He did not care about the people inside, but he cared about what was inside—the thick mass of Creation Trait that was about to overflow.
It was his.
Not yet, but soon!
His perception slowly seeped inside.
It flowed in through those tiny cracks invisible to the naked eye, like water seeping into sand, like smoke slipping through gaps, like time running through one's fingers—silent and traceless.
Then he "saw" the laws of that world.
He did not see them with his eyes, but felt them with his consciousness.
Those laws were like taut strings, some thick, some thin, some slack, some tight.
The thick ones were the Creation Trait left behind by God, piled at the core of that world like a forgotten warehouse. The contents were still fermenting, still swelling, still spilling outward.
The thin ones were derivative laws that had evolved on their own within that world, wrapped around the Creation Trait like vines around a great tree, like a spiderweb around its prey.
Life and death had been split apart here.
Not severed from each other, but violently torn open, like a piece of cloth ripped in half down the middle.
One half was life—eternal life. Whether one wanted it or not, no matter how much pain they suffered, no matter how many pieces they smashed themselves into, they simply could not die.
The other half was death, but not human death. It was death itself dying.
Death had died in this world. It no longer worked, no longer flowed, no longer accepted any souls.
Souls had nowhere to go. They could only remain trapped in the world of the living, trapped in flesh and blood, trapped in fragments, trapped in torment that could never end.
Wu Heng's perception moved through that maze of laws like