Chapter Two: The Space of Time

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Not long after Mo Xuan was born, his father disappeared, and he had never even met his mother. Born with a blocked spiritual vein, Mo Xuan struggled to make any progress in cultivation. Were it not for his father’s high standing within the clan—a father he had only met a handful of times—he would have long since been stripped of his status as the Mo family’s young master.

Within the clan, only a very few genuinely cared for him, chief among them his eldest uncle, Elder Yuan, though even that was limited.

On this night—

A blood-red crescent moon hung in the sky. Black clouds drifted past, gathering until the earth was shrouded in darkness.

In a dense forest beneath the night sky—

A strange, burning aura permeated the air. This energy emanated from a burning corpse lying in the woods, spreading outward and gradually enveloping the entire forest. Yet strangely, though leaves, trunks, and branches were aflame, no visible flames could be seen.

“Where is this place?” The moment Mo Xuan opened his eyes, he found himself in an incredibly strange location. He was lying atop a floating platform suspended in midair, surrounded by dimness. Oddly, however, everything around him was clearly visible.

One—

Two—

Three—

He counted four platforms connected to this one, making five in total. The platform was large, with the area where the youth lay resembling a magic formation stage, while the others were dense woods.

The platforms ascended in a spiral, connected by wooden bridges, allowing passage between them. Mo Xuan stood on the lowest one.

Slowly rising, he recalled the prior events: after finishing some business, he was heading home with his eldest uncle. Passing through a forest, they were ambushed by a group of men in black. His uncle fought fiercely to cover his escape, but their powers were vastly unequal. His uncle was powerless before the enemy, lacking even the means for mutual destruction. In the end, he...

Mo Xuan had long struggled because of his blocked spiritual vein. Despite relentless effort, progress in cultivation eluded him. Elders and peers alike, though never openly, whispered and speculated behind his back. Hearing those murmurs always chilled him deeply. Even the current acting clan leader wavered in his support. Mo Xuan understood that without the protection of his father’s name, he had no foothold—only his eldest uncle showed him genuine care.

Whenever Mo Xuan felt downcast, his uncle comforted him like a father, bolstering his fragile heart with enough confidence to grow without too many worries.

Recalling this, Mo Xuan’s eyes welled with deep, powerless tears.

“Is there truly no chance left?” Unwilling to accept defeat, he clenched his fists tight, yet felt utterly helpless. The enemy’s power was terrifying, leaving no room to resist.

Just as he was about to resign himself, curiosity about his surroundings took hold. At first, he thought this was hell, but upon closer inspection, it was not. It seemed to be a realm of space—beyond the gloom, it resembled a fairyland, with only one path leading onward.

Mo Xuan cautiously ascended, glancing to either side, growing ever more fearful. On both sides yawned bottomless abysses. He broke off a tree branch from the forest on the platform and tossed it beneath the wooden bridge. Faintly, he glimpsed a moving clock. Before he could discern its details, it vanished.

The sight unsettled him. He once read about similar spatial clocks in an ancient tome—mysterious realms called something like the Spirit Void Latitude.

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What exactly was going on, he did not know. He could only surmise that he was not truly dead, but brought here for some unknown reason.

Yet Mo Xuan found it hard to believe, since he had clearly died before. As he continued forward, nearing the last floating platform—

Suddenly, as he stepped onto it, a beam of warm white light shot from its center. The platform shook, tilted, and collided with others before scattering apart. Something seemed to burst forth from within.

“Ahhh!” Before he could react, Mo Xuan fell through a crack, landing atop a distorted clock.

A nearby glow roused him to open his eyes. Ahead, something shimmered faintly.

He stood, studying the clock beneath him. Two hands spun steadily. Mo Xuan stood atop the slower-moving hand. Around him, other similar clocks flickered into view, though only when objects occupied them.

“Where am I?” Bewildered, he watched as the light condensed, then from it emerged two white iron chains, linking his clock to another identical one.

Suddenly, the space trembled. Dizziness overcame Mo Xuan. He spat out blood which fell onto the clock face. Blue-white striped lights radiated along the clock’s contours beneath his feet.

The clock hands shattered. The two clocks moved under a strange force—

With a loud crash, they collided, broke into fragments, then fused again. Mo Xuan fell from the clock into the abyss.

In truth, this space was the unique temporal realm of the Underworld God, unexpectedly awakened during tonight’s crisis.

When Mo Xuan next awoke, he found himself on the outskirts of Illusory Creek Town.

“What on earth is happening?”

Mo Xuan was utterly confused, alone, and at a place he had passed just last night. Strange phenomena indeed.

But there was no time for pondering. He sought the site of the earlier attack, only to find it reduced to scorched earth—nothing remained.

Heartbroken, Mo Xuan knelt on the blackened ground, weighed down by countless heavy thoughts. Overwhelmed, he pounded the earth wildly.

It was too late. Tears blurred his vision as they streamed down. Using his frail hands, he scraped away layers of blackened soil until he uncovered a jade flute of bamboo-green hue.

“How could this be?” Mo Xuan carefully gathered the flute.

Though still unclear, the blood-red crescent moon hung in the sky, with black clouds drifting nearby.

The next day, news of the incident spread throughout the clan. His uncle’s death turned public opinion decisively against Mo Xuan. Even the acting clan leader, Mo Cheng, was powerless and reluctantly sent Mo Xuan to Illusory Creek Town without stripping his title as young master.

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Mo Family Council Hall!

“I’ve done all I can!” Now only Mo Cheng and Mo Xuan remained. “You may stay here for three more days.”

As acting head of the Mo family, Mo Cheng’s attitude toward Mo Xuan was moderate. He did not wish to expel him, but felt helpless.

“I understand.” Mo Xuan knew that since his earliest memories, he had been coldly regarded by clan members. If not for his father’s status, no one would treat him so politely. Now that his father had disappeared and his staunchest supporter, his uncle, was dead because of him, he had almost no standing left.

Yet he could not simply leave without retrieving what belonged to him.

At dusk, Mo Xuan left his room and headed straight for the treasure pavilion.

Along the way, he faced scornful glances and whispered criticisms.

“Look, the useless brat is out again. Still stuck at Spiritual Realm Level Six after all this time!”

“How could he still be the Mo family’s young master? I wonder what the clan leader was thinking.”

“In my opinion, it’s just because of his father’s name.”

“Elder Yuan’s death must be connected to him.”

“Quick, tell the young master—he’s headed to the treasure pavilion...”

...

At the pavilion, two figures blocked his path—Mo Yun and Mo Yujie—who had always opposed him. Naturally, they opposed him again now.

“No entry,” Mo Yun sneered mockingly.

“Move aside!” Mo Xuan presented his entrance token, but they refused to yield. His token was snatched away, anger flaring, he struck out in frustration, but to no avail. Instead, he was beaten up.

Fortunately, Mo Cheng intervened and stopped the fight. Mo Xuan slowly stood, expressing thanks. The two remained resentful, jeering, “Consider it a gift. So what? Still a useless wretch, haha.”

Mo Cheng gave them a meaningful glance, and they finally left. He sighed helplessly. “Let’s hope so.”