Jiang Huai’s hand paused.
Ji Xi’s body floated beside him.
The longsword formed from the two energies of yin and yang was already raised high, its blade flowing with black and white colors endlessly.
With just a thought from him, the sword would fall.
But the Great Tree’s words made him hesitate.
“These are all living beings,” the Great Tree said, its tone no longer impatient but carrying a strange calm.
“If you cut me down, that means all life will disappear.”
Countless tendrils swayed gently in the air, pointing toward the pitch-black crystals hanging from the roots.
“At that point, you won’t just be cutting me down. You’ll be cutting down so many lives.”
“Who the real sinner against life is—that’s hard to say.”
Jiang Huai’s gaze swept over the crystals.
Densely packed, as if there were millions.
Inside each crystal was sealed a humanoid outline—some clear, some blurry, some complete, some broken.
They floated there silently, like specimens frozen in amber, forever fixed in a single moment.
And the three crystals containing Qin Xuange, Cang Ling, and Cang Jing—blackness was spreading.
The transparent color was like a clear stream falling into ink, bit by bit being eroded, tainted.
From the edges, thin purple-black lines crept inward—slow, steady.
Jiang Huai’s heart tightened.
He couldn’t tell what these crystals really meant. Were they death? Sealing? Slumber? Or something else?
But one thing was clear: if he delayed any longer, it might be too late.
Only their three crystals were still clearly visible.
The other pitch-black ones held those blurry outlines.
Those were probably the others who had entered this Secret Realm before.
They had already fallen, forever trapped in these crystals. As for life or death, Jiang Huai didn’t know, and he couldn’t guess.
“Then release those three for me,” Jiang Huai said, his voice turning cold. The sword of yin and yang in his hand did not waver. “Then we can talk.”
“Otherwise, what else is there to discuss?”
His Xuan Robe rustled loudly in the invisible gale, the hem flipping up to reveal the dark patterns of the lining.
He stood holding the sword, the two energies of yin and yang flowing around him without pause. His eyes fixed on the bizarre Great Tree before him, sharp as blades.
The Great Tree gave a light sigh.
That sigh was old, long, carrying the weariness of ten thousand years.
Its tendrils drooped slightly, like a hunched old man.
“I can’t release them.”
Jiang Huai was about to glare and draw his sword again.
This scared the Great Tree, which immediately cried out, its countless tendrils thrashing wildly:
“Do you know how many years I’ve been here?!”
Its voice suddenly rose, carrying a nearly manic excitement:
“Every crystal inside here is the last living being of this Small World!”
Jiang Huai paused.
His gaze swept over the crystals again. Dense and packed.
If every crystal represented one life, were all these people still alive?
“I don’t care about any of that,” he said, taking a deep breath to suppress the turmoil inside. “I only care about one thing.”
“Can you release those three or not?”
“If not, I’ll kill you!”
“If you let them out, then we can talk.”
The bizarre Great Tree’s tendrils whipped around madly, like countless furious pythons lashing through the air.
Its tone became agitated, even carrying a hint of grievance:
“Don’t you understand the rules?! I said I can’t get them out!”
“That’s how the laws of this world work. What goes in doesn’t come out!”
“There are no more living beings in this world. Are you blind?!”
It paused abruptly, its tendrils pointing toward the distorted mountains in the distance, the cracked earth, the churning purple sky:
“After ten million years, these crystals will no longer exist. Even I won’t exist anymore.”
When it spoke that last sentence, its tone actually carried a kind of devotion, like a worshiper reciting scripture.
Jiang Huai was deeply puzzled.
He stared at the bizarre Great Tree before him. It could speak, think, and had its own will and intentions.
Yet it said that it, too, would disappear.
“Then what’s the meaning of what you’re doing?” Jiang Huai asked slowly, still not lowering the sword in his hand. “You and they will both cease to exist. What’s the meaning of you Extraterrestrial Demons invading worlds?”
The Great Tree answered naturally, its tone matter-of-fact, as if stating the simplest truth:
“To make this world return to peace, to silence, to deathly silence.”
Its countless tendrils swayed gently, as if caressing this barren land:
“This world was originally deathly silent.”
“Too many living beings—the world would be destroyed.”
“That’s all.”
Ao Yao looked bewildered.
She hid behind Jiang Huai, listening to the conversation, her emerald green eyes full of confusion.
She cried out urgently, her voice clear but angry:
“What do you mean, too many living beings and the world will be destroyed?! When have we ever destroyed a world?!”
“You Extraterrestrial Demons invade our homes, slaughter our people—how dare you say such things?!”
Her small hands clenched her Short Sword tightly, her delicate, doll-like face full of indignation, her nose scrunched up.
But Jiang Huai fell into thought.
He stared at the Great Tree before him, at those pitch-black crystals, at this deathly silent world.
Suddenly, he thought of his original world.
That world without Lingli.
In the boundless universe, silence and deathly stillness reigned.
Endless void, endless darkness, endless cold.
No life.
No sound.
Nothing.
Only that one small place—tiny, insignificant—where living beings existed, where life existed, where they called something “home.”
And beyond that, in the infinite vastness, everything was dead silence.
The world didn’t care about living beings.
Nor did it care about emotions.
The world was just the world.
“You mean…” Jiang Huai said slowly, his voice low, “the world was originally silent, right?”
He looked up, staring straight at the Great Tree:
“Are living beings seen as disruptors of the world’s silence?”
The Great Tree shook its tendrils in approval, its voice even carrying a hint of appreciation:
“Exactly. You have great Wisdom Root.”
“Too bad you’re a Yin-Yang Body.”
It pointed at this deathly silent world, at those pitch-black crystals, at the giant eye in the distance that had already closed:
“This Small World is the future of the big world.”
“After I disappear in the future, everything will become silent, become deathly still.”
“At that time…”
Its voice faded gradually, carrying a distant reverie:
“Perhaps new life will be born in the silence.”
“After all, long-lasting silence also destroys the world. Life and deathly stillness are always in a cycle.”
“You living beings are like that, and the world is like that. Look at this world—how good it is. Abundant Lingli, no conflict, no striving.”
Jiang Hua suddenly understood the meaning of these Extraterrestrial Demons.
They weren’t killing simply for the sake of killing. They were just the Executors of the World.
Executors that return everything to silence.
In their eyes, the living beings that multiplied and constantly expanded were disruptors of silence.
Now they eliminated the living beings of this world. Ten million years later, new living beings would eliminate them.
Then what was a Yin-Yang Body?
Jiang Huai was silent for a moment, and suddenly understood where Yin-Yang Bodies came from.
Then he shook his head in refusal.
“No.”
“There must be another way.”
He looked again at the three transparent crystals, at the sleeping faces of Qin Xuange, Cang Ling, and Cang Jing.
The black lines had spread a little further.
“Release them first.”
The Great Tree spoke leisurely, its tendrils swaying gently, its tone carrying a hint of smugness:
“They can’t get out.”
Jiang Huai stared at it and said quietly:
“I think…”
“They can get out.”
He reached his hand back toward Ao Yao.
Ao Yao was holding her Short Sword, staring at the Great Tree with a wary expression.
When she saw Jiang Huai reaching out, she blinked her big emerald eyes.
“Can I borrow your short sword?” Jiang Huai turned his head to look at her.