The Divine Sovereign had lived for so many years that he had mastered the art of bending when necessary, deeply understanding the principle: “As long as the green hills remain, one need not worry about running out of firewood.”
Without Lin Xiaohe needing to press him, the Divine Sovereign spilled everything he knew: “I first entered this place during a moment of soul projection, drawn here by the pull of Dao resonance.”
“Back then, my divine soul was intact, yet I nearly had it shattered by a single mournful melody. It took me over a thousand years of cultivation here to barely recover eighty percent of my strength.”
The Divine Sovereign sighed inwardly. It was precisely because he knew the God-Fallen Land possessed such formidable offensive power that he had schemed to lure Lin Xiaohe here, hoping to borrow the land’s power to eliminate her.
Little did he expect that he, who had hunted geese all his life, would end up getting pecked in the eye by one.
Not only had Lin Xiaohe withstood that wave of attacks, but her body was also so bizarrely peculiar that it could actually trap his divine soul.
Lin Xiaohe remained on high alert. She absolutely could not let her guard down against an ancient monster that had lived for who knows how many years and had even managed to find a way to survive a world-ending catastrophe.
“You nearly died the first time you came here, and you still dared to come a second time?”
The Divine Sovereign offered a polite smile. “Isn’t this because I’ve been pushed to the brink? If I had any other option, I wouldn’t be here either.”
As if recalling something, he began to hum an eerie tune, singing a song in a strange cadence:
“Oh soul, return! To this shattered shrine!
The black jade sinks into the sea, the nine cauldrons crumble.
A great mistake has been made—spilled water cannot be retrieved.
The star-raft rots in ruin, the spirit platform is veiled in dust.
Oh soul, return! Bear witness to this profound sin…”
As the song rang out, Lin Xiaohe felt an overwhelming sadness and regret welling up from the depths of her heart—so strikingly similar to the melody she had heard when she approached the altar that day.
The Divine Sovereign noticed that she only faltered slightly, suffering no harm whatsoever, and a trace of disappointment flickered deep within his eyes.
Lin Xiaohe pretended not to notice his little scheme and pressed on: “How do we get out?”
The Divine Sovereign shook his head. “I truly don’t know. I was ejected from this space last time.”
Lin Xiaohe mentally cursed the Divine Sovereign up and down.
He had burned his bridges and come here out of sheer desperation for survival.
She, on the other hand, had not!
If she didn’t get out, what would happen to all her affairs on Kyushu Star? What about those Stardust Humans like Wesley who had followed her?
She had been utterly screwed over by this dog of a Divine Sovereign!
……
Back on Vettara Star, Chen Kuan had traded up in a big way—not only buying a spacious new house but also about to pick up a brand-new car.
“Well, well, if it isn’t our Boss Chen. Which floor are you booking this time?” the lobby manager of the Outlets Grand Hotel asked with a grin.
Chen Kuan swiped his card and sighed. “The New Faith has fewer people now—we’ll just take the smallest meeting room.”
The lobby manager raised an eyebrow in surprise. “That doesn’t sound right. With that other group gone, Vettara Star’s religious factions are left without a leader. Everyone’s scrambling for territory. Aren’t you guys the ones with the best momentum?”
Chen Kuan leaned his arms on the front desk, his expression drooping.
He was one of the hotel’s regular big clients and had a decent relationship with the lobby manager.
Maybe it was because the recent expansion of his faith had been so disappointing that Chen Kuan opened up a bit: “It’s all the Federation’s fault.”
“Hm?”
“The Anidam Faith from the First Star Ring has come to our planet to preach. The benefits they’re offering are just too good,” Chen Kuan said sourly.
The lobby manager wasn’t impressed. “How good could it be? The Federation government is so stingy—not only have they not repaired the main roads, but they’ve only restored three berths at the spaceport. The merchants are howling because goods can’t get in. The Chamber of Commerce has complained to the planetary government office multiple times, but it’s been completely useless. Every time they push, they’re told there’s no money.”
With Vettara Star’s population dwindling, the Outlets Grand Hotel’s business was getting worse by the day.
The regulars who booked rooms here had all become familiar faces to the lobby manager.
A guest who had just renewed their stay chimed in: “You wouldn’t know this, but the Anidam Faith is really putting their money where their mouth is! This time, they’re paying 20,000 star coins a day! And if you pass their tests, not only will they take you off Vettara Star to the First Star Ring, but they also promise to help you find a job and give you a relocation allowance.”
The lobby manager’s eyes went wide.
Twenty thousand star coins wasn’t a big deal, but being able to take the whole family to the First Star Ring—that temptation was enormous.
Did the current residents stay on Vettara Star because they didn’t want to leave? No—it was because they couldn’t leave!
In peacetime, inter-star-ring tickets cost millions of star coins.
After the devastation by the Zerg, compounded by their occupation of the Second and Third Star Rings, transportation between star rings had suffered a catastrophic blow.
Now, getting to the First Star Ring wasn’t a matter of money—it was that there simply weren’t any reliable ships that could make the trip!
Even if there were ships daring enough to go, no one would dare board them.
But the Anidam Faith was different—they had set out from the First Star Ring. The very fact that they had successfully reached Vettara Star proved their strength could support such interstellar travel.
As long as you joined the Anidam Faith, you had a chance to leave with them. For residents desperate to escape Vettara Star, wasn’t that basically the path to the divine realm?
Chen Kuan curled his lip in disdain. “I wouldn’t even go to Kyushu Star, let alone some First Star Ring.”
The surrounding guests burst out laughing.
“How can Kyushu Star compare to the First Star Ring? Never mind resources, population, military strength, technology, or living standards—just the time dilation alone is enough to give ordinary people a headache!”
“Exactly! We’re not Stardust Humans—of course we wouldn’t dare go to the Dark Domain.”
“Speaking of which, I wonder how that first batch of people who went to Kyushu Star are doing? My childhood friend was like he was possessed—said he had to go to Kyushu Star no matter what.”
“You mean that childhood friend of yours who joined the Star Harmony Faith? He actually left?”
“Yeah, took his whole family.”
“Tsk.” Another guest shook his head. “He really can’t think straight. No matter how bad the Federation is, they’ve still got the strength—they’re not going to fall that far. But Kyushu Star… ah.”
A group of guests chatted idly in the lobby, their topics jumping wildly—from religious factions to Kyushu Star, then to how tough business had been lately.
Chen Kuan listened for a bit, decided these people weren’t going to be his cash cows, and tuned them out.
The lobby manager stayed with him to wait for his followers, but after half an hour past the scheduled time, not a single person showed up.
Chen Kuan’s expression turned ugly. He made a video call and demanded, “Where are you all? Did you get the hotel name wrong?”
The man on the other end wore an awkward smile, his lips twitching as if he didn’t know where to start.
Chen Kuan’s sharp eyes caught the Anidam Faith emblem behind the man. His gaze narrowed and his tone turned hostile: “Where are you right now?”
The man swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and threw caution to the wind: “Boss Chen, I’m not working with you anymore. I’m joining the Anidam Faith. Most of the brothers and the new followers are with me on this. I’ve dropped the green beans off at your place.”
With that, the man hung up the video call directly.
The lobby manager didn’t dare look at Chen Kuan’s expression—he didn’t need to imagine how terrible it must be.
Chen Kuan was shaking with rage. The lobby manager said a quick goodbye, and Chen Kuan drove straight home.
His mind raced the entire way.
This enterprise was clearly about to collapse. What was he supposed to do next?
Before he could come up with an answer, he was already home.
The house was empty—no one in sight, only a bag of green beans sitting on the table.
Huh?
Where’s my big house full of people? Where did all my family go?
