Chapter 17: The Void as an Abyss, Thunder Stirs in Awe

Ye Chen’s divine aura was steadily fading away—this was the aura of a deity, circulating only within the illusory realm, never spilling beyond its bounds.

“The illusory realm is quite useful,” he reflected. “I’ve just ascended to divinity and can’t open a true divine domain yet—there isn’t enough incense power or faith to sustain it. Without this illusory realm, I’d be fully exposed to the heavens and earth, far too conspicuous—virtually inviting death.”

Ye Chen was utterly destitute, his lack of incense and faith severely limiting his strength. Even so, he couldn’t simply give nothing in return. With a silent thought, he exercised his divine authority. At once, vast streams of spiritual energy gathered, swirling into torrents that poured toward the people of the tribe.

It was as if a gentle rain had fallen. Some among the tribe, suffering from hidden ailments, suddenly felt their bodies rejuvenate, muscles and bones loosened and relaxed, as though they were ten years younger.

Even the witch benefited. Ye Chen made no distinction in his blessings. If he were to act against someone, it would be with a thunderous blow, not by petty discrimination in trivial matters.

For those on the path of cultivation, spiritual energy was valuable, but its effects were subtle. For ordinary mortals, though, its impact was profound. None in the tribe had yet stepped onto the supernatural path, so the blessing was a true baptism; old wounds healed completely.

“Though it’s not the power of totems, it’s still quite impressive,” someone muttered. “It’s just a pity—it only heals old injuries and won’t help me advance further.”

“Don’t be so greedy,” the chief rebuked, though inwardly he felt relieved. This spirit butterfly, it seemed, was approachable. It wasn’t that he was swayed by a small favor, but rather that the spirit butterfly was not so high and aloof as to inspire only fear and awe.

Ye Chen’s thoughts turned inward. “Totemic power? That’s just another application of incense and faith. But I’m poor as can be, and all I can do for now is gather some spiritual energy vortices to muddle through.”

If it were truly totemic power, it would be far more difficult to achieve such results with so little effort. Of course, with sufficient incense and faith, not only gathering spiritual energy but far greater feats would be possible—but that was another matter.

Gradually, Ye Chen’s aura became utterly harmless; the dignified divine presence quietly subsided.

Ning Peach Blossom breathed a sigh of relief. She’d carried this burden long enough—it should be coming to an end now. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning tore through the illusory realm’s barrier, a blade of light and thunder, its overwhelming force crashing down.

“They’re coming after the spirit butterfly,” she realized, her heart clenching. Ning Peach Blossom felt as though she were a fish flung ashore, suffocating.

A thunderous crash—the lightning danced, obliterating forests and grasslands alike, leaving only ashes. The void split open with gaping cracks. With a flash, the bolt struck—one peach tree shed ten thousand blossoms in a storm of petals. The tree uprooted itself, transforming into a graceful woman who, with a wave of her white hand, summoned wind and thunder to directly confront the blow.

But her defiance lasted only a moment. The next instant, she was hurled aside, and the lightning blast struck Ye Chen instead.

When Ning Peach Blossom regained her senses, she saw Ye Chen’s body burned black, as if reduced to charcoal.

“How could this happen? Is he really dead?” Shocked, she hurried to his side, cradled him in her jade-like hand, and gently touched his charred wing—the delicate, transparent membrane, once like pure white silk, now crumbled to dust.

There should have been two horns on his forehead—antennae, now gone. In fact, it seemed no part of Ye Chen’s body had escaped unscathed.

“I absorbed most of the lightning, and you still couldn’t withstand the remnants? How weak can you be?” Ning Peach Blossom was on the verge of tears. “Dead so quickly, and so thoroughly—can he even be saved?”

“But that body was formed of incense and faith,” she mused. “It looks like flesh and blood, but even if it’s destroyed, it matters little.”

Ning Peach Blossom wasn’t deeply familiar with Ye Chen’s new path, but she knew it was somewhat akin to totemic transformation.

“His original body wouldn’t have lasted past the seven-day limit. When he seized the totemic position in this tribe, that body turned to ashes. As long as the divine soul remains, there’s hope.”

With a light squeeze of her fingers, Ye Chen’s body crumbled completely.

“But the divine soul’s gone, too. Did the lightning destroy even that?”

“No, it shouldn’t have been so thorough—not realistically.” She pondered, searching her memory for explanations. Opening a new path was so rare, her mind felt rusty—unused for so long. She vaguely recalled something from fragmented, ancient texts, but couldn’t quite grasp it.

“It seems he can’t be saved. I need to run.” Disappointed, Ning Peach Blossom sighed, thoroughly vexed. “I can’t remember… This isn’t my fault. It must relate to some lost chapter of ancient history, erased by heaven and earth, clouding my memory.”

Just then, Ning Peach Blossom started, her gaze sweeping the surroundings with sudden clarity.

“If he were truly dead, this dream realm wouldn’t still exist. So he’s not dead. That thunderbolt didn’t kill him—it took his soul somewhere else.”

She stood where Ye Chen had fallen, but found nothing. Then, light blazed from her form, spreading like a tide in all directions. Petal rain surged upward, swirling through the sky. Every corner of the void was soon occupied by drifting peach blossoms.

Suddenly, all the blossoms burst into flames, fire consuming the void itself.

With a shattering sound, like a silver vase breaking, Ning Peach Blossom felt her power blocked—but she rejoiced, stepping forward to find a patch of emptiness. Reaching out, she touched what seemed to be an invisible wall.

“A passage—this is where his soul was taken.”

Long-forgotten memories grew clear. “So that’s how it is. The external tribulation fell on me, but his soul endures an inner trial. No—‘trial’ is the wrong word. This is an opportunity. By forging his own path, he can enter the Sea of Laws, embedding his new way within. In shallow water, a dragon cannot flourish. The Sea of Laws is the deep ocean, where fish may leap to the heavens, transforming into great birds, soaring through water and sky alike.”

“But opportunity is never guaranteed. One can easily stumble and fall; who would imagine that someone so new to the path would already be forging a new way—utterly unbelievable.”

“In the Sea of Laws, countless principles and rules manifest—a rare chance indeed. But when cultivators once warred, even the Sea of Laws was shattered. That lost era’s history was deliberately concealed, its influence profound. If not for what I’ve just witnessed, I’d never have recalled any of this.”

“Regrettably, I am but a small fish, not qualified to roam freely in the Sea of Laws. For me, it is dangerous ground—if I become one with the laws, I may disappear into the way itself.”

Ning Peach Blossom hesitated—the risk was immense. She very much wanted to refuse.

“But if I don’t act, he’s as good as lost.”

She sighed, deeply frustrated. “How did I end up on this pirate ship? No benefits gained, and plenty of losses suffered.”

“No, I can’t just stand by.”

“I’ve already paid so dearly—if this spirit butterfly simply dies, all my suffering will have been for nothing.”