Six Wings

Deeper within the Source Sea, there was no direction.

From the moment Chu Ming left the Sword Sect, he no longer used starfields as a reference.

The path he traveled was not defined by spatial coordinates, but by perception.

The Dao resonance mark between his brows trembled faintly in the depths of his sea of consciousness, like a bell sunk beneath the water, sending out an extremely faint ripple at intervals.

The ripples made no sound, yet they pierced through every chaotic law and steadily pointed toward a direction ahead.

Chu Ming followed that guidance onward.

At first, the Source Sea still retained the outline of "worlds."

Shattered stars drifted through space, fractured continental layers lay scattered at varying angles, and now and then, he could see cross-sections of mountain ranges torn apart by laws—like bones cleaved open by a single blade, their internal structures clearly exposed to the void.

A faint radiance of laws lingered over those severed surfaces, flickering at times and dying out at others.

Farther ahead, the stars began to dwindle.

In their place were fragments.

Fragments of all sizes drifted slowly through the void.

Some were as large as mountains, others as small as dust.

Some still bore traces of what they had once been.

Half a stone pillar, a collapsed corner of a hall, even a broken stretch of street.

The stone slabs on that street remained neatly arranged, but its far end had long since vanished into a rift in the void.

Chu Ming swept over that stretch of street.

There was no sound of wind beneath his feet.

Only a faint gray-gold light flowed around him.

That light did not radiate outward. It clung close to his body like a second layer of skin, shutting out every chaotic law from the outside