The deeper the group ventured into the swamp, the heavier the air became. It wasn't merely the humidity of a wetland; it was a physical weight, a spiritual suppression that targeted the very soul. The mist here had shed its grey coat, now tinged with a sickly, arterial crimson that clung to their robes like coagulated blood.
Ling Feng walked at the point, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He strolled with a rhythmic bounce in his step, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like a viral pop song from late 2019. To the ancient world, it was an alien melody; to him, it was just background noise to drown out the oppressive silence.
Behind him, the atmosphere was far less casual.
The "Seven Ghosts"—the disciples Ling Feng had raised from mediocrity to lethal weapons—had their knuckles white upon their hilts. Their eyes darted nervously into the crimson fog, their instincts screaming that they were walking into the throat of a beast.
Even Li Shuangyan, the supreme genius of the Nine Saint Demon Gate, was on edge. She circulated her Pure Jade cultivation to its absolute limit. Her skin glowed with a faint, protective sheen, fighting off the corrosive malice in the air.
"The air tastes like copper," Chen Baojiao muttered, wrinkling her nose as she gripped her dual sabers. The veins near her temples throbbed, her Tyrannical Immortal Physique reacting aggressively to the hostility. "And rot. It smells like a grave that's been left open for too long."
"That, my dear Baojiao, is the smell of ambition," Ling Feng corrected over his shoulder, not breaking his stride. "Or rather, failed ambition. Do you know how many idiots have died trying to get a piece of this pie over the last million years? It's basically the graveyard shift down here. Low pay, high mortality rate."
They crested a rise and looked down into a massive basin. The ground here wasn't soil. It was spongy, composed of layers of decaying mulch and shattered bones that had been grinding down against each other for millennia.
And there, dominating the center of the basin, it stood.
The Evil Typha Tree.
To call it a tree was an insult to nature; it was a geographical anomaly, a monolith of malice. It towered into the bloody sky, its trunk as wide as a fortress, the bark a deep, pulsating red that throbbed rhythmically like a titan's exposed heart. The leaves were not organic but razor-sharp blades of crimson jade, clinking together in the stagnant wind with a sound like wind chimes made of butcher knives.
But the most terrifying aspect was the root system. They didn't burrow; they writhed above the surface like a nest of thousands of pythons, seeking, sensing, hungry.
Ling Feng scanned the area, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Looks like we beat the rush hour," he noted, his tone light but his gaze sharp.
In the original timeline—the "script" Ling Feng carried in his memory—this location should have been a chaotic warzone. The Heavenly God Dao Child, the descendants of Ancient Kingdoms, and various geniuses should have been here, vying for the tree's treasure.
But the butterfly effect of Ling Feng's arrival had been more akin to a hurricane. The Heavenly God Dao Child and Si Tu were likely still licking their wounds—or perhaps dead—after the devastating state Ling Feng had left them in.
As for Chen Baojiao and Shi Gandang, they were currently standing behind him, safe from the plot that would have originally seen the Heavenly God Dao Child forsake them here.
History had changed, but the greed of the cultivation world remained constant. There were a few stragglers.
Three loose cultivators, likely rogue practitioners with decent cultivation bases, stood frozen near the perimeter of the tree's domain. They stared at the pulsing trunk with a mixture of naked greed and absolute, paralyzing terror.
"It... it is the source of the red light," one of them whispered, his eyes glazed over as if hypnotized. "A Supreme Treasure... waiting to be plucked."
"Don't go closer, you fool!" his companion hissed, grabbing his shoulder. "Look at the roots! The blood energy... it's too dense!"
Suddenly, the swamp erupted.
A single root snapped out from the mass. It moved faster than the eye could track, breaking the sound barrier with a whip-crack that echoed like thunder.
Thwack!
The cultivator in the front didn't even have time to scream. The root pierced his chest, lifting him into the air like a ragdoll. The horrific sound of suction filled the clearing. In less than a second, his skin greyed, his muscles collapsed, and he withered from a healthy Warrior Canopy expert into a dried, mummified husk.
The root pulsed with a bright crimson light, transporting the fresh blood essence back to the main trunk, which seemed to glow brighter in delight.
The remaining two cultivators screamed, their minds breaking. They scrambled backward, tripping over ancient bones in their desperate bid to flee.
"Yikes," Ling Feng grimaced, watching the husk crumble to dust. "Table manners are a solid zero out of ten. Didn't anyone teach this plant to chew with its mouth closed?"
"Young Noble," Li Shuangyan stepped up to his side. Her beautiful face was pale, stripped of its usual arrogance. She was a genius, yes, but the pressure emanating from that tree was suffocating. "This aura... it suppresses the Grand Dao itself. My Fate Palaces are shaking violently. This isn't a normal spirit tree. This feels like..."
"A God," Ling Feng finished for her, dropping the playfulness for a split second. His voice turned serious. "A True God, to be specific. Or at least, the twisted remnant of one."
The group froze. The disciples looked as if they had been struck by lightning.
A True God?
In this era, where Immortal Emperors were legends and Virtuous Paragons were kings, a True God was an existence that could sweep across the Nine Worlds with a wave of a hand.
"We need to leave," Su Yonghuang said urgently, her golden eyes wide. As the Sect Master, she had to think of survival. "Ling Feng, we cannot fight a True God. Even with your strange powers, the gap in cultivation is... it's an ocean. It's an abyss."
Ling Feng looked at the tree. He didn't use his Spiritual Sense, which would have been crushed by the pressure. Instead, he activated the Chaos Sense.
The Primal Chaos Genesis Physique allowed him to perceive the world not as Dao Laws, but as raw data—as code. Fueled by the alien nature of the Chaos Force, his perception bypassed the suppression of the Ridge. He looked past the physical bark, past the swirling vortex of resentment and the blood of millions absorbed over eras.
He saw the core of the tree humming with dark, twisted divinity. But deeper than that, beneath the mud and the blood, he saw the opportunity.
"Relax, ladies," Ling Feng said, stretching his neck until it cracked. "I'm not gonna box it. I'm crazy, not stupid. Fighting a True God head-on right now would be like trying to stop a freight train with a wet napkin. I'd get folded like laundry."
"Then we retreat?" Chen Baojiao asked, gripping her saber, her body tensed to cover their escape.
"Retreat?" Ling Feng looked at her as if she had started speaking French. He let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Nah. We don't do that here. I said I wasn't gonna fight it. I didn't say I wasn't gonna rob it."
He stepped forward, crossing the invisible line of safety.
"Ling Feng!" Xu Pei cried out, her voice trembling.
"Stay there," Ling Feng commanded. His voice carried an absolute, heavy authority that froze them instantly in place. "Don't come closer unless you want to be fertilizer. I'm just gonna go have a little chat with the landlord."
He walked toward the tree, hands out of his pockets now.
The Evil Typha Tree sensed him immediately. It sensed the vitality in his body—a vitality enriched by the Chaos Force, denser and richer than a million mortal men. To the tree, Ling Feng looked like a walking, talking, five-course Michelin star meal.
SCREECH!
Hundreds of roots rose from the mud simultaneously, aiming at him like spears, vibrating with the intent to impale.
Ling Feng stopped. He closed his eyes.
He reached deep into his Inner Void. He didn't draw upon the combat power of the Chaos Emeralds this time. Instead, he pushed his consciousness deep into the earth.
In the lore of his previous world, the Chaos Force connected all things—water, life, earth. In this Xianxia reality, that concept translated into a supreme override code. His senses dived into the ley lines, ignoring the resentful aura of the tree, searching for a specific signature.
He was looking for the legacy of Emperor Xue Xi.
"Found you," Ling Feng smirked.
The ground began to rumble deep beneath his feet.
The Evil Typha Tree shrieked again. It wasn't a sound made by wind or wood; it was a psychic blast of pure malice. The weaker disciples in the back dropped to their knees, blood trickling from their ears. The tree realized that the ant approaching it wasn't afraid. It was arrogant.
It lashed out. A dozen roots, thick as pillars, slammed down toward Ling Feng with the force to shatter a mountain.
"Chaos Control: Shift."
Ling Feng didn't move his feet. He simply warped the space coordinates around his body by an inch.
BOOM!
The roots smashed into the ground where he stood, obliterating the mud and rock, but Ling Feng phased through the impact like a ghost. He reappeared instantly, standing on top of one of the massive roots.
"You're a feisty one, aren't you?" Ling Feng laughed, dancing back as another root swiped at him. "But you're standing on borrowed land, buddy. And the lease is up."
He stomped his foot.
Underneath the swamp, deep within the ley lines of the earth, lay the dormant Dao Platform of Emperor Xue Xi. This was the trap laid eons ago by the Immortal Emperor to suppress this very evil.
In the original timeline, Li Qiye had to use complex mantras, specific items, and rituals to awaken it.
Ling Feng didn't have time for rituals. He just brute-forced the ignition key.
He channeled the Red Chaos Emerald—Absolute Power—directly into the earth. The energy didn't attack; it pushed. It shoved the dormant gears of the earth, forcing the ancient mechanisms to turn through sheer, alien force.
RUMBLE!
The entire basin shook violently. The mud exploded upward in geysers of sludge.
Rays of blinding, holy white light shot up from the swamp, piercing the red mist like swords of judgment. The disciples watched in awe as the mud drained away, swirling down into the abyss, revealing a massive, ancient stone platform beneath the tree.
The platform was colossal, covered in Imperial Runes—markings left by an Immortal Emperor that radiated a supreme, untouchable majesty.
"The Slaughtering Evil Formation," Su Yonghuang breathed, her eyes widening as she recognized the patterns from ancient texts. "How... how did he know? Even the elders of the Ancient Sects don't know the command seals for this!"
"Get over here!" Ling Feng shouted, his veins bulging against his skin as he wrestled with the earth itself.
He wasn't just activating the platform; he was dragging the tree.
The Evil Typha Tree roared in panic. It felt the suppression of the Emperor's intent rising like a tide. It tried to uproot itself to flee, to tear away from the platform, but Ling Feng's Chaos Energy acted like a gravity anchor, locking the tree in place.
"Oh no, you don't!" Ling Feng gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. "You don't get to dine and dash! Sit your ass down!"
He slammed his hands together.
The white light of the formation intensified, forming chains of solid Dao Law that wrapped around the massive trunk. The tree thrashed, cracking the void, its screams tearing at the souls of everyone present, but the Imperial Aura held it fast.
But Ling Feng knew this wasn't enough. The formation could suppress it, but to kill a True God-level existence? He needed a blade.
His Chaos Sense scanned the platform. There. Buried in the center, rusted and forgotten, but still humming with a murderous intent that chilled the bone.
The Six Dao Sword.
"Come to papa!"
Ling Feng extended his hand. Inside his Inner Void, the Yellow Chaos Emerald spun wildly, generating a magnetic field specific to the spiritual metal.
Schwing!
A rusted iron sword tore itself free from the formation's core and flew through the air, slapping into Ling Feng's open palm.
As soon as skin touched metal, a wave of apocalyptic bloodlust washed over him. The sword had a spirit. It was ancient, cruel, and hungry. It immediately tried to bite into Ling Feng's mind, to overwhelm his consciousness and turn him into a puppet of slaughter.
"Shut up," Ling Feng said casually.
His Primal Chaos Genesis Physique flared.
The alien aura of the Chaos Force—an energy from a reality far beyond the scope of this universe—crushed the sword's rebellious spirit instantly. It was like a wolf trying to bite a dragon; the hierarchy was absolute. The sword whimpered psychically and submitted.
The rust flaked away in an instant. The blade revealed its true form—a black, jagged edge that seemed to absorb the light, radiating a sharpness that could cut the fabric of reality.
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Ling Feng shouted, floating mid-air, the massive black sword in one hand, the giant tree screaming in its binds before him. "Welcome to the main event! Watch closely! This is how you filet an oversized vegetable!"
He raised the Six Dao Sword high above his head.
He didn't know any sword techniques. He didn't know the 'Heavenly Slayer Art' or whatever fancy, flowery names the locals used. He didn't need them.
He just poured everything he had into the blade.
Chaos Energy mixed with the Emperor's Formation power, channeling into the black steel. The blade grew a hundred times in size, a phantom sword of pure annihilation hanging over the Typha Tree like the judgment of the heavens. The space around the blade collapsed, unable to bear the weight of the energy.
"Bye-bye!"
Ling Feng swung down.
CRACK-BOOM!
The sound was deafening. It wasn't just a physical impact; it was the sound of laws breaking. The world turned white.
The Six Dao Sword, empowered by the formation and the Chaos Force, sliced through the True God-level defense of the tree like a hot knife through butter. The red barrier, the resentful souls, the iron-hard bark—it all disintegrated.
The Evil Typha Tree let out a final, gurgling wail that faded into nothingness.
Nearly the entire tree was vaporized instantly. Its eons of cultivation, its massive reserve of blood essence—it was all crushed by the Six Dao Sword.
Only a specific chunk of the core remained. Ling Feng caught it with his energy.
"Refine!"
Under the immense pressure of his Chaos Energy, the remnants of the tree began to compress. The wood, the blood, the divinity—it all swirled together, imploding into a singularity.
Smaller. Smaller. Denser.
Until, finally, it solidified.
A golden ring.
It wasn't like the crimson ring of the Ape. This one was gold, swirling with textures of wood grain and the faint, silent faces of the redeemed. It radiated a vitality so potent that the grass near the crater began to grow instantly.
"Fourth Emerald fuel acquired," Ling Feng grinned, snatching the ring out of the air.
He looked at the Six Dao Sword in his other hand. "And a free souvenir. Not bad for a day's work."
The silence that followed was heavy, absolute, and stunned.
The mist had cleared. The red light was gone. All that remained was a massive crater, the ancient stone platform glowing softly, and Ling Feng, landing lightly on the ground with a golden ring in one hand and a black sword in the other.
With the destruction of the tree, the oppressive evil of the ridge began to lift, the air clearing for the first time in eras.
Ling Feng tossed the Six Dao Sword into his Inner Void without a second thought. He'd clean it up later; right now, he had an audience.
He walked back to the group. They were staring at him as if he were an alien. Which, technically, he was.
Ling Feng noticed Shi Gandang at the back. The old wise man, usually stoic and sturdy, looked utterly pale, like he had seen a ghost of the ancestors.
"Close your mouths, you'll catch flies," Ling Feng said, brushing some sawdust off his shoulder as if he had just finished a mild carpentry project.
"You..." Li Shuangyan swallowed hard, her throat dry. She looked at the crater where a True God existence had just stood moments ago. "You... you completely destroyed it..."
"It was a team effort," Ling Feng shrugged, spinning the Golden Ring on his finger. "Me, the Dao platform, and the sword. Mostly me, though. I did the heavy lifting."
"That formation..." Su Yonghuang stepped forward, her eyes scanning him frantically for injuries. Finding none, she looked at him with a mix of fear and awe. "That was the Slaughtering Evil Formation of Emperor Xue Xi. How could you possibly activate it? Even if you found it, the energy required..."
"I have a key," Ling Feng tapped his temple with a grin. "It's called 'being built different'. Also, I have really good eyes."
He didn't explain the Chaos Sense. They wouldn't understand it. To them, the Dao was a set of rigid rules, a scripture to be memorized. To Ling Feng, the Dao was just code, and he had admin privileges.
He held up the Golden Ring.
"This," he said, admiring the shimmer, "is pure, concentrated life essence. Half a True God's worth. If I ate this right now, I'd probably explode like a firework. So I'm saving it for a rainy day."
He looked at Xu Pei. The gentle girl was looking at him with wide, sparkling eyes—a mix of hero-worship and terror.
"You okay, Pei-Pei? You look like you saw a ghost. Or a really big weed whacker."
"I... I..." Xu Pei stammered, clutching her chest. "You were so... cool."
Ling Feng laughed, a loud, genuine belly laugh that broke the tension. "That's the review I was looking for! Five stars on Yelp. I'll take it."
He walked over and gave Xu Pei a quick, affectionate peck on the forehead, causing her to turn a brilliant shade of crimson. He then turned his attention to Chen Baojiao.
The fierce beauty was trembling. Not from fear, but from the adrenaline of witnessing such overwhelming power. Her eyes were burning with an intense emotion. She respected strength above all else, and she had just watched a man dismantle a God.
"You," she said, her voice husky and breathless. "You are endless. Is there anything you cannot do?"
"I can't cook," Ling Feng admitted with a straight face. "I burn water. That's why I need my lovely wives to share home-cooked meals with me. I'm helpless in the kitchen."
Chen Baojiao scoffed, but a genuine smile tugged at her lips, softening her fierce expression. The tension in her shoulders broke. "You are an idiot."
"And you're a part of this idiot's crew," Ling Feng smiled brilliantly. "Welcome to the winning team."
He turned to the disciples—the Seven Ghosts. They were looking at him like he was their god now. Any lingering doubt or fear was completely gone, replaced by a fanatical loyalty. If Ling Feng told them to jump into a volcano right now, they would ask if he wanted them to do a backflip on the way down.
"Alright, show's over," Ling Feng clapped his hands. "Nothing to see here folks. Just a little extreme gardening."
He looked back toward the entrance of the swamp.
"Now then, we got everything we came for. We cleared the dungeon, beat the boss, got the loot. I think it's time to celebrate with my beautiful girlfriends." Ling Feng stretched his arms over his head.
Li Shuangyan blushed, looking down at her feet, though she didn't step away. "You are insufferable."
"And you love it," Ling Feng countered, wrapping an arm comfortably around her shoulder. She stiffened for a microsecond, then relaxed, leaning into his warmth. She didn't shake him off.
"Come on," Ling Feng said, his voice softening as he looked at his group—his crew. His gaze lingered on each of them, genuine warmth in his eyes. "Let's go home."
As they walked away, the ancient platform of Emperor Xue Xi hummed one last time before sinking back into the mud, its duty fulfilled, leaving only the legend of the man who treated a True God like a landscaping problem.