Chapter 77

After updating each other on what they had missed, it felt as if the time gap had closed—like they had returned to the beginning. As Luo Han showed him her “trophies” and lightly recounted her brushes with death, Ling Qingxiao felt a pressure settle heavier and heavier in his chest.
He couldn’t help but think: she shouldn’t have had to suffer any of this. At the very least, she shouldn’t have had to face it alone.
Letting her go up the mountain alone—that was the worst mistake of his life. For five hundred years, the memory of that moment had tormented him again and again. Now, hearing her speak of it so casually only deepened his guilt.
If only he hadn’t been so careless...if only he had noticed the ambush...if only he had been stronger and killed the demon god at Qingshan from the very beginning...all of it, every thread, led back to one cause: he had been too weak.
Luo Han, of course, had no idea that they’d drawn completely opposite conclusions from the same conversation. She thought of what she had seen on the Mirror Platform and asked quietly, “These five hundred years...how’s the war going?”
Ling Qingxiao snapped out of his thoughts and quietly replied, “Heavy casualties. On both sides.”
Over the past five hundred years, the war had grown increasingly bitter. It wasn’t just the Immortal Clan that was suffering—the Demonic Clan was also reaching its limit. A massive number of young, able-bodied demons had been conscripted to fight on immortal territory, leaving their homeland barren of labor. Their agriculture, economy, and population were all on the brink of collapse. If the war continued, the Demonic Realm might fall apart even before the Immortals did.
The leaders on both sides knew the war had reached its final stretch—this was the most exhausting phase, but also the most brutal. After fighting for so long, who would willingly admit defeat? The closer to collapse, the more desperately they fought.
By now, even the once-neutral gods or those hoping to fish in troubled waters had taken sides. Every god from both factions had joined the battlefield. The Demonic Clan’s Ten Gods were all stationed at the front. Though the war stretched across five major zones, each zone had two gods guarding it. The ones opposing them here at Xiangshi were none other than the Demon God and the Plague God—the two strongest among the Demonic Gods.
As such, the pressure at Xiangshi was tremendous.
On the Immortal side, God Rong Cheng and God He Xu guarded Xiangshi. In terms of numbers, the two sides were balanced. But there was also the Time God, Xi Heng. Although Xi Heng was officially neutral, his close friendship with Rong Cheng and He Xu meant that should he ever make his stance known, the balance between Immortals and Demons would shift instantly.
Luo Han had disappeared for five hundred years, and even before that, she kept a low profile during her three years in camp. Few people knew her, so at present, she was not even counted in the gods’ tally.
Luo Han fell into thought. Ling Qingxiao noticed her dazed expression and asked, “What are you thinking?”
She blinked and slowly returned to herself. “The war.”
She paused again—then, as if making a bold decision, leaned over the table toward Ling Qingxiao and whispered, “I want to do something very bold. I might need your help.”
He didn’t ask how bold. He simply asked, “What is it?”
“I want to kill a god,” Luo Han said, eyes blazing. “The Demon God.”
It was an incredibly dangerous plan, but Ling Qingxiao didn’t try to stop her. As if, whatever she chose, he would support her unconditionally. “All right.”
·
After deciding to assassinate the Demon God, Luo Han began her meticulous preparations.
Killing a god wasn’t easy—especially not one like the Demon God, whose power was immense and bolstered by countless devout followers. Even though Luo Han had grown stronger, she was still no match for him in direct combat.
But even so, she refused to be a passive target. The Demon God had already tried to kill her twice—once at Qingshan Village, once on the mountain. She had no reason to endure it a third time.
If he tried to destroy her, then she would strike first.
Since she had to succeed in one strike, Luo Han spent days figuring out how to refine her mastery of the laws of the universe. In the end, it was Ling Qingxiao who suggested, “You used power-based laws to hunt void beasts, and time-based laws in Tianqi. Why not combine them?”
“Hmm?”
Ling Qingxiao took out a brilliant, translucent blue crystal and placed it in her hand. “This is a starlight gem. Its hardness is exceptional. Embedded in blades, it can make them many times sharper and harder to break. These stones form deep underground and are difficult to mine. The front lines are stretched thin, and we don’t have the manpower to gather them. But while starlight gems are rare, their raw materials are common in the mountains.”
Luo Han began to understand. “So you’re saying...”
“Starlight gems form under immense pressure and geothermal energy. They take anywhere from a thousand to a million years to crystallize. But for military use, we don’t need top-grade ones. Even those formed in just ten thousand years are sufficient. You could try compressing both pressure and time to create your own gems. It’s exhausting, but excellent for improving precision and control.”
He placed the stone into her palm. “If you’re willing, give it a try.”
It was a solid idea. Watching a crystal form in front of your eyes wasn’t just about accelerating time or applying pressure—many intricate factors were involved. If she succeeded, her control would skyrocket.
Luo Han was tempted, but she hesitated. “What if I keep failing? Wouldn’t that waste valuable resources?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ling Qingxiao said firmly. “Compared to the cost of mining starlight gems, your failures are negligible. But if you succeed, the benefits could be immeasurable.”
At last, Luo Han agreed. “Okay. I’ll try.”
They reported the plan to He Xu, who was stunned—what kind of good fortune was this?
He immediately approved. “You two handle everything. Whatever materials or manpower you need, Ling Qingxiao has full authority. No need to report to me.”
Soon, cartloads of raw material were brought down from the mountains. Ling Qingxiao set up a tent for Luo Han to train in peace.
Luo Han’s understanding of the laws had improved dramatically. Her use of time-space techniques was now many times stronger than before. Back when she trained on the mountain, accelerating time by a hundred years was her limit—now, accelerating or reversing time by thousands of years was nothing.
But forging gems wasn’t just about time. She had to account for heat, structure, composition—every element needed to be precisely timed. It wasn’t just about control; it was about fine detail.
It was very difficult.
For the first month, piles of waste were tossed out of her tent daily. In the second month, some of the discarded stones started showing signs of black crystalline particles. By the third month, Luo Han finally produced her first genuine starlight gem.
The quality of this gemstone was far from ideal—its surface was bumpy and uneven, the interior was mottled with impurities. If it had appeared naturally in a mining vein, no one would have bothered to dig it out. But Luo Han was thrilled nonetheless.
She couldn’t wait to share it, abandoning the assistant in her tent and rushing straight to Ling Qingxiao’s quarters.
Luo Han arrived at his tent as quickly as she could. Many guards were stationed outside, their presence alone giving off an air of strict security. Her steps slowed as she approached, and she politely stopped one of the on-duty soldiers to ask, “Is Ling Qingxiao inside?”
The young guard was new and didn’t recognize her, so he answered dutifully, “The commander is in the middle of a meeting. He has given strict orders: no interruptions during council.”
Fair enough. Luo Han knew better than to press. She thanked him and was about to leave when the tent flap opened from the inside. Ling Qingxiao stood at the entrance, expression calm and unreadable—but when he saw her, his gaze softened, and he smiled slightly. “What brings you here?”
“I had something I wanted to tell you, but it’s nothing urgent. You should finish your meeting—I won’t interrupt.”
“It’s no interruption,” Ling Qingxiao replied mildly. “The important matters are finished. The rest can be left to them.”
He glanced behind him at the group still inside. “You may go.”
The others: “…”
What could they even say? One by one, the generals nodded in agreement. “Indeed, the rest is trivial. No need to trouble the general. We’ll be on our way.”
As they filed out, Luo Han spotted familiar faces—including Commander Su. These weren’t ordinary meetings; all those present were high-ranking officers. Realizing the kind of company she had just disrupted, Luo Han felt extremely awkward. Only when everyone had left did she step into the tent, frowning in suspicion. “Were you really done? What I came to say wasn’t that important—I’d hate to pull you away from something serious.”
Ling Qingxiao’s tone was steady, as if stating something beyond question. “It was done. It’s hot outside—come in.”
He had said it twice now. Luo Han finally relaxed. She might doubt herself, but she would never doubt Ling Qingxiao.
Inside, she casually asked, “Are you and Commander Su close? I keep running into him.”
“We’re on good terms,” Ling Qingxiao answered briefly. He poured her tea himself and then asked, “You don’t usually come out at this time. Did something happen?”
“Not really,” Luo Han said, breaking into a mischievous grin. She held out her two fists. “Guess which hand it’s in.”
She’d used a shielding spell, so he couldn’t sense what was inside. But just from the tension in her fingers and joints, Ling Qingxiao could tell. He gently held her right wrist and flipped it over—only to find her palm empty.
“You guessed wrong,” Luo Han teased.
Ling Qingxiao didn’t even bat an eye. “You win.”
Grinning, she opened her left hand and proudly declared, “Look, a starlight gem!”
Ling Qingxiao had already suspected as much, but when he actually saw the gemstone, he smiled with genuine delight. “You really did it. Congratulations.”
He wasn’t excited about the potential mass production of starlight gems. He was happy for her.
It felt like watching a flower you’d cared for finally bloom in full, radiant glory.
Luo Han knew how much it had taken. She didn’t even know how many resources she had burned through, how much mental effort she had poured in—but she’d done it. She carefully placed the gem into Ling Qingxiao’s hand. “Even though you guessed wrong, I still want to give this to you. It’s not pretty or valuable, but it’s the first thing I’ve ever made by hand. I hope you don’t mind.”
“How could I?” Ling Qingxiao gently tucked the starlight gem into a brocade box. “You made it yourself. That makes it priceless.”
Luo Han felt a bit awkward. “It’s really quite ugly. I’ll make a prettier one later and give that to you instead.”
“No need. This one is perfect,” Ling Qingxiao replied, not giving her any room to take it back. He’d already sealed the box.
Then he pulled out another, much more elegant brocade box. From inside, he retrieved a translucent, shimmering bracelet and fastened it around her wrist.
The bracelet held nine crystalline beads, each polished to radiant perfection. Ling Qingxiao clearly had excellent taste—from symmetry to aesthetics, the bracelet was elegant and graceful in every detail.
Luo Han was surprised and instinctively tried to pull her hand back. Ling Qingxiao stopped her gently. “Don’t move. It’s a return gift. Not nearly as meaningful as yours, but I hope you’ll accept it.”
Luo Han recognized the materials immediately—the beads were made from the space beast cores she had brought back from the Void Realm. She was stunned. “You already made something out of them? This wasn’t urgent. You’re so busy—you didn’t have to…”
“Nothing of yours is ever ‘not urgent,’” Ling Qingxiao said as he clasped the bracelet. “This is a magical artifact. The beast cores contain innate laws of space, which makes the bracelet extremely compatible with energy. It can store spiritual power without leaking—much better hidden than something like ice needles. Whether for setting up formations or acting on its own, it’s highly effective. I also carved spatial arrays inside—it can hold energy from storms, clouds, lightning...anything you need.”
The more she listened, the more stunned Luo Han became. Harmonizing with the laws of heaven, subtle and compact, capable of storing heavenly lightning—this artifact couldn’t have suited her needs more perfectly. She was deeply impressed. “Thank you. You’re amazing.”
Ling Qingxiao shrugged off the compliment. “It was nothing. Your materials were excellent.”
Luo Han shook her head silently. Yes, the cores were rare, but she knew her own limitations—without him, she would’ve just drained their energy and missed their full potential.
She could never have made something like this.
When Luo Han thought about all the beast cores she’d wasted, her heart throbbed with regret.
Originally, she had only wanted to tell Ling Qingxiao that she’d succeeded—and to give him the starlight stone as a token of thanks for all his help. In the end, not only had she failed to repay him, she ended up receiving something even more valuable in return.
That made Luo Han even more determined to do something for him—if she couldn’t help directly, then at least she could take some weight off his shoulders. Unable to sit still any longer, she got up and excused herself, hurrying back to continue refining starlight stones.
She refused to believe she couldn’t make one with a better appearance!
She came and went like a gust of wind. Ling Qingxiao sighed softly and rose, walking toward another tent.
As he entered, the people inside immediately burst into teasing.
“Oh? Didn’t you say the rest of the meeting wasn’t important? What brings you back now?”
Ling Qingxiao knew these men well—they would tease him to their heart’s content—so he simply ignored them until the noise died down. Then he said calmly, “Luo Han succeeded. She really did manage to create a starlight stone.”
At this, the teasing atmosphere immediately dissipated. Everyone straightened up in surprise. “Is that true? She actually made a starlight stone artificially?”
Ling Qingxiao took out the stone and held it up for them to see. “Naturally.”
Those seated nearby leaned in for a closer look. Although the gem was small and its color not entirely clear, it was undeniably a genuine starlight stone. All around, people clicked their tongues in amazement. “The world never ceases to amaze. I thought you were just chasing fantasies, but you really pulled it off.”
One person reached to take the stone for a closer look, but Ling Qingxiao evaded the hand and quickly returned the gem to its box. Another complained, “I haven’t even seen it properly! Why’d you put it away?”
Ling Qingxiao calmly adjusted his sleeves. Because someone had come too close, he subtly shifted back, restoring a comfortable distance between himself and the others. “It’s enough that you know it worked. There’s no need to examine it closely.”
As for touching it? Not a chance.
Everyone present had worked alongside Ling Qingxiao for five hundred years—they knew his temperament well. In the army, it was common knowledge: though the general was extraordinarily capable, he had many quirks. He disliked physical contact, hated people touching his belongings, and had no patience for unnecessary words...
At first, it had been troublesome. Now, they were used to it.
Since the feasibility of artificial starlight stones was confirmed, they could now start preparing related deployments in advance. With that matter settled, the room quickly grew serious again, as discussions returned to strategic planning.
Although Rong Cheng was the overall commander at Xiangshi, the number of celestial cultivators far outstripped the number of gods. Rong Cheng functioned more as a spiritual leader than an operational one. Actual decision-making and logistics had long since fallen to the celestials. By now, this structure was so normal that whether Rong Cheng attended meetings or not made little difference.
Commander Su raised a concern: “It’s been a long time since Rong Cheng returned. Is the northwest front really that difficult? Has the demon army moved there?”
Another general replied, “Not exactly. The issue lies with Lianshan. The scouts say the two gods there aren’t getting along—both too proud to concede. Their subordinates are following suit, bickering and posturing. With all their energy wasted on internal conflict, they’ve no mind left for the battlefield. Worse, each one fears the other will stab them in the back, so neither will commit to real action in battle. Every time the demons charge, we bear the brunt. No wonder Rong Cheng hasn’t been able to leave.”
At present, the territory was split into five war zones, each with both celestial and demon forces and a resident god overseeing each side. Xiangshi’s western border sat adjacent to Lianshan. Originally, the plan was for both regions to contribute 50,000 troops to jointly defend the front.
But with Lianshan’s internal strife, they had withdrawn their support. The full burden now fell on Xiangshi, and dissatisfaction was mounting fast.
This was war. Every day, tens of thousands died on the front lines, and just as many families were destroyed behind them. Every decision on the battlefield determined the lives of countless people.
Even with the situation this dire, some still prioritized petty pride and internal squabbles over human life. Lianshan could ignore their own casualties if they wanted—but why should Xiangshi’s soldiers have to die for their mistakes?
Discontent was spreading from top to bottom in Xiangshi, from senior officers to the lowest ranks. Everyone knew better than to publicly criticize the gods—but their silence was strained.
They spoke of many things, yet none dared direct their words explicitly at the divine. All they could do was seethe in quiet frustration. Ling QingXiaolistened to it all and couldn’t help but think of the prophecy that the gods would one day fall. The impermanence of the world struck him deeply.
Who could’ve foreseen that these gods, who now acted with impunity at the height of their glory, would one day all be gone? Glory always gives way to ruin. Unity always collapses in time. Such was fate.
·
On the desk, raw materials were piled high. Luo Han sat at the edge, channeling energy through both hands. A golden light began to shimmer in her palms. To a bystander, nothing seemed to happen—but Xi Heng could feel it clearly. Time was flowing rapidly across the surface of the materials.
One thousand years. Two thousand...ten thousand...twenty thousand...thirty...
Even Xi Heng was startled. He’d thought Luo Han’s limit was thirty thousand, with a stable output around twenty—but she hadn’t stopped.
The materials began to visibly change. This time, even the untrained eye could see it. Compressed under the weight of time and pressure, they shrank in size, grew clearer in hue—until at last, they transformed into a translucent blue brilliance.
The final imprint: 55,000 years.
Luo Han withdrew her power. Five sparkling starlight gems dropped onto the desk. Her mastery over the laws had grown tremendously. To streamline production, she’d even shaped them into perfect hexagons—no additional polishing required. On the battlefield, every second saved was a life preserved.
The assistants in the tent burst into excited chatter, crowding around to admire the finished stones. They all knew how precious starlight gems were. A single weapon embedded with one was worth more than a life. And now, to see such gems forming right before their eyes—how could words ever capture such awe?
A gem refined over 55,000 years might not seem long by celestial standards. But in wartime, with high demand and heavy attrition, to produce stones of such consistent quality and stable output was nothing short of miraculous. And even more unbelievable—this method was cheap, unconstrained by geography or mining. The only requirement was having someone like Luo Han.
Back when He Xu first saw the starlight stones presented by his subordinates, he had been too stunned to speak.
At the time, he’d only suggested it to Luo Han as something to pass the time. Who would’ve thought she’d actually succeed?
Xi Heng slowly applauded. “Well done. Manipulating fifty-five thousand years of time in one go, while simultaneously adjusting pressure—and without a single error. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe such a feat came from someone who’s only been studying for four years.”
Luo Han was stretching out her wrist. Maintaining such intense concentration had exhausted both her spirit and arms. Upon hearing Xi Heng’s comment, she said helplessly, “I’m already an adult. Stop calling me a cub.”
She’d corrected him countless times, but he just wouldn’t stop.
As expected, Xi Heng paid her protest no mind. He lifted a finger, causing one of the starlight stones on the table to float before him. Examining it curiously, he asked, “Why have you suddenly been working so hard lately? One technique after another, barely taking a break. You never used to be this diligent.”
Luo Han paused just as she was about to reach for new materials.
She was training so fiercely partly to find a way home—but more importantly, to kill the demon god.
Since she couldn’t compete with him in raw power, she could only rely on technique and experience. She had to strike where he was weakest, using the laws themselves to claim victory.
She only paused for a moment before resuming her calm demeanor and taking out fresh materials. “Ling Qingxiao told me the pressure on the front lines has been growing, and that weapon supplies are far from enough. I can’t help much, but if I can manage even this small thing, then I should.”
“This is a small thing?” Xi Heng thought, exasperated. Of all the things she could have picked up, she just had to learn Ling Qingxiao’s false modesty.
He shook his head, playing with the crystal for a while before tossing it back into the box. “He told you that?”
Luo Han froze slightly, then sighed. “No. I guessed.”
Xi Heng let out a knowing laugh. “I thought so. As if he’d ever say something like that.”
Neither of them said more. They had always claimed neutrality, yet Luo Han was supplying weapons to the Xiangshi troops, and Xi Heng was instructing her in the laws of time and space. Could they really still call themselves neutral?
No one dared dig too deeply.
They could choose to ignore the world, but war would not ignore them. And when it came, it swept down with brutal, unrelenting force.
In the northwest, the two gods of Lianshan—Hao Ying and Li Lu—had shirked responsibility and delayed reinforcements, causing the frontline to suffer heavy losses. Rong Cheng had been injured in the defense.
When He Xu received word, he was so shocked that he immediately packed and rushed to the northwest front.
Luo Han and Xi Heng both knew this spelled disaster. For a god, there was no such thing as a “minor” injury. If the divine body was hurt at all, it was already a grave omen.
With He Xu gone, there was no divine protection in Xiangshi. The demon god seized the opportunity and launched a full-scale assault.
Xiangshi was suddenly besieged from both sides—attacked front and rear, and isolated without aid.