At the epicenter of the collision between the dark golden and silvery-white torrents, there was no explosion. Only a dense, crackling sound, like ice melting from within. *Zizi… zizi…* Space trembled, fracturing into web-like patterns, each fissure seeping with bone-chilling currents of chaotic law. Lin Yi’s knees grew weak, darkness encroaching at the edges of his vision. His meridians felt as if they were being cinched tight by red-hot iron wires, each breath carrying the metallic tang of blood. Shi Meng’s boldness, Yun Zhi’s serenity, Su Wanqing’s warmth—three wills resonated deep within his soul. Not commanding, but supporting. Like three steel stakes driven into the earth, steadying his consciousness on the verge of collapse. Lin Yi’s fingertips trembled, yet the inertia of thought made him unconsciously rap his knuckles against the void, producing a dull thud almost like the rhythm of a heartbeat. He no longer attempted to “shatter” that icy silver order before him. The dark golden flames began to differentiate. No longer a raging torrent, they transformed into countless streams of light, fine as strands of hair, seeping along the minute, nearly invisible “gaps” within the silver rule structure. Wherever the flames passed, the cold, orderly structure did not collapse; instead, it was “stained” with a faint, dark golden glow. Like ink dripping into water, slowly spreading. He looked down at his own arm, composed of pure rules. Those meticulously arranged, tightly fitted silver runes were now glowing warmly from within. A single crack began to creep upward from his fingertip. Its edges were not jagged breaks, but something softer, like the edge of ice warmed by sunlight. “This is not destruction…” Xiao Han’s voice wavered for the first time. A hint of disbelieving hoarseness mixed into his clear, resonant tone. “You are… *changing* it?” Lin Yi did not answer immediately. His teeth were clenched too tightly, his jawbone sharp and tense. The infiltration demanded ultimate control; every thread of the flame’s flow consumed his remaining spirit. The burning pain in his meridians escalated into a tearing sensation, his stomach twisting into knots, yet his spine remained ramrod straight. “I said,” Lin Yi’s voice squeezed through his teeth, deliberately slow, each word like a heavy stone crashing into the silver expanse, “what I defy, is the very rule that ‘sacrifices the individual’.” He raised his eyes. Within his dark golden pupils, Xiao Han’s gradually disintegrating form was reflected. More streams of light infiltrated. Xiao Han’s core defense—the “Rule Core” suspended before his chest, formed from countless nested silver runes—began to glow warmly from the inside out. The icy silver-white was stained with dark golden patterns, like slowly growing patina on ancient bronze. The structure did not collapse, but it was “softening”. It was no longer the composure of one in absolute control, nor the anger of a loser. It was a complex, nearly bewildered expression. He looked down at the mass of light changing color over his chest, his left thumb subconsciously beginning to rotate the jade thumb ring—the motion stopped halfway. Fine, dark golden lines had already crept across the ring’s surface. “Another… possibility?” He repeated the words, his voice very soft. It was not a cold laugh, nor mockery. That smile held a weariness akin to relief, and a faint trace of something like release, so subtle even he seemed unaware of it. Like a person who had carried a heavy burden for too long, finally feeling the weight on their shoulders begin to loosen. “You win, Lin Yi,” Xiao Han said. His form began to dissolve into motes of light from the edges, not an explosive collapse, but like a sandcastle slowly melting in the tide. “But the rules… will not permit themselves to be ‘changed’.” His body completely transformed into countless silvery-white points of light. But these motes of light did not dissipate into the air. Instead, as if drawn by some force, they merged with the surrounding, shattering fragments of the silver runic chains of the “Heavenly Web Absolute Formation.” The *zizi* sound suddenly sharpened, the spatial tremors intensifying. A vortex formed where Xiao Han had vanished. At first, it was only the size of a fist, gray-silver, spinning slowly. But with each rotation, it swallowed more fragments of shattered rules, swelling in size. From the vortex’s center came the last remnant of Xiao Han’s consciousness, cold and mechanical, like a preset program triggered: *Rules… will not tolerate tampering… Assimilation… Eternal… The silver rune chains shattered inch by inch, fragments drifting down like withered metal petals. But before they could hit the ground, they were sucked into the vortex and solidified, transforming into smooth, mirror-like rule crystals, empty inside. The surfaces of those crystals reflected a dull gray light, cold and dead, like tombstones. Slow, yet carrying an irresistible, crushing texture. Wherever it passed, even space itself seemed to be "solidified" into that gray-silver crystalline state. Lin Yi could feel a pulling force—not a physical tug, but a "drag" targeting consciousness, targeting existence itself. Like standing at the edge of quicksand, the ground beneath his feet loosening. Cold sweat from his temple slid into his eyes, bringing a stinging pain. The dark golden light domain had already contracted to a radius barely enveloping his body within three feet, and it was still dimming. The vortex was less than five meters away from him. Its expansion was accelerating. "Damn it..." Lin Yi muttered under his breath, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible. It was going to turn him, along with this shattered ruin of rules, into an eternal "specimen." He closed his eyes, forcing himself to ignore the weakness in his body and the approaching threat of death. His fingertips unconsciously tapped his knee, the rhythm chaotic. Think. He had to think. His power was gone, escape impossible. Resist? With what? But Xiao Han’s last words… Yet in that moment just now, he had clearly "changed." Even if only an extremely tiny part, even if only softening the cold order for an instant. Why would such an absolute "assimilation" trap appear now? Lin Yi’s breathing gradually steadied. Not relaxation, but gathering his last remaining energy entirely into the core of his thoughts. He closed his eyes, sinking his consciousness deep into the nearly extinguished dark golden flame within him. Three points of light still glowed weakly but steadfastly. He "looked" at them, in the silence of his soul, voicing a silent inquiry. *‘Brother Shi Meng, you died protecting me—was it so I could become a world-destroying demon?’* No voice answered. But the light point representing Shi Meng suddenly transmitted a surge of heroic, almost laughing emotional fluctuation. Immediately afterward, Lin Yi felt a solid, not-too-light, not-too-heavy thump on his shoulder—a purely illusory touch of will, yet so real it nearly made him stagger. Then came a firm "shaking head" intention. *‘Miss Yun, you glimpsed the secrets of heaven—what end did you see?’* The light point representing Yun Zhi shimmered quietly. A faint, sandalwood-like scent lingered deep in his consciousness. Then, Lin Yi felt a cool fingertip lightly tap his brow—not a sting, but a clear "pointing." Pointing "forward." Not to a specific location, but to a… direction. *‘Wanqing, you believed I could find 'my own path'…’* The third light point transmitted a warm gaze. So firm, so unreserved. Then, Lin Yi felt a gentle "push" against his back. Not forceful, but encouraging. Trusting. What they had entrusted to him was never the will for "revenge" or "domination." Not even the specific goal of "defeating Xiao Han" or "exposing the truth." What they entrusted was the possibility of "continuing forward" itself. That speck of light that still chooses "forward" even in utter desperation. And Xiao Han’s trap, that "Order Vortex"… The gray-silver vortex had expanded to within three meters. The sound of grinding rotation filled his ears, the cold pull tugging at the edges of his consciousness. But his gaze was calm, even carrying a hint of enlightened clarity. That vortex was the "rules" reacting to "change." It was the old order, sensing a threat, attempting to pull all "anomalies" back into a solidified state—the ultimate means. It did not tolerate "softening," did not tolerate "another possibility." What it wanted was an eternally unchanging "specimen." Therefore, resisting it, or being assimilated by it—both meant death. Lin Yi took a deep breath. This breath was drawn deep, stirring the burning pain in his chest. But he did not mobilize any remaining power to resist the vortex. Instead, he performed an action that would be incomprehensible to any observer— He actively, slowly "released" the weak, last remaining core of the dark golden flame within him, along with the three points of light bearing their wills. That small, warm flame drifted from his palm, like a feather, gently floating toward the center of the gray-silver vortex. And toward the surrounding rule fragments that had not yet been fully solidified, still cracking. A sound emerged, crisp and et It felt as though countless extremely fine threads were being drawn out from the depths of his soul, slowly "weaving" themselves together with those shattered rule fragments and the chaotic energy within the vortex that had not yet fully solidified. Was it painful? Yes, it was an agony that felt like peeling away his very existence. Yet, strangely, along with that intense pain came a profound sense of peace. He was using everything he had left—his consciousness, his life force, his understanding of "possibility," and the wills entrusted to him by the three deceased—as "adhesive" and "blueprint," attempting to "weave" these cold, dead, shattered rule materials into something new. Just a... loose, possibility-filled "rudimentary network of rules" that allowed for individual will and the right to choose. An imperfect starting point, but one that retained "gaps" and "potential." The surrounding shattered silver rune fragments began to be tinged with a faint, warm dark gold. The icy texture faded, becoming smooth and warm, like jade warmed by body heat. The expansion speed of the gray-silver vortex noticeably slowed, its rotation becoming sluggish, as if something had "jammed" its gears from within. It wasn't dissipating, but rather... transforming. He could feel his sense of existence thinning, binding more and more tightly with those "tinted" rule fragments around him. His power was completely gone. His consciousness began to blur, as if sinking into a warm, deep sea. But he whispered one last sentence. His voice was very soft, like a sigh, or a promise. "Brother Shi Meng, Miss Yun, Wanqing... and all those sacrificed by these rules..." He gazed at the slowly shifting halo of dark gold and silver-gray interwoven before his eyes. "I cannot bring you back to life, nor can I erase the pain of the past." His body had almost completely turned transparent, leaving only a faint outline. "But at least, from this day forth, upon this ruin..." The outline also dissipated. The last wisp of his consciousness melted into that newly born, fragile halo. The "Heavenly Net Absolute Formation" completely collapsed. The silver chains, runes, and light and shadow all disintegrated into the most basic rule fragments. And that gray-silver "Order Vortex," after expanding to its limit, came to a halt. It did not vanish, but it no longer rotated, no longer solidified anything. It transformed into a slowly pulsating, unstable orb of light, interwoven with dark gold and silver-gray. Small. Very fragile. Its range only covered a ten-zhang radius of the original formation's core. But within those ten zhang, the icy, dead silence of order was broken. Fine, warm dark-golden light dust floated in the air. That dust would occasionally coalesce into vague patterns, only to scatter again, as if trying to "express" something, yet still unable to find a definite form. Only that newly born, unstable "Rule Embryo" pulsed slowly. It emitted a faint but continuous, clear sound, like wind chimes in a breeze. And deep within that orb of light, four extremely faint points of light rotated slowly, connected in a loose, seemingly fragile yet stubbornly persistent manner. One was dimmer, yet carried a heavy, almost penitent sense of solidity. Beyond the orb, at the edge of the collapsed formation ruins, a tiny spatial rift silently opened. From the other end of the rift came faint, distant sounds of exclamations and hurried footsteps. Upon this ruin of rules, a faint, insignificant, yet utterly different light shone. Those points of light did not extinguish; instead, they tangled and fused with the surrounding shattered fragments of silver rune chains. Gray-silver light diffused from the point of collision, like a drop of thick ink falling into stagnant water, spreading slowly yet inexorably. It began to rotate, emitting a low, grating sound like rusted gears forcibly meshing. *Creak—creak—* Each sound felt like it was gnawing at Lin Yi's nerves. The light at the vortex's edge was cold and dead, different from the sharp silver light of the earlier "Heavenly Net Absolute Formation," closer to the color of a tombstone under moonlight. Any rule fragment brushed by the vortex's edge instantly solidified into smooth, mirror-like crystals. Lin Yi knelt on one knee, panting heavily. The weakness from exhaustion flooded his limbs like a tide; every breath tugged at the tearing pain deep within his meridians. He tried to retreat, but as soon as he shifted his left foot half an inch, his knee gave way. He braced himself against the ground, his fingertips touching a rule crystal that had just solidified. Its surface was smooth as ice, but inside there was nothing—no flow of energy, no structural changes, like a meticulously polished specimen. It wasn't about defeating him; it was about turning him Lin Yi forced himself to lift his head. The vortex was expanding—not quickly, but with a steady, despair-inducing pace. Three meters, two-point-eight, two-point-five... The gray-silver light devoured the collapsing formation space inch by inch. He could feel a strange "pull," not a physical tug, but a traction on consciousness, on existence itself. Like standing at the edge of a cliff, feeling the ground beneath his feet loosen. The moment darkness fell, the grating, gear-jamming friction from the outside world grew distant. In its place was the heavy drumbeat of his own heartbeat, the faint hum of blood struggling to flow through nearly parched vessels. The core of that "dark-gold Reverse Fate Flame" was now as feeble as a candle guttering in the wind. Three points of light still shone—Shi Meng's boldness, Yun Zhi's serenity, Su Wanqing's warmth—pressed against the softest part of his soul like three pieces of warm jade refusing to cool in the bitter cold. An illusory touch came—a rough, large hand gave his shoulder a solid, not-too-gentle thump. No sound, but the bold, slightly helpless mirth was clearly imprinted in his perception. As if saying: *Kid, how did you get yourself into this mess again?* "You died to protect me," Lin Yi continued to ask, "so I could become a world-destroying demon?" The hand withdrew, then—a shake of the head. Firm and decisive. Immediately after came another punch, this time much lighter, like a playful nudge between friends. *Get up, don't just lie there.* The serene scent of sandalwood permeated his consciousness, cool and tranquil. A slender fingertip gently tapped between his brows. No words, only a clear "intention," like an arrow pointing straight "ahead." "You spied upon the workings of Heaven," Lin Yi's voice echoed within, "what end did you see?" But the sandalwood scent deepened, as if saying: *Heaven's workings have no end, only choices. And my choice is for you to keep walking.* Lin Yi took a deep breath—though in the realm of consciousness, the gesture was meaningless. Like winter afternoon sunlight seeping through a crack in a window lattice—not blazing, but stubbornly lingering upon him. He could "feel" the trust in that gaze, steadfast as bedrock. Then, an invisible hand gave his back a gentle push. The three points of light responded simultaneously—not with sound, not with words, but with a heavy, palpable "weight." Shi Meng's boldness settled into responsibility, Yun Zhi's serenity into wisdom, Su Wanqing's warmth into hope. What they had entrusted to him was never the will for "vengeance" or "dominance." The gray-silver "Order Vortex" had expanded to within two meters, its cold light almost licking at the hem of his robe. The solidified rule crystals formed a grotesque "forest of tombstones" around him, their smooth surfaces reflecting his pale, exhausted face. It was the calm that comes after a storm, when even the last ripple on the sea's surface has vanished. He no longer tried to escape, nor did he mobilize the almost nonexistent remnants of his power to resist. Instead, he sat upright in a meditative posture, hands resting lightly on his knees, fingertips unconsciously tapping—*tap, tap, tap*—forming a unique, oppressive rhythm. Slowly, gently, he "pushed" the feeble core of the "dark-gold Reverse Fate Flame" within him, along with the three points of light carrying their wills, out of his body. The flames did not surge toward the vortex. Instead, like when they had permeated Xiao Han's rules before, they transformed into countless fine streams, drifting toward the vortex's center, toward the surrounding fragments of rules not yet fully solidified. Like the wind brushing the lightest wind chime under an eave, producing a clear, ethereal chime. Then came a second, a third... connecting into a continuous, delicate melody, like ice crystals shattering and reassembling. The gray-silver vortex's rotation visibly faltered. Its expansion seemed "jammed" by something, becoming hesitant, sluggish. Lin Yi felt his consciousness being "drawn out." Like thread being pulled inch by inch from a spindle, "woven" together with those broken, cold rule fragments. Painful? Of course. It was the most primal resistance and tearing sensation from the depths of the soul as consciousness was forcibly stripped and fused with a foreign existence. Yet, strangely, within the pain, there was a sliver of peace. Using his own will as the "blueprint," and the wills of the departed carried within the "Reverse Fate Flame" as the "warp and weft," he began attempting to reweave these dead, silent rule fragments into a brand He looked at those smooth, mirror-like rule crystals, gazing into the eternal, icy stillness deep within the gray-silver vortex. Dark golden flames flowed around him, intertwining, penetrating, and mutually altering with the gray-silver light. The dyed rule fragments began to glow with a warm, jade-like luster, their icy texture melting away like spring snow. The corner of Lin Yi’s mouth curved upward, ever so slightly. “From today onward, in this wasteland, there will be a different kind of light.” Not dissipation, but “integration.” Like a drop of ink merging into the ocean—it may dilute, it may change, but the essence of that ink—that dark golden speck of “possibility” bearing the will of three points of light—would forever become part of the sea. His voice grew fainter, the last few words almost inaudible. It hovered in mid-air like a tamed giant beast, its interior swirling with interwoven dark gold and gray-silver light, forming a fragile, dynamic balance. The collapsing formation space around it ceased its further collapse. On the surfaces of those solidified rule crystals, extremely fine, dark golden patterns began to emerge. Like some newborn entity, slowly, laboriously breathing. Only a hazy, human-shaped halo remained, seated cross-legged at the vortex’s center. Deep within the halo, three points of light still shone, like three stars that would never fall. Extremely faint, almost imperceptible—they were slowly coalescing into form at the halo’s edge. Carrying profound remorse, carrying a resolute repayment, carrying a belated, uncertain if it could still be accepted “fatherly love,” they were hurtling from a distant place, unhesitatingly, toward this nascent embryonic order. Outside, the grating, gear-locked friction sounds of the 「Order Vortex」 were instantly pushed far away. In their place came the heavy, drum-like beating of a heart, thud after thud, pounding against the chest cavity. Blood flowed sluggishly through nearly parched meridians, emitting faint hums, like a candle flame in the wind. The core of that dark golden 「Reverse Fate Flame」 had dimmed to the faintness of a bean. But around it, three points of light still shone—Shi Meng’s blazing intensity, Yun Zhi’s serene mystery, Su Wanqing’s gentle warmth. They were no longer just imprints; they were more like three warm jade pieces pressed close to his heart, stubbornly radiating heat, resisting the chill seeping in from all sides, a cold that sought to freeze everything into specimens. He “asked” them. Not with sound, but with the tremor deep within his soul. “Brother Shi Meng, you died protecting me. Was it so I could become a demon who destroys heaven and earth?” A bold, hearty laugh exploded in his consciousness. No sound, yet crystal clear. Immediately after, came a light punch on his shoulder, carrying that familiar, rough-and-ready force. Then, a shake of the head. The sensation was so vivid—not a denial, but a dismissal. As if saying: Nonsense, I gave my life so you could be a turtle hiding in its shell? “Lady Yun, you glimpsed the heavenly secrets. What end did you see?” A serene sandalwood fragrance permeated the air. Not a real scent, but an illusion woven from memory and will. A slightly cool fingertip gently touched between his brows. Not an answer. A guide. A clear, firm intention pointed “forward.” Not toward a specific place or time, but toward “possibility” itself. The countless branching paths, the future not yet written and never to be fully foreseen. “Wanqing, you believed I could find ‘my own path’… is this that path?” A warm gaze enveloped him. Like winter afternoon sunlight filtering through a window crack, not blazing, but stubbornly lingering. That gaze held no doubt, only complete trust. Then, she gently “pushed” him. Not a physical push, but an urging on the level of will—a silent prompt. What they had entrusted to him was never hatred, nor ambition for domination, not even a concrete “revenge” target. Shi Meng’s boldness was the courage to “dare to act”; Yun Zhi’s serenity was the wisdom of “insight”; Su Wanqing’s warmth was the belief in “protection.” What they left behind was “the possibility to keep walking forward” itself. It was the freedom he still possessed, even in utter despair, to choose “what to become.”