After parting with Taichuan, Lan Xiaobu continued his search for a place to refine his Dao. He wasn’t worried about pursuers ambushing him here—the chaotic spatial rules made encirclement impossible.
Tai Xu Tomb wasn’t just a mess of rules; fragments of various laws littered the place, making it utterly unsuitable for secluded cultivation. This was likely one reason cultivators couldn’t linger long—imagine a martial artist unable to cultivate for years. It was impractical.
Lan Xiaobu didn’t know the origin of Tai Xu Tomb’s name, but the landscape was riddled with shattered valleys, torn rivers, and desolate plains—likely the scars of ancient battles.
There weren’t many treasure fragments around; most had probably been scavenged by visiting cultivators. These fragments often carried traces of their original owners’ Daos—finding one could yield a divine ability or even refine one’s own path.
Lan Xiaobu had assumed finding a quiet spot to seclude and perfect his Dao would be easy here, but after a year, he realized he’d been naive. Forget a peaceful retreat—finding a place to rest was a challenge.
In this chaos of cosmic rules, resting while injured only worsened the damage.
Moreover, he hadn’t found a single treasure fragment along the way. With so many signs of combat yet no remnants, it was clear these areas were frequently traversed. Perfecting his Dao in such a busy place was a pipe dream.
With that, Lan Xiaobu abandoned the search and surged deeper into Tai Xu Tomb.
For five full years, he pressed on, narrowly escaping spatial rifts multiple times, yet he never stopped.
What finally halted him wasn’t the chaos but a sensation—his Dao was unraveling. He took a tentative step forward, and the collapse intensified. Stepping back lessened it.
Though his Eternal Life Art contained many foreign dao laws, it was still his creation. He could sense these subtle shifts.
Puzzled, he wondered why his Dao was disintegrating here. Unfortunately, having stormed Tai Xu Tomb without entering Tai Xu Hall, he’d missed out on any jade slips explaining the place.
After some hesitation, he decided to investigate himself. Asking others risked exposing his location. He regretted not looting Jiang Sen’s world—it surely held answers about this place.
This area unraveled Daos, but that offered a perk: no one would come here. If he could survive, it’d be a safe haven.
Cautiously advancing, he resolved to test his limits, whether survival was possible or not.
Less than a hundred miles in, the strain grew unbearable—he’d have to retreat, or his Dao might collapse entirely, killing him.
But just as he turned back, a thought struck him. This place didn’t just unravel Daos—the deeper he went, the fuzzier the rules became. Could the core be utterly devoid of rules?
He’d heard of ruleless zones but never seen one. If he could forge his own dao rules in such a place, wouldn’t it be a blank slate? His Eternal Life Art had been written on a page already scribbled with others’ marks. On a pristine sheet, could he craft a truly personal Eternal Life Art?
The idea was tantalizing, but pressing deeper intensified the Dao’s collapse.
These thoughts flashed through his mind in mere breaths. Then, he resolved to push forward. First, if this place were safe, it wouldn’t have waited for him—anyone could’ve claimed it. To stand at the pinnacle, he had to face greater risks. Plus, he trusted that, at the last moment, he could retreat into the Cosmic Dimensional Model or Eternal Realm.
Second, if this place unraveled Daos, could it strip away the foreign laws within his?
Decision made, Lan Xiaobu surged ahead, picking up speed.
As the unraveling dao rhythm swept over him, he activated the Eternal Life Art, hoping to shed the cosmic laws that weren’t his.
Reality dashed his hopes. As he circulated his energy, his cultivation plummeted. Worse, his flesh and primordial spirit began to dissolve. The faster he cycled, the graver the damage.
Panicking, he abandoned the attempt, ceasing circulation and racing deeper instead.
He sensed that the further he went, the weaker the rules grew. Perhaps at the end, no cosmic rules would remain—halting his Dao’s collapse.
A day, a month, a year…
*Thud!* Lan Xiaobu collapsed, snapping awake. His Fortune Dao Tree had roused him.
Struggling to rise, he found himself a skeletal husk—standing was impossible, even opening his eyes strained him.
He realized he’d lost clarity during his mad dash, consciousness fading until the Fortune Dao Tree—and perhaps a final burst of lucidity—revived him.
He needed the Cosmic Dimensional Model. But peering ahead, he could only vaguely see a few meters; beyond was impenetrable. Something was there, yet it appeared as nothingness. The surrounding rules grew so faint they were nearly imperceptible.
Even with weak rules, he should’ve seen a hazy space—not this void-like emptiness that felt both nonexistent and somehow present.
Then it hit him: a few more meters into that void might mean no rules at all.
Yes, that had to be it. He couldn’t enter the Model now—it’d be like walking a lifetime only to quit at the destination.
Swallowing a few dao fruits, he regained some strength. Keeping his mind tethered to the Fortune Dao Tree to avoid slipping again, he dragged himself forward.
A few meters took an incense stick’s time. Nearing the void, he confirmed it—pure nothingness, even up close. An ancient, primordial aura brushed him, from before the cosmos split.
But that was it. His eyes couldn’t pierce it, nor could his divine sense. The rules here were so faint they barely registered, and his cultivation was nearly eroded.
Taking a deep breath, he burned his last shred of energy and hurled himself into the blurry void, not even considering the Model as a fallback.
Without perfecting his Dao, leaving meant death anyway. Better to dive in fully.
The instant he entered, he felt all external forces vanish—yet also as if infinite forces gripped him. No space, no time, no gravity, no air…
No rules at all. He understood—this was true chaos. Here, his Dao stopped unraveling. With no rules, his divine sense couldn’t extend, and his intent couldn’t break free.
Everything in his sea of consciousness peeled away. The Cosmic Dimensional Model couldn’t stay anchored there, and the Eternal Realm blurred. He hadn’t planned to enter the Model—and couldn’t now, even if he wanted to. It had drifted from his mind, merging into the chaos. Even the Eternal Realm was beyond reach.
All he had left was his hazy thoughts.
He knew they were hazy because they wouldn’t last. Soon, they’d be assimilated, and he might vanish entirely into this chaotic expanse.
Casting aside all else, one thought consumed him: perfect his Eternal Life Dao. With no rules here, its future was his to shape. Once perfected, when he could sense the Eternal Realm again, he’d craft its rules himself.
His plan was to strip every foreign dao law from the Eternal Life Art, then refine those stripped laws with his own insights. He’d intended this since realizing his Dao’s flaw, but couldn’t—every step of the Art relied on those laws, and he’d been unable to excise them.
Now, in this ruleless chaos, the moment he willed it, he effortlessly peeled away the cosmic laws the Cosmic Dimensional Model had woven into the Eternal Life Art.
Excitement surged. He had to act fast—before the chaos consumed him, unfinished.
