Chapter 6 (Turning Point)

Time slipped by, and the stars wheeled across the sky. When Qin Chengming awoke once more, he had no idea how many years had passed. The robe he wore had not withstood the ravages of time—were it not for the occasional flow of spiritual energy through his flesh, his body might well have turned to stone.

He did not rush to leave this place. Instead, he calmly focused his efforts on restoring his senses, cautiously guiding spiritual energy throughout his body, allowing it to nourish every part of him.

Even after his body had recovered, Qin Chengming’s first act was not to emerge, but rather to carefully send his divine sense outward. He was still deep underground, but above, lush grass carpeted the land and towering trees formed dense forests. Within a ten-mile radius, there was not a soul to be found, and the level of demonic beasts was low. Yet even with a casual sweep of his senses, he glimpsed a surprising number of high-grade spiritual plants.

Since there was no one around, Qin Chengming dug his way up from the place where he had lain, for who knows how many years, and returned to the surface, dragging all his possessions with him.

The first touch of the breeze against his bare skin made his face flush crimson. Even though no one saw him, being stark naked left him ill at ease. He hurriedly emptied the contents of his pouch; the rest of his items had fared all right—at worst, some had lost their spiritual nature and reverted to their original materials, but could be refined again. His robes, however, had all turned to ash—nothing could salvage them. Likely, when the order of the old world collapsed and all formations failed, this was inevitable.

Qin Chengming was quite troubled. He had studied the cultivation of herbs, alchemy, artifact forging, talisman crafting, formation setting—an array of skills—but had never thought to learn the making of magic garments. At the time, he had only considered using Iceblood Silkworm cloth for wrapping bundles, relying on its natural properties to preserve what was inside, never imagining to fashion clothing from it. What a miscalculation.

His fish bladder storage pouch contained all manner of things—except clothing. Left with no choice, Qin Chengming took a bolt of Iceblood Silkworm cloth, cut it to size, and wrapped it around himself as makeshift attire. Having accomplished this "arduous" task, he habitually cast a cleansing spell on himself, then crouched to organize his belongings.

As he sorted through his things, a sense of unease crept over him. Qin Chengming extended his hand and unleashed a Fire Dragon spell at the forest ahead. A massive dragon of flame, searing hot, instantly reduced a patch of woods to cinders.

He stood stunned, watching the burning trees, and as he returned to his senses, he waved his hand and cast a Wall of Water to extinguish the flames.

Had the apocalypse truly passed? Still uncertain, Qin Chengming used several spirit stones to lay an invisibility formation at the mouth of the hole he had dug. As the formation activated, the entrance vanished from sight.

Now he was unsure whether to be glad or anxious—he, who had always seemed so unlucky, had survived the world's end so smoothly. As for the others, he could only wonder if anyone else had endured as he had.

But other people's fates were not his concern. Delighted, Qin Chengming opened a smaller bundle—inside were storage rings, storage bracelets, storage belts, and even an unrefined Void Stone. The pile of storage implements was like a small mountain, all acquired by trading cheap Iceblood Silkworm cloth and surplus fish bladder bags.

He poured out the contents of these storage devices, quickly forming an even larger mountain before him, mostly materials and boxes for storing spirit herbs. Qin Chengming tried opening one box; inside, there was nothing but a dirty stain. After opening a dozen more with the same result, he realized that while the spiritual wood still retained its freshness, all the isolation and preservation formations had long since failed—no wonder the herbs had turned to dust.

No longer bothering to check each box individually, he used a spell to extract them all, opened and cleaned them, then stored the empty boxes in a ring. The materials of these boxes were valuable—when he had time, he could set new seals or formations, and they would be useful once more.

The pile of belongings was vast and varied. Qin Chengming sorted what he recognized into categories, leaving only a small remainder. As he was preparing to identify the rest, a sudden tremor shook the space around him. Swiftly, he swept the remaining items into an empty storage bracelet, then jumped back into the hole he had dug, returning to the spot where he had lain for countless years, waiting silently for the tremor to pass.

Fortunately, this disturbance was brief and subsided in less than a quarter of an hour. Extending his spiritual sense, Qin Chengming soon detected several people entering its range. They seemed unaware of his scrutiny, moving stealthily through the grass as if to conceal themselves.

When these strangers drew closer, Qin Chengming discerned their cultivation—none above the Golden Core stage. He breathed a sigh of relief and climbed out of his hole. His caution was not excessive; in his original world, he had never been a top expert. Though he rarely met equals, eight times out of ten he would encounter those several levels stronger, which had made him ever vigilant.

He filled in his excavation, using magic to make the new earth sprout the same plants as its surroundings—unless one looked very closely, there was no way to distinguish this patch from the rest.

At this point, Qin Chengming still had no idea what had become of the world. To learn more, he would have to find people.

Light-footed, he moved to a spot along the strangers’ path and settled in the branches of a nearby tree, casting a Concealment Spell on himself.

This spell required no tools—only a skilled cultivator’s gestures and incantation. Its duration depended on one’s spiritual power, and someone of his level could sustain it at will. Yet it had one flaw: the spell would break with the slightest movement.

He watched as the group passed by a millennium-old Rainbow-Flight Grass, then a thousand-year-old Carefree Flower—yet none paused to pick them.

Had the world become so prosperous? The Rainbow-Flight Grass was one thing, being only a third-grade alchemy ingredient. But to leave the Carefree Flower untouched—now that was truly extravagant. That rare herb was essential for refining seventh-grade Barrier-Breaking Pills and Tranquil Heart Elixirs. In the past, he had once found two such flowers, and the auction proceeds had kept him wealthy for years.