133: Chapter 133 Thunderclap Under the Pattern

Late at night.

The top-floor terrace of Tianshu Dragon Garden.

Moonlight blanketed the ground in a frosty white, and the sparse lights of Dongjiang City in the distance looked like a handful of scattered gold fragments.

Jiang Feng sat cross-legged on the inner side of the railing, his back leaning against the cold iron bars. In his palm rested a fist-sized ball of cyan-gold light, so thick it was nearly solid, with tiny bubbles churning on its surface.

The hongmeng ancestral source.

A thing he had forcefully dragged out from Venerable Xuan's source channel.

Every time a bubble burst, the aura that spilled out made the laws of the heavens within a hundred-mile radius shiver—and that wasn't an exaggeration; they truly shivered. The nearest satellite drifted a fraction of a degree off its orbit; the satellite monitoring station would probably have to work overtime all night again.

The galaxy stretched out overhead.

From downstairs came the sound of the Dragon Girl's snoring, full of vigor, penetrating two floors and pouring upward as if it cost nothing. Interspersed with a few lines of sleep talk—"Extra spicy... bring another pack... don't you dare snatch it from me..."

In the direction of the living room, Liu Cuilan got up in the night to pour some water. The sound of slippers on the floor tapped softly twice. A cup was placed on the table, making another soft sound. Then the footsteps returned to the bedroom, and the door was closed.

A quiet, deep night.

The thing in his palm could blast the entire Hongmeng Realm to dust if it exploded, yet at this moment, Tianshu Dragon Garden was no different from any other residential complex—someone was snoring, someone was getting up at night, and someone was sitting on the roof in a daze.

It was just that the thing held by the one in a daze was a bit outrageous.

Jiang Feng closed his eyes.

Within his body, the Pangu Dao Fruit actively pulled at the hongmeng ancestral source, and the world essence surged up, churning as it began the refining process.

The feeling of the hongmeng ancestral source entering his body was not like eating.

It was more like pouring magma into his veins—scalding, expanding, every inch of his meridians stretched to the limit, like an inflated tire nearing the point of bursting. If any other Hunyuan Supreme were here, this "entry" process alone would be enough to blow them up into fireworks on the spot.

With the foundation of 466 Jian, he held on.

Painful as it was, he could steady himself.

The refining process proceeded steadily.

Ten percent. Twenty percent. Thirty percent.

Upon reaching thirty percent—Jiang Feng's mental attribute caught something.

Extremely deep. Extremely hidden. It was tucked in the very core of the hongmeng ancestral source, wrapped in a thin layer that had almost grown together with the source fibers.

It was not an impurity. Impurities had texture and granularity, making them easy to distinguish. This thing had none.

It had fused with the hongmeng ancestral source; every strand of its pattern was interlocked seamlessly with the source fibers.

If his mental attribute hadn't happened to penetrate to this layer at the thirty-percent node, he never would have discovered it.

A cognitive brand.

Jiang Feng's mind spun for a fraction of a second before he understood the principle—he felt nothing during absorption, but once the refining was complete and it entered his body, this brand would embed itself into the deepest part of his source, welding itself to his Pangu Dao Fruit.

At that point. Every breath. Every thought. It would all be seen clearly.

Like pouring lead into a gold bar. It looked like pure gold on the surface, and it weighed the right amount on the scale. But inside, it was lead.

Old Man Xuan's methods.

Jiang Feng opened his eyes. There was no trace of anger in his dark-gold double pupils. Only a pure, bone-chilling sneer.

It was like a supreme master discovering someone had put croton beans in his food—not because he was poisoned, but because he felt this tactic was beneath his expectations for an enemy.

"Old man, is that all your scope amounts to?"

Four words thrown into the night wind.

Talent activated. His mental attribute compressed into a needle, finer than a strand of hair. It pierced into the interior of the hongmeng ancestral source.

Subatomic-level source manipulation. Peeling it out. A thread. A wisp.

Every fiber of the cognitive brand was precisely plucked from the body of the hongmeng ancestral source. The process was extremely slow, like using tweezers to pick grains of sand out of flour. The flour couldn't scatter, the sand couldn't be crushed, and not a single grain could be left behind.

Troublesome? Yes. But for the mental attribute of 466 Jian, doing this job was just like his mother, Liu Cuilan, picking tiny bone fragments out of pork ribs—patient, meticulous, not missing a single piece.

The last wisp of the brand was pulled out. Jiang Feng rubbed his fingers together. Powder. Flicked into the void.

The night wind swirled, and the powder scattered without a trace.

For this tiny thing, Old Man Xuan had probably pondered for several epochs. A hidden hand he'd spent several epochs devising. It was rubbed away by two fingers.

Jiang Feng withdrew his hand. He closed his eyes again. Continued refining.

With the impurities gone, the pure hongmeng ancestral source was like a starving beast; the Pangu Dao Fruit didn't pick and choose, didn't chew, just grabbed it and stuffed it into its mouth. The speed at which the world essence surged within his body instantly shot up several times over, and the heat in his meridians spiked another notch.

Forty percent. Fifty percent. Sixty percent. Seventy percent—the seventh portion of the hongmeng ancestral source merged with the Pangu Dao Fruit.

The ground beneath his feet exploded. The word "exploded" wasn't quite accurate. Because there was no sound. It should be said—the world beneath his feet spasmed.

It wasn't the terrace shattering. The terrace was fine, the railing hadn't moved an inch. It was below. Deep, deep below.

In the deepest part of Blue Star's crust, that set of patterns, older even than Pangu—went mad.

The vibration didn't travel through the surface. It acted directly on the level of the laws.

The underlying laws of the entire Blue Star were like a wet towel held in someone's hand, being wrung out. All supernatural energy fields fluctuated violently at the same time—space shook, causality trembled, and even the gravitational constant jumped by a fraction of a decimal place.

The floor of Tianshu Dragon Garden cracked open right down the middle. The crack wasn't deep, but it spread quickly, crawling along the base of the wall to the stairwell, emitting a series of crisp "click-clack" sounds.

Downstairs. A scream pierced through two floors, loud enough that even the floor crack vibrated in response.

"Ah!! Earthquake?! Master!!"

The Dragon Girl was flipped off the bed by an air wave. Not rolled off. Flipped upward.

The back of her head hit the ceiling, and she ended up hanging directly on the light fixture. A quilt wrapped around most of her face, with one vertical pupil squeezing out from a gap in the corner of the quilt, shocked and confused, her hair standing up like a bird's nest.

In the underground training ground. The zhenguo sword in Ying Zheng's hand unsheathed itself without any warning.

The blade hummed incessantly. It wasn't the excited hiss before a battle—it was a mournful cry.

The divine weapon that had swept across the Six Kingdoms two thousand years ago was now trembling incessantly outside its sheath, the light on the blade flickering on and off, like a candle in the wind.

Huo Qubing pressed one hand onto the long spear at his waist. The spear shaft jumped incessantly in his palm, as if he were gripping a live snake.

The two looked at each other. Ying Zheng didn't speak. He slowly placed the zhenguo sword flat on the stone table in front of him.

It wasn't giving up. It was the instinct of an emperor facing an irresistible force—first steady one's own demeanor, then judge the situation. How could one stabilize the morale of the army if one's attire was disheveled?

Two thousand years ago, when he encountered Jing Ke's sword in the Xianyang Palace, he had also adjusted his sleeves before drawing his sword.

"Not human power." The emperor spoke, his voice not loud, but every word could be heard clearly in the training ground.

He paused for a beat. "There is something... awakening underground."

Huo Qubing bit down on his molars and said nothing. The young general who had been enfeoffed at eighteen had seen all sorts of battles, but at this moment, the knuckles of the five fingers gripping his spear were white.

On the terrace. Jiang Feng opened his eyes. His mental attribute turned into a torrent, pouring with full force into the center of Blue Star.

When was the last time he scanned? Chapter 129—no, that's not right, it was a few days ago.

At that time, the mental attribute of 466 Jian was only enough to touch the surface layer of the ancient patterns. Regular signal pulses, a vintage older than Pangu, and a rough distribution range. It was like looking at something through frosted glass; the outline was there, but the details were all blurry.

This time was different. With seventy percent of the hongmeng ancestral source refined, the perceptual precision brought by the surge in his mental attribute was an entire dimension ahead of before.

The frosted glass had shattered. He saw a deeper layer. Beneath the patterns.