Chapter 46: The Body Is Not Yet Cold

"Ding! Meteorite detected, highly similar to a stone found on Saturn!"

As the synthesized electronic voice ceased, the "particles" before his eyes were reconstructed into their original, undecomposed state.

In 2039, a cosmic warship departed from Earth. Passing by the moon, it encountered suspended meteorites shimmering with iridescent hues, forming a magnificent, baseball-like galaxy. Some time later, the warship reached the vicinity of Saturn to conduct close-range observations. Suddenly, the meteorites surrounding Saturn emitted a black glow, and the video feed was instantly severed.

The meteorite before him was nearly identical to those surrounding Saturn—the surface covered in the same dense, granular texture, matching perfectly in both volume and particle size.

What he saw was but a single stone, yet the meteorites encircling Saturn had formed a ring. It was these very stones that had suddenly flared with light, causing the immediate annihilation of the warship.

By 2050, Earth was bombarded by these meteorites. No weapon could stop them; they pierced the atmosphere and slammed into the crust, triggering seismic shifts in the planet's core, volcanic eruptions, and the exhaustion of resources. The one before him was but a fragment of those responsible for the coming apocalypse.

"This is Saturn's planetary ring!" the Chief said coldly, gazing at the fleeting image of the rings on the screen.

"Creation's origin—should that mean the world created at the very beginning? And is there a connection between the extinction of the dinosaurs and the current apocalypse?"

The Chief muttered to himself, his face etched with confusion.

...

Beneath Mount Wudang!

Suddenly, five figures drifted by, their feet barely touching the auspicious clouds like dragonflies skimming the water’s surface, causing the clouds to dissipate in their wake. A small, unassuming stone appeared amidst the drifting mist; it wobbled a few times but did not fall into the abyss.

They halted halfway up the mountain. Xuanyue looked toward the small town shrouded in dark clouds. The air was thick with a pungent, fishy odor, as if they were standing in the depths of a sea of blood, the oppression so heavy it stifled speech.

He furrowed his brows and said, "It appears to be even more severe than imagined."

He took a light step, the mountain breeze rustling through the forest, his footsteps crunching softly on the ground.

*Snap!*

He inadvertently stepped on a branch. His ears twitched, a flash of sharpness crossed his eyes, and with a swift motion, he severed the leaves to his left, revealing a faint trace of blood.

Under the moonlight, he cast a glance aside; there were many snakes nearby, but he did not kill them, for they had not provoked him.

As they entered the town, the wind in the forest seemed to pick up, the leaves rustling incessantly.

The entire town seemed to have faded into the background, devoid of light or sound, like a tomb—silent and still. The bodies on the ground were not yet cold, and snakes slithered nearby. This night was destined to be anything but peaceful.

They surveyed their surroundings, a deepening sense of oppression in their chests. After all, being human, even cultivators must possess compassion; otherwise, they would be nothing more than cold, unfeeling machines.

A gentle breeze blew past. As they ventured deeper into the town, the scent of blood began to fade.

They arrived before two stone lions. The gate stood open, and they stepped inside to find the courtyard in utter chaos.

Their expressions remained unchanged, though their eyes were sharp, as if they had already guessed what lay ahead.

Xuanyue’s eyes glinted with cold light. They had entered the courtyard to find a middle-aged woman lying across a sword mark, her body severed in two, blood soaking the earth.

It was precisely because her death was so ordinary that his eyes grew cold. He turned his gaze elsewhere; the surrounding walls had collapsed, and bloodstains were scattered about.

Unconsciously, his fists tightened. He recognized this sword mark; he knew who it belonged to, for that blade was one of a kind.

With footsteps as silent as falling leaves, they walked toward the backyard, which was overgrown with weeds, clearly long untended.

He walked to the center of the yard and slammed his left foot hard against the ground. The entire town seemed to shudder, cowed by the sheer force.

His gaze fell forward. A trapdoor mechanism groaned, and a hole began to widen. They descended the stairs.

Deep within the pit, darkness reigned, yet the walls were dry. After walking for nearly a minute, they reached an exit.

What greeted them was a circular chamber, supported at each of the four corners by a massive, rounded pillar.

In the center of the floor lay two extremes: a semi-circle of white and a semi-circle of black, each containing smaller opposites within—a Taiji.

Strangely, there were footprints on the ground. Following the trail, they saw a recess in the wall ahead, just large enough for a person to pass through.

Xuanyue’s expression shifted violently. He saw it: in the center of the Taiji, a stone was moving—shaking violently.

The entire chamber began to tremble. They hurriedly drew their weapons, bracing themselves for whatever was about to emerge, standing ready for battle.