The Roar Outside the Valley

### Chapter 31: The Rumble Beyond the Valley

The morning mist had yet to disperse when Chen An was already crouched by the vegetable plot, fine-tuning a newly crafted soil moisture gauge.

He tightly wound the last length of fine copper wire around the rough edge of a plain pottery shard, and a simple yet delicate electrode was born in his hands. This was no longer a precision instrument from a laboratory, but a wondrous fusion of survival wisdom and modern principles—he had poured the soul of contemporary sensing technology into the shell of this primitive environment.

The finished electrode was unremarkable in appearance, yet held hidden intricacies. He carefully buried several such pottery electrodes at the depth of the crop roots, letting them sink silently into the soil like lurking sentinels. The copper wires led out to a reading device cobbled together from a discarded battery and a simple meter head.

Its principle was simple yet clever: dry pottery clay was an excellent insulator, but when moisture from the surrounding soil began to seep into its tiny pores, the clay would adsorb water molecules, forming a weak conductive path.

The more moisture, the higher the conductivity, and the lower the resistance value displayed on the meter. By burying multiple such electrodes at different positions and depths, he could map out a dynamic picture of soil moisture infiltration—where water drained quickly, where the soil retained moisture effectively—all the data laid clear before him.

Thus, the most ancient pottery clay, combined with modern metal wiring, became the earth's "stethoscope." No longer relying on experience to water blindly, he could now "hear" the silent flow and distribution of water underground, achieving a precision survival management based on data. This small device was like lighting a faint spark of technology in the primal wilderness.

Just as the needle on the dial began to move slowly, a thunderous roar suddenly erupted in the distance.

"Boom—!"

The first great sound tore through the air. The copper wire in Chen An's hand snapped up sharply, and the moisture gauge's needle danced wildly.

He jerked his head up. An invisible pressure of spiritual power crashed down like a mountain. Deep in the mountain hollow southeast of his courtyard, a bizarre pale purple pillar of smoke shot into the sky. It was no ordinary mountain mist, but an omen of pure magical power burning fiercely, tearing the air apart as it did.

Beneath that pillar of smoke, the battle had reached a fever pitch. A clear, silvery-white glow of spell-light, like a living serpent of frozen ice, radiated a righteous aura that purged demonic filth. With every twist, it bloomed into countless profound runes. Entangled with it in a death grip was a vortex of dark red demonic energy, filled with brutality and ill omen, taking the form of a scaled, monstrous serpent that ceaselessly devoured and corroded the silver light.

Each time these two "serpents" of pure energy collided head-on, they erupted with thunderous roars. The shockwaves were not invisible; they turned into visible rings of ripples that spread rapidly across the ground. Where the ripples passed, gravel on the ground trembled and clattered, trees in the distance swayed violently as if battered by a gale, and even the earth beneath his feet transmitted a continuous, deep, low-frequency vibration, as if the very heart of the land was trembling in fear.

The air grew thick with the strange smell of sulfur and scorching, the scent produced when spiritual power and demonic energy were pushed to their extremes and annihilated each other. This transcendent struggle had already turned that mountain hollow into a domain far removed from the mundane—a realm of life-and-death combat.

Then, roars erupted from all directions, one after another: the low growls of demonic beasts, the impassioned shouts of cultivators, and the booming crashes of colossal beings clashing that sent stones tumbling down the mountain walls.

Chen An's fingers unconsciously dug into his palms. He recognized this commotion—the words "Witch-Demon Tribulation," circled in cinnabar in the ancient texts he'd pored over before his transmigration, burned hot before his eyes.

Ever since Ancestor Hongjun had merged with the Heavenly Dao and established the order of the Primordial World, the cruelest cycle of this realm had begun. At its core was the fated showdown between the two innate divine beast clans: the Dragon and the Phoenix.

This was no ordinary conflict, but a great tribulation of heaven and earth, a furnace used by the Great Dao to cleanse the universe and reshape its rules. Each such event was nothing short of world-ending.

And the last one, the brutal war known as the Dragon-Phoenix Tribulation, though countless ages had passed, its wounds had yet to heal.

Back then, Ancestor Dragon's roar had shaken the nine heavens, and the towering waves raised by his thousands of Dragon clansmen had drowned the Primordial Continent. Primeval Phoenix's cry had burned the eight wastelands, and her Nirvana True Fire had scorched cracks into the very sky.

The corpses of divine beasts had rained down from the heavens like a storm. Their blood essence soaked every inch of the Primordial land, dyeing the mountains and rivers a sinister dark red, and even the Netherworld Sea of Blood had risen by three measures.

The aftershocks of that great war had not fully dissipated.

Even now, in certain chaotic regions where spiritual energy ran wild, the fabric of space remained fragile. It would often tear open into tiny fissures, spewing forth the violent currents of residual energy from that ancient battle.

The fragmentary ancient texts buried deep in the forbidden grounds of major powers were not cold, lifeless words. When a fated person touched them with their divine sense, those mottled pages would even seep out faint, dark red damp stains, as if the blood of antiquity was still sealed between the lines, exuding a heart-stopping Sha Qi and mournful cries.

That was no metaphor. It was the true, undried bloodstained mark of the Dragon-Phoenix Tribulation, silently telling of the cruelty of that world-reshaping purge.

"The Safe Zone..." He shot to his feet and rushed toward the courtyard gate. As his fingertips touched the warm, gentle barrier, he heard a soft hum—the barrier rippled like a lake surface struck by a stone, isolating the violent energy outside. Chen An crouched down, using a stone shard to scrape away the moss at the base of the wall, revealing the defensive runes drawn beneath with beast blood. These runes, copied from fragments of the Classic of Mountains and Seas, were not as exquisite as immortal formations, but they could borrow the power of the Safe Zone's origin to weaken the impact by thirty percent.

"Crack—!"

Another great roar made the stone house's tiles tremble slightly. Chen An dashed inside, grabbed the beast-hide notebook from the desk, and his pen scratched across the rough surface: "Hour of the Dragon, third quarter. Large-scale conflict erupts southeast.

Energy fluctuation characteristics: spell-light (blue-green) and demonic energy (dark brown) in spiral opposition. Presumed high-level cultivator battling great demon. Shockwave has reached three hundred zhang outside the courtyard. Barrier pressure value..." He paused, drawing a question mark after "pressure value" with his charcoal stick—this was a simple monitoring method he'd designed, estimating impact intensity from the frequency of water ripples in a clay jar.

Outside the window, the dust and smoke thickened, but Chen An remained unusually calm. He recalled the words he'd written in his notebook the night before: "The Safe Zone is a domain of rules. The more violent the external energy, the more stable the interior—provided the rules don't collapse."

He knew better than anyone: all he could do now was reinforce the barrier, record the data, and pray that this tribulation would soon subside.

By the time the sun tilted westward, the rumbling had faded into the distance.

Chen An stood at the courtyard gate, gazing at the clouds blackened by the fires of war, his fingertips repeatedly stroking the barrier. It remained warm and gentle, like a silent vow.

"Tomorrow, I should go to the stream and stock up on more clean water," he murmured. "And also, apply another layer of refractory clay to the kiln."

The wind carried scorched leaves past his feet. In the distance, one or two low howls of demonic beasts echoed. Chen An turned and went back inside, adding a final line to his notebook: "Mid-month, full moon. The fires of war have temporarily ceased. The Safe Zone is stable; need to check barrier wear. The Witch-Demon conflict is beyond my control—first, guard this little patch of heaven and earth."

(End of Chapter 31)