439: Chapter 439 New life sprouts in the core of the ancestral court; life emerges even in the most desperate situations.

The gray powder, covering his ankles, emitted a dense, muffled "swishing" sound with every step of his cyan cloth shoes.

This sound rippled across the vast, boundless, dead-gray plain, without a single echo to be heard.

The powder was loose and dry; walking on it gave one the illusion of treading on the fresh snow of early winter, but what reached the nostrils was the suffocating stench of bone ash.

Over countless epochs, the living beings who died in the Taiwu Ancestral Court and the shattered remains of worlds had all eventually settled here, forming the thick foundation of this plain.

Zhou Wannian did not walk quickly.

In this colorless world, his washed-out cyan cloth robe looked like a lone, out-of-place shadow.

In the center of the plain, a short, withered dead tree stood alone.

Its charred bark resembled peeling Dragon scales, and the bare trunk twisted upward, looking like hands struggling in agony.

At the base of the dead tree, amidst a pile of mud-like Death Qi, a Paper Figure sat cross-legged and upright.

Its pale paper skin shimmered with a sickly luster under the faint, strange light, and the red cheeks, painted with cheap cinnabar, exuded the eerie Aura peculiar to mundane funeral shops.

It held a worn-out earthenware tea bowl in its hands.

There was no water in the bowl.

A small pinch of death-gray ash was burning slowly at the bottom of the bowl.

There were no flames, only a slender, straight wisp of blue smoke rising steadily from the rim of the bowl.

In that blue smoke, there was a mixture of bitter, pungent, and scorched scents—the smell of all things returning to zero.

"An honored guest has arrived, but the tea has already gone cold."

"This cup of aged tea from the bottom of the Withered Well, guest—do you dare to take a sip?"

The dry, hoarse voice lingered in Zhou Wannian's Divine Soul perception.

Zhou Wannian stopped less than three feet away from the Paper Figure.

The tip of his cyan shoe pushed the bone ash powder on the ground forward into a small mound.

He lowered his head, his eyes, deep as cold pools, quietly examining the Paper Figure sitting cross-legged in the mud, as well as the bowl of ash emitting blue smoke.

Within the vision of the Great Perfection Space Law, the contents of the bowl were clear at a glance.

That was not tea made from roasted leaves at all.

It was a bit of pure, destructive ember scraped from countless collapsed dimensions, from the cores of worlds completely assimilated by Death Qi.

Drinking this bowl of ash.

Was equivalent to swallowing the most fundamental, decaying rules of the Taiwu Ancestral Court directly into one's own internal organs.

Even for those so-called indestructible Grand Unity Golden Immortals, if they touched even a speck of it, their Dao foundation would collapse and rot within a few breaths, turning them into a new pile of ash on this plain.

What kind of hospitality was this?

This was blatantly serving a bowl of arsenic to one's face, and then using words to goad one into drinking it.

Zhou Wannian looked at the Paper Figure's empty, ink-black eye sockets, his mouth slowly curling into a smile, revealing an undisguised sneer.

"Using a bowl of leftover bone ash as tea leaves, and lighting a wisp of dead man's smoke as the water."

Zhou Wannian's calm voice rang out clearly across the dead-silent plain.

He did not reach for the earthenware tea bowl, his hands remaining leisurely clasped behind his back.

"Your master has been cooped up at the bottom of the well for so many years, yet he can't even bring out a decent item to entertain guests. Being this stingy, yet still trying to set up a tea party."

The Paper Figure sitting cross-legged in the mud leaned slightly forward, and the paper-crafted arm holding the tea bowl stiffly extended an inch toward Zhou Wannian.

"If the guest will not take the bowl, is it because you disdain this aged tea from the bottom of the Withered Well, feeling it is unworthy of your Great Perfection status?"

The Paper Figure did not open its mouth, but the hoarse voice was like a maggot boring into bones, constantly drilling into Zhou Wannian's Sea of Consciousness.

"Whether it is worthy or not, a few scraps of paper like you don't get to decide."

A cold glint flashed in Zhou Wannian's eyes.

He did not waste any more breath, simply taking a plain step forward through the ankle-deep bone ash with his right foot.

As the sole of his shoe rubbed against the powder, the Absolute Mass tempered by the Great Perfection Space Law transformed into an invisible weight with that step, directly shrouding the small area beneath the charred dead tree.

This weight lacked the Aura of raging winds, but it carried a physical crushing force that allowed for no resistance.

"Crack."

The moment the weight descended, the bamboo-frame arms of the Paper Figure holding the tea bowl snapped instantly.

The pale paper skin caved inward, emitting a sharp, tearing sound.

The worn-out earthenware tea bowl lost its support and fell from the Paper Figure's hands.

Before the tea bowl could even fall into the pile of mud-like Death Qi.

The Absolute Mass had already swept over it.

"Bang."

With a muffled sound, the earthenware tea bowl was crushed into the finest red clay powder in mid-air.

The pinch of burning gray destructive ember in the bowl, along with the wisp of blue smoke rising straight up, had their foundation of existence ground away by this mass, instantly turning into nothingness.

The Paper Figure, having lost the tea bowl, did not meet a better fate.

Under Zhou Wannian's cold gaze, this low-quality paper Puppet began to disintegrate inch by inch, starting from its head.

The paper pieces painted with red cheeks shattered into fragments smaller than fingernails, mixing into the bone ash below.

Without even enough time to say a word of nonsense, this roadblocker that had tried to use a provocation tactic to serve poisoned tea was wiped out completely.

Zhou Wannian brushed his cyan robe sleeves and shifted his gaze away from the scattered paper scraps.

He was just about to step over the mud and continue exploring deep into the plain to find the source that triggered the Fusion of the chains within his body.

Just then.

The foot Zhou Wannian had stepped out stopped dead in mid-air.

His gaze suddenly locked onto the base of the charred dead tree, fixing upon the center of the pile of viscous, mud-like Death Qi where the Paper Figure had just been sitting cross-legged.

After the Paper Figure dissipated, the mud lost its cover and was completely exposed before his eyes.

This pile of mud was the core of the deepest dead zone in the Taiwu Ancestral Court.

The Death Qi here was so dense it had liquefied, presenting a nauseating black-gray color.

A bubble would occasionally rise to the surface of the mud, and the Aura released when it burst was enough to corrode a large pit into the surrounding bone ash plain.

Absolute silence.

Absolute despair.

There should be no living things here; even monsters capable of adapting to Death Qi would be instantly assimilated into part of the mud here.

However.

In Zhou Wannian's Great Perfection vision.

Right in the center of this black-gray mud, which radiated an Aura of ultimate destruction.

There was a trace of fluctuation.

This fluctuation was too faint, so faint that even the Heavenly Dao will of the Major Thousand Worlds could not detect it.

If Zhou Wannian hadn't happened to be standing within three feet, and if his Absolute Mass's perception of the surrounding space hadn't been sharp to the extreme.

He would not have noticed the anomaly beneath the mud at all.

"Rustle..."

A sound of friction, faint to the extreme.

It was not the sound of wind blowing the bone ash, but some physical substance struggling to push upward through that viscous, heavy black-gray mud.

Zhou Wannian withdrew his right foot and stood firmly at the edge of the mud.

On his face, which usually revealed a hint of laziness, all listlessness was swept away in this moment, replaced by an indescribable sense of astonishment and solemnity.

He leaned down slightly, his eyes, deep as the abyss, staring fixedly at the small mound slightly bulging in the center of the mud.

The mud was churning.

That black-gray, highly corrosive, deadly mud-water was being pushed aside, bit by bit, by a force that was weak yet possessed great resilience.

"Pop."

A sticky sound of a bubble bursting rang out.

The black-gray mud was finally pierced through completely.

In the center of this dead zone, at the very bottom of the Taiwu Ancestral Court, surrounded by endless Death Qi.

A splash of color pierced into Zhou Wannian's eyes without warning.

It was a touch of green.

Not the sickly green of nether ghost fire, nor the dark green of rotting moss.

It was a tender green.

A tender, vibrant green that only appears on branches in the early spring of the Lower Realm, after a long, harsh winter, just after the first spring rain has nourished them.

At the bottom of this abyss, which was monotonous, rigid, and filled with gray and charred black, this touch of tender green appeared so abrupt, so dazzling, and even carried a heart-stopping tension.

It was a young sprout of a tea tree.

It had only two just-unfurled tender leaves, and the stem was so fragile that it seemed a gentle breeze could snap it.

But it was just so stubborn, pushing against the surrounding mud of Death Qi, which was capable of melting stars, and broke through the soil.

The surrounding black and gray mud seemed to perceive the existence of this anomaly. They churned and roared, transforming into tiny gray tentacles that frantically coiled toward the delicate tea tree sprout, attempting to strangle this sole spark of life in its cradle.

However.

Just as those tentacles, laden with the Aura of destruction, touched the faint green halo on the surface of the tea tree sprout,

those arrogant wisps of Death Qi, as if ice meeting molten iron, emitted a "hissing" sound and rapidly dissolved and retreated.

This seemingly delicate tea tree sprout actually contained a unique vitality capable of contending with, and even faintly suppressing, the core Death Qi of the Taiwu Ancestral Court.

Extremes meet.

At the extreme of death, there is life.

Zhou Wannian crouched down.

His spotless blue cloth hem hung down onto the ash powder, but he did not care in the slightest.

He was less than a foot away from the tea tree sprout. He could clearly smell a faint, delicate fragrance emanating from the two tender green leaves.

That was the true scent of tea.

It was mixed with the fragrance of soil, without a trace of vulgarity.

Zhou Wannian looked at the tea tree sprout, a glimmer of memory flashing in his eyes.

His gaze followed the slender green stem all the way down, piercing through the layer of churning black and gray mud, to see the roots of this sprout.

Deep within the mud.

There were no thick roots, nor was there fertile soil.

This tea tree sprout was rooted in a gnarled, incredibly hard fruit pit.

It was a peach pit.

A common honey peach pit, dark yellow in color, with a pitted surface and clear marks of having been gnawed on.

The scenes of memory resurfaced clearly in Zhou Wannian's mind the moment this peach pit appeared.

Countless epochs ago.

He had passed through these ruins before setting up those ninety thousand-plus bronze chains.

He had felt a bit thirsty.

So he had pulled out a honey peach from his sleeve pocket, one he had casually picked from someone's orchard while strolling through the Lower Realm.

The peach had been perfectly ripe, the flesh soft and pulpy, the juice sweet and sticky. He stood by the Withered Well, devouring the flesh in a few bites, leaving only the pit.

At that time, his mind was entirely occupied with how to weave the chains using the Space Law; he had no interest in disposing of the trash.

After finishing the peach, he had tossed it away casually.

That peach pit, stained with his saliva and carrying the scent of a mundane orchard from the Lower Realm, traced a parabola in mid-air, falling straight into that bottomless, sour-smelling Withered Well.

He had assumed the peach pit had long since been corroded into dust by the Death Qi below.

Who could have imagined?

This peach pit he had discarded so casually.

In the very core of the Taiwu Ancestral Court's dead land, it had landed in the thickest pile of mud.

It did not rot.

It was tainted with a lingering trace of the Creator's Great Perfection Space Law, and stained with the carefree, idle Aura of Zhou Wannian at that moment. Washed by the Death Qi over long epochs, this ordinary peach pit not only withstood destruction but, in this absolute dead zone, absorbed that glimmer of life born from the reversal of extremes.

The peach pit had mutated.

It did not grow into a peach tree, but instead absorbed some ancient charm from the bottom of this abyss, breaking through its shell to sprout a tender green tea tree.

The deathly silent Ancestral Court.

A Forbidden Ground that the Truth Realm had spent countless efforts to infiltrate, yet failed to fully penetrate.

Had welcomed the only spark of life since its inception.

And the source of this life was nothing more than a piece of trash that idle scholar had spat out years ago.

Zhou Wannian looked at the peach pit hidden beneath the mud, unable to help but twitch the corner of his mouth, letting out a short, soft chuckle.

"I thought there was some earth-shattering fortune hidden at the bottom of this well, enough to make those abacus-wielding misers outside dig like mad dogs."

Zhou Wannian extended his right hand, his long, fair index finger hovering above the two tender green leaves.

"After all that, it turns out to be a pit I spat out back then."

He shook his head, the chill in his eyes dissipating slightly, replaced by a sense of familiarity upon seeing an old object.

His finger slowly descended.

Zhou Wannian did not use any magic power; relying only on the tactile sensation of his flesh and blood, he gently rubbed his fingertip against the newly unfurled left tea leaf.

The touch was soft, tender, and slightly cool.

It carried the unique veined texture of a plant.

Just at the moment his fingertip brushed across the leaf surface.

Zhou Wannian's movements froze once again.

He leaned his face closer, his deep gaze fixed intently on the tender green leaf, which was only the size of a fingernail.

On this verdant leaf surface.

It was not smooth and flat.

There were faint white veins on it.

This was a common occurrence in the plant world. Veins transport water and nutrients, and their patterns should naturally follow the laws of growth, appearing branch-like or web-like.

However.

This tea tree sprout, mutated from a peach pit.

The paths of the faint white veins on its leaves were stiff and tortuous, completely violating the natural principles of plant growth.

Those dense veins intertwined and outlined on the leaf surface, connecting head to tail.

Zhou Wannian looked at those veins.

These textures did not grow randomly.

On the leaf surface, they naturally combined into a line of clear, elegant, small characters that exuded a free and unrestrained Aura.

The handwriting was not written with pen and ink.

Rather, it had grown bit by bit from within the fibers as the plant broke through the soil and the leaves unfolded.

This was the product of the combination of the Heaven and Earth's creation and some profound will.

Zhou Wannian's gaze followed those veins, reading word by word.

"The return date is uncertain."

"Do not blame me if the tea is cold."

Eight characters.

Clearly branded onto this tender green tea leaf.

Surrounding it was the churning black and gray mud, and not far away were charred dead trees and ash covering the ground.

Yet this sprout, representing the only spark of life in the Taiwu Ancestral Court, used this inconceivable method to convey such a sentence, rich with the flavor of everyday life, to any passerby who arrived here.

Zhou Wannian crouched by the mud.

He looked at these eight words formed by the veins and fell into a long silence.

The meaning of this sentence could not be more straightforward.

The person who left this message did not know when they would return, so they gave a heads-up in advance; if the brewed tea had gone cold, they asked the later arrival not to take offense.

The literal meaning was very simple.

But what made one's marrow run cold was the fact that this line appeared in this place, and the tone it conveyed.

Who would brew tea in this most terrifying dead land of the All Heavens and Myriad Worlds?

Who would turn a peach pit into a tea tree and make it grow leaves with a message?

Li Changge of the Truth Realm? His head was full of numbers and gears; he couldn't write in this kind of pretentious scholar's style.

The main entity beneath the Withered Well? That was a monster stitched together from remnant souls and Death Qi; it only knew how to use Paper Figures to serve poisonous water—where would it find the leisure to plant tea and leave messages?

Zhou Wannian's finger left the leaf.

He looked at that line of text.

The casualness in the tone, the laziness revealed between the lines that showed a disregard for this vast Universe.

It was too familiar.

So familiar that it felt as if he were looking at a sticky note he had written himself.

"The return date is uncertain; do not blame me if the tea is cold."

Zhou Wannian's lips parted slightly, and he silently repeated the eight characters.

In his mind, a flash suddenly appeared: on the blue stone long street, that Circle Envoy he had erased, and the tear that flowed before death, carrying the scent of green bamboo.

It flashed past the ninety thousand-plus chains in his body, that inexplicable Fusion and palpitation.

All the clues began to converge in front of this tea tree sprout emerging from the mud, and under this line of naturally grown handwriting.

Zhou Wannian slowly stood up.

The hem of his green robe left the ash powder.

He did not pick the leaf, nor did he destroy the tea tree sprout.

He clasped his hands behind his back again.

His eyes, deep as an abyss, looked past the charred dead tree and the churning mud.

He looked toward the deepest part of this ash-gray plain, into that boundless darkness where even light was completely swallowed.

Someone was in that darkness.

Someone was guarding a pot of tea at the end of this Taiwu Ancestral Court.

Moreover, that "person" knew his past, his temperament, and even the peach pit he had discarded so casually, like the back of their hand.

"Since the tea has gone cold."

Zhou Wannian's calm voice rippled through this dead land, carrying an unyielding edge.

"Then boil a fresh pot of water and fill it up for me."

He took a step.

His spotless blue cloth shoes bypassed the vibrant, tender green tea sprout.

Walking toward the darkness at the end of the plain.