Primordial Era: Starting with Self-Created Mythical Great Luo Law

They set off again, bathed in the last rays of the setting sun, and entered a winding path. Ancient trees lined the roadside, their branches gnarled and twisted like dragon tendons, and a faint amber sap seeped from the cracks in their bark, as if the earth were breathing silently.

Further on, a deep forest quietly unfolds, with heavy shadows and occasional whispers of wind rustling through the leaves, like ancient souls slowly turning over beneath the tree roots.

Chen Yu felt a chill run down his spine, a coldness creeping up his neck and onto his scalp—a deadly danger lurked ahead. Yet the fire in his chest burned even brighter, like a wildfire stirred by the wind, licking at his reason.

He had never longed so much to lift the veil of this primordial world and glimpse the turbulent truth beneath. His steps were steady as he followed closely behind his senior brother on the path paved with decaying leaves.

The man's shoulders were sharply defined, and his steps were silent yet seemed to shake mountains. An aura of indomitable power emanated from him, as if even the deepest abyss or the hardest rock could be cleaved in two with a single sword strike.

Mo Xiang lagged behind, her skirts not fluttering, her breathing not ragged, yet her fingertips had already subtly formed a hidden hand seal. Her gaze was cold and clear, sweeping across the dappled shadows of the trees, as if measuring the wind direction or capturing a strange tremor deep within the earth.

As a direct disciple of the Tongtian Sect Master, she had long regarded life-or-death situations as commonplace. But this time, the air was not filled with ordinary demonic energy, but with a heavy, almost stagnant, ancient hostility that made one's eardrums ache slightly.

A sudden, ear-piercing shriek erupted from the forest. It wasn't a bird's call, nor a beast's roar, but rather sounded like countless dry twigs scraping against the throat—it was the ancient forest's secret warning!

The senior brother suddenly stopped, sidestepped, and drew his sword, his gaze like lightning striking the darkness ahead. In an instant, the shadows of the trees surged, and more than a dozen wolf demons burst out of the forest! Their fangs were gleaming white, their fur gleamed with a rusty dark red, their pupils burned with eerie green flames, and their claws tore through the air, lunging straight for the three's throats.

Senior Brother lowered his brow, and the tip of his sword hummed softly, its cold light flashing like a star falling from the sky. Chen Yu felt a surge of scalding heat rushing from behind him, as if an entire mountain had risen from the ground behind him—it wasn't pressure, but a lift, an arm that pushed him to greater heights.

A surge of heat rushed to his head, his knuckles clenched so tightly they turned white, and he didn't even notice his nails digging into his palms.

Mo Xiang's ten fingers flew, and azure light, like silk, instantly wove into the roots of the trees. The towering ancient trees swayed in response, their gnarled branches dancing wildly, forming a blue-green dome in the blink of an eye, with branches and leaves intertwining to form a shield and vines coiling to form blades.

Her lips were taut, her eyes sharp as tempered iron—there is no impasse in this world that cannot be broken. As long as the three swords are aligned and the three divine senses are in sync, even if the heavens and earth collapse, a path to survival can be forged.

The battle cries rose again! Sword energy cleaved through the thick fog, demonic flames collided with the barrier, bursting into golden-red sparks, and azure array patterns flickered with each breath, like a giant beast swallowing and exhaling.

The three moved like chess pieces, their offense and defense interlocking like clockwork: the senior brother crushed them head-on, Chen Yu pierced them from the flanks, and Mo Xiang orchestrated the formation—just as the wolf demon pounced into the air, the ground beneath its feet turned into quicksand; as its claws reached its face, a vine whip suddenly wrapped around its throat.

The entire forest trembled, gasped, and surrendered to their rhythm.

As the blood mist dissipated, severed limbs lay scattered. The wolf demon's wails gradually weakened, finally fading into silence. The three stood in the center of the scorched earth, their robes stained with dust, their breaths slightly labored, yet the burning energy within their chests was three times stronger than before the battle.

"The road ahead is long." The senior brother's voice wasn't loud, but every word pierced through the forest, startling countless birds into flight. "What must be done, not a single step can be missed."

They started walking again. The fallen leaves rustled beneath their feet, as if the entire forest was holding its breath in farewell.

The deeper you go, the more eerie the forest becomes: the bark is cracked like a tortoise shell, the moss gleams with a faint blue light, and even the wind that brushes past your ears carries the lingering echoes of ancient rituals—desolate, lingering, and undeniable.

Chen Yu's five senses were fully activated; he could feel the slight itch on his skin as spiritual energy moved through the air. He stared at the swaying shadows of the trees ahead, his heartbeat synchronized with Lin Tao's.

The senior brother's back was as upright as a newly sprouted bamboo. He was not only a guide, but also the unyielding flag in his heart. Even if the road ahead was full of dangers, as long as that figure was still there, he dared to leave his footprints in the darkest night.

Mo Xiang kept her eyes down and walked slowly, the edges of the talisman in her sleeve already slightly curled. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at every tree shadow, every gust of wind, and every reflective spider web—the disciples of the Tongtian Sect Master never relied on luck to survive.

But today, even the shadows in this forest are three times thicker than usual, and even the silence seems calculated. Her throat bobbed slightly, but she didn't speak. Instead, she quietly pressed a soul-suppressing nail into the jade buckle at her waist.

Suddenly, a chilling aura enveloped them, unlike a cold wind, more like a stone coffin that had slumbered for millennia being opened a crack. The three of them stopped in their tracks. The mist, like a curtain, slowly receded—a temple stood majestically in the heart of the forest.

It is unlike anything built by humans. Its eaves hang low like the spine of a giant beast, and its stone steps are rough like ancient ribs. The entire palace is shrouded in gray mist, yet it weighs down all the surrounding vegetation, and even birds dare not fly over it.

Nine stone steps lead to the hall, where nine colossal statues sit: the glaring lion king with its mane bristling, the white tiger roaring at the moon with cloud patterns surging beneath its claws, and the gibbon king with its muscles bulging as if trying to break free from its stone body... Neither carved nor sculpted, they seem as if living beings are sealed within.

Each statue exudes a chilling aura, as if a single glance would pierce one's soul.

Chen Yu's Adam's apple bobbed, but he couldn't utter a single word. He had seen altars and spirit tablets, but he had never seen the true "living" form of a deity.

His gaze swept over the lion's fangs, the cracks in the tiger's claws, and the lingering arrogance deep within the ape's eyes—his heart pounded, as if something had exploded inside his skull.

The Tongtian Sect Leader once flicked his sleeve and touched his brow, his voice like a bell: "The Dao gives birth to One, One gives birth to Two, Two gives birth to Three, Three gives birth to all things. What cultivators seek is not immortality, but understanding the principles; what they refine is not magic, but the true nature of Heaven and Earth. The Great Dao is formless, yet it is everywhere; freedom is boundless, for the heart is the universe."

Chen Yu could recite it perfectly, having heard it a thousand times. But for him, the "Tao" was always just ink on paper, or the ethereal clouds his master spoke of.

He believed in "the way of nature," and that the cycle of the seasons and the ebb and flow of the tides all had their own laws—but could those laws truly support a temple? Could they truly forge these nine pairs of eyes that looked down upon all living beings?

He knew that "the Tao gives birth to one," but did not know what that "one" was; he understood that "three gives birth to all things," but could not count how many beads of sweat were seeping from his fingertips.

It was hard to distinguish between truth and falsehood, reality and illusion. Yet he believed in the Tongtian Sect Leader—a man who had never lied in his heart, and even when he uttered a joke, it was as if he were burning incense and kowtowing before an altar.

Chen Yu's mind was filled with doubts. According to the teachings of the Tongtian Sect Master, the Dao gives birth to one, one gives birth to two, two gives birth to three, and three gives birth to all things. This is the right path and the only way to truly step into the threshold of cultivation.

If it is said that "the Dao gives birth to all things," why are there no rules manifested in the world? Could it be that cultivators need to take another step forward and transform into another kind of existence? He stood there in a daze, his mind in turmoil.

He was unfamiliar with cultivation methods and knew nothing of the profound mysteries of the Great Dao, yet he was certain of one thing: wherever the Dao originates, there must be its laws—rules are the very essence of the Dao.