ice, and the middle-aged man jumped onto the ice and walked up to Jiang Hanzhou. He sized Jiang Hanzhou up, his gaze lingering briefly on the tiger soul saber at his waist, before asking in stiff official Mandarin, “Who are you? Why are you here?”

Jiang Hanzhou looked at him and remained silent for a breath.

Then, he spoke, his voice hoarse, “My name is Jiang Hanzhou, I am a Martial Artist. My ship encountered a storm at sea, and I was washed here by the waves. I am heavily injured and need help.”

The middle-aged man looked at his scar-covered body, his paper-white face, and his blood-stained black wetsuit, remaining silent for a long time.

Then, he turned around and shouted a few sentences in the Northern Territory dialect to the people on the boat. The crew began to get busy; some brought out blankets, some brought out a medicine box, and others brought the boat closer.

The middle-aged man turned back and draped a thick fur coat over Jiang Hanzhou's shoulders.

“We are the fishing party of the White Deer Tribe.” His voice was rugged, yet it contained an indescribable gentleness. “Our camp isn't far from here. Come with us, we will help treat your injuries.”

Jiang Hanzhou nodded and allowed the middle-aged man to support him as he boarded the wooden boat.

The people on the boat made a space for him; someone wrapped a blanket around him, and someone handed him a bowl of hot soup. He took the soup and took a sip; the warm liquid flowed down his throat into his stomach, dispelling the remaining chill in his body.

The wooden boat turned around and headed toward the ice field.

Jiang Hanzhou sat at the stern, watching the drift ice grow more distant and the grey sky grow darker.

He didn't know how long he would stay in the Northern Territory or if he could return to the East Sea alive. But he knew one thing: he was still alive.