Chapter 155
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Chapter 155: Title
Beneath the Atlantic waves lay submerged ruins of crumbling cities, remnants of a land once called "Atlantis."
"Are we prepared?" Li Canghai inquired of the group beside him.
They stood amidst the ocean depths—unimaginable that a city could exist kilometers below the surface, utterly isolated from the seawater… though strictly speaking, it wasn’t merely a single city.
The silver dragon coiled lazily, its half-meter length no thicker than a human thumb, a far cry from the majestic figure that once dominated the skies.
Ao Lan drowsed intermittently within Wen Qingyan’s hair, his miniature form blending into the strands.
Bai Ye and their companions nodded in unison, signaling readiness.
Having spent days in the Atlantic since discovering this relatively preserved underwater metropolis, they’d repeatedly defied America’s demands to vacate the area.
Their defiance stemmed from pride: as the globe’s foremost economic power and second-strongest nation, Zhongxia knew the gaps between modern superpowers had narrowed through decades of rivalry. Post-Awakening of Spiritual Energy, their millennia-old unbroken mythic heritage outshone America’s mere centuries of history.
America’s hollow threats held no weight—not after their East China Sea fleets had been capsized months prior. Against the "Eastern Dragon," no naval force lacking equivalent mystical might could prevail without suffering retaliation.
Atlantean technology proved revelatory for Zhongxia’s researchers, particularly its fusion of energy and machinery—advancements eclipsing modern human achievements.
When deities manifested worldwide, the team had been submerged, only learning of the cataclysm upon boarding the aircraft carriers. Later, light spheres descended from the Battleground, imparting understanding of its purpose through touch. Their subsequent request for access was swiftly approved—alongside urgent recall orders from the Special Bureau.
Though Bai Ye’s Tier Two operatives abandoning their mission seemed drastic, the Bureau prioritized Atlantis’s secrets, deploying reinforcements to continue the operation. Helicopters would deliver them to Capital City within hours.
…
Dawn before the Battleground’s activation found a pocket-dimension office crowning the World Tree’s apex—a scene ripped from a sci-fi world. Holographic consoles flickered autonomously, chronicling every significant event across Blue Star.
The air rippled suddenly, disgorging a figure.
Ye Linlang slumped onto a sofa, a juice glass materializing in her grip. After a deep draught, she massaged her temples. Her recent attempts to decipher cosmic rules had yielded diminishing returns, frustration halting her studies sooner than expected.
The system’s voice chimed through her weariness.
“Your Excellency, the Major Deity. Dawn’s greetings.”
She acknowledged with a half-hearted nod. A mental flick summoned a screen displaying global crises. Yet her attention snagged on an anomaly: the Heavenly Law Battleground remained dormant, though forty-eight hours had passed since its emergence—double her intended delay.
"Hmm? System, why hasn’t the Battleground opened yet?"
【According to the plans you left, Major Deity, calculations indicated twenty-four hours proved insufficient. Thus, the system adjusted the opening time.】
【The Heavenly Law Battleground will activate seventy-two hours after credential distribution.】
Ye Linlang contemplated this briefly before concluding, "So it opens tomorrow."
【Affirmative.】
She gave a slight nod, remaining silent.
The failure to comprehend cosmic principles wasn’t truly her shortcoming – this she knew. The world’s inferior tier simply rendered certain fundamental truths beyond her reach.
Her eyebrow arched in sudden interest.
"My avatar received credentials too?" This amused her. Though primarily handling analytical duties, the seventh-rank construct possessed combat capabilities rivaling field operatives.
After brief consideration, Ye Linlang dismissed personal involvement. For a deity to participate directly would be both tyrannical and beneath her dignity.
"Ye Er, acknowledge."
In the original residence, the vacationing avatar blinked. Security protocols verified, she responded:
"Awaiting orders, True Form."
"Handle the Battleground matter independently. Maintain balance between discretion and competence."
"Understood."
Having issued instructions, Ye Linlang stretched lazily. With cosmic studies stalled, she’d indulge in mortal diversions through the upcoming tournament.
Human society had become foreign since her systemic ascension, though truthfully, she’d never truly belonged.
On Zhongxia’s bustling streets,
A silver-haired, golden-eyed girl sipped cola atop riverbank railings, unnoticed beneath self-concealment spells. Passersby flowed behind the perilously perched figure, oblivious.
Her gesture summoned rising vapors that coalesced into liquid glass. The water mirror reflected childish features bearing an angelic smile.
"Excellent craftsmanship." She approved the crafted visage. Her true countenance belonged to Ye Er now, though concealment spells rendered caution unnecessary.
Among her myriad identities – celestial deity, truth-seeking sword cultivator – this juvenile form offered novel possibilities. The golden eyes (veined with elusive purple mist when scrutinized) symbolized sacred "Dao" essence, distinct from common auric irises.
As sunset gilded the rippling waters,
She remained motionless for hours, endlessly sipping the frost-beaded cola. The unmarked silver phone in her small hand vibrated with system alerts.
"Even the realm of the dead intervenes? Let them observe – ghost cultivators fall under their jurisdiction now."
The system informed her that several Lords of the Dead from the Western realm of the dead and envoys from the Eastern underworld’s Yama had entered the human realm—all ghost cultivators and spectral beings holding Battleground credentials.
Their numbers were not insignificant.
Ye Linlang raised no objections. When establishing the Battleground’s participation criteria, she’d never explicitly forbidden spirits. Any entity meeting the strength threshold could compete, even those of divine tier.
—Though she doubted any true deities would indulge in such trivialities.
She dismissed the system’s concerns through a mental message, permitting underworld denizens to act as they pleased. Ghost cultivators’ emergence suited her plans; their prolonged seclusion in shadowed realms had lasted long enough.
While humanity acknowledged the underworld’s existence, its true nature remained veiled. Few mortal ghosts attained cultivation status, creating vacancies best filled by seasoned spirits from below.
Not all departed souls chose reincarnation. Some carried cultivation potential within their essence.
Ye Linlang mentally cataloged the underworld’s forces—Yama, the judges, and Meng Po, all soul-touched beings she’d personally elevated to ghost-deity tier, supplemented by countless ghost messengers and lingering spirits.
With endless duties and finite hands, she understood why Yama sought temporary ghost cultivators.
As she finalized her thoughts, twilight’s final glimmer dissolved below the horizon. Night claimed dominion.
Street lamps flickered awake as the moon ascended willow branches.
When dwindling foot traffic prompted Ye Linlang to leave her perch, chaotic footsteps shattered the evening’s rhythm.
A liquor-scented figure collapsed heavily a meter away, limbs splayed across cold concrete.
…
Jiang Nan clutched a half-empty beer bottle, crimson-faced and swaying against rusted railings. Nausea churned within him.
His muddled mind swam through alcoholic haze, rumpled suit reeking of gutter filth. Pedestrians veered wide around this human wreckage.
Moonbeams illuminated his disgrace—a spectacle his sober self would’ve died to prevent.
"Damn heavens!" His slurred shout cracked. "Where’s your fairness—"
"Heavenly Law Battleground…heh…Tier Two…" Bitter laughter erupted. "All worthless!"
Agony tinged his drunken rage. Why denied cultivation? Why endless effort yielding nothing? As bile surged, he retched violently beside the sidewalk.
Spent from vomiting, he slumped against metal bars. Through bleary vision, white Mary Janes materialized beneath fluttering skirt hem.
Blinking repeatedly, Jiang Nan discerned silver tresses cascading to a slender waist. Golden eyes glimmered with phantom purple mist above rosebud lips.
One forceful blink erased the chromatic illusion—alcohol’s trickery, he reasoned. Oblivious to supernatural signs, he hiccuped advice through liquor-fogged tongue: "Li’l girl…shouldn’t…be out…human traffickers…"
The apparition tilted its head, features twisting in perplexity before demanding with knitted brows: "Why do you insult me?"
