9. A Brand New World

Are we inside the ancient nine-level warship? This is utterly beyond belief!

Lin Fan knew Chen Cunyuan would not deceive him—they truly were inside the ancient vessel.

However, the revelation was so staggering that if not for all that had transpired, Lin Fan would have thought he was dreaming.

He had faced He Luoyu, the Purple Spirit King, and those unimaginable, fantastical worlds.

Most importantly, Senior Sister Qi was being targeted because of him?

He had been unconscious for five days. To others, Lin Fan’s chances of survival were zero. Who would waste food on someone on the brink of death?

Originally, the food supply was only enough for ten days. After that, they would face the dire problem of hunger and thirst.

Lin Fan fell silent. Only after receiving Chen Cunyuan’s information did he realize they had already left Earth; their exact location was unknown, and their situation was perilous.

“Brother Fan, don’t overthink it. We’ll be safe. Now that you’re awake, they won’t target Dr. Qi anymore!”

“Hmm, who exactly is targeting Senior Sister Qi?”

Lin Fan quietly looked at Chen Cunyuan, whose face was hesitant, as if unsure whether to speak.

“Cunyuan…”

“Brother Fan, it’s Huang Qiushan and Huang Dongshan. While you were unconscious, they took full control of the guard team. You know Huang Qiushan has always been against you. If it weren’t for your saving everyone, he would have done something monstrous.”

“Three days ago, Ma Kaihong tried to break free from their control but was thrown off the ancient ship by Huang Qiushan and swallowed by the Blood Sea’s vengeful spirits.”

Chen Cunyuan took a deep breath. He was grateful to Lin Fan, who had saved him repeatedly. He admired Lin Fan’s selflessness and didn’t want him to take unnecessary risks.

“I understand.”

Ma Kaihong was one of the few who had broken through with them. Quiet and reserved, Lin Fan didn’t have a deep impression of him.

What could be said was that Ma Kaihong had a decent character. For such an honest man to be cast into the Blood Sea by Huang Qiushan—what was the difference between that and being utterly ruthless?

“Huang Qiushan…”

Lin Fan held a measure of judgment within his heart, a moral compass that constantly evaluated himself and others. When that compass tilted severely, it meant the person had crossed an intolerable line.

“Cunyuan, you found me, didn’t you?”

Lin Fan suddenly asked.

“Yes! Brother Fan, you just happened to fall right in the middle of the monument forest, so you weren’t seriously injured.”

“Where are my things?”

Lin Fan looked around but could not find the Pure Yang Sword. Before he lost consciousness, he seemed to have seen the Pure Yang Sword fused with the relic.

“Brother Fan…”

Chen Cunyuan leaned closer, his voice lowering so only the two could hear. “Before entering the microscopic realm, we all saw the Pure Yang Sword emit a fierce white light. For a moment, we suspected it was your sword that brought us here. That’s why Huang Qiushan is searching for it; everyone pins their hopes on the Pure Yang Sword.”

Chen Cunyuan had hidden the Pure Yang Sword, which made sense—he feared others would covet it and use it to threaten Lin Fan.

“Thank you.”

“Brother Fan, you’ve saved me so many times; my life belongs to you. No need to thank me,” Chen Cunyuan said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “The nine-level ancient warship isn’t stationary. Maybe, just maybe, we can get back to Earth!”

“Hmph, I think the chances of going to the underworld are far greater than returning to Earth!”

Qin Fen snorted. Before coming down here, he had witnessed an unforgettable scene—the vast, endless Blood Sea, vividly red and shining, with a sky so gloomy that neither sun nor stars were visible.

Going back? A hopeless fantasy.

At least he no longer entertained the thought of returning to Earth.

“Little Fen, without faith, one is a walking corpse. Don’t you understand that?”

Chen Cunyuan shot Qin Fen a sharp look.

Qin Fen merely curled his lips and said nothing.

“Brother Fan, take good care of your wounds…”

…

On the nine-level ancient warship, a ghostly mist covered everything. The surroundings were shrouded in gray, barely allowing visibility of five to ten meters.

The researchers were stationed on the ninth level, the safest floor. From what they had gathered, each level was as large as four football fields.

“Hurry, move the food inside; it’s our lifeline!”

Huang Qiushan removed his cold-weather gear, exposing a round belly. A Type 30 rifle hung from his neck as he directed the guards and research students to transport food.

Along with them, the research institute had fallen onto the warship. The small mountain hill smashed onto the deck like a lump of mud, and the scientific equipment inside was beyond salvage.

They could only try to save whatever little they could—they needed every extra day to survive.

Here, there was no rank, no humanity’s constraints. Huang Qiushan, wielding a gun, refused to work himself, merely commanding the research students and logistics.

“Boss, we’ve saved the most water and canned goods. This food will last eleven days, which means in eighteen days, we’ll starve to death!”

Wang Xingbing and five guards approached, their eyes full of respect. Clearly, Huang Qiushan had won them over; three days ago, they had witnessed Ma Kaihong being thrown off the ship. To say they weren’t afraid was a lie.

No one was unafraid of death; no one wished to perish.

All previous worries had distilled into one: survival, surviving longer.

“How many bullets do we have left?” Huang Qiushan was unconcerned with food; what mattered was the weapon in his hands. With a gun, he was the ruler. Anyone who disobeyed would be shot down, sent to the West to meet Buddha.

“One hundred fifty-six rounds, divided equally, thirty per man.”

“That’s enough!”

Confidence gleamed in Huang Qiushan’s eyes.

“Brother, have you found the Pure Yang Sword?”

At that moment, Huang Dongshan strode over. Still dressed in his research coat, his posture upright, even here in this alien world.

“Cousin, I’ve searched everywhere these past few days—every reachable place—but no luck.”

Huang Qiushan was somewhat helpless. He didn’t understand what use an ancient sword was. No matter how sharp, how could it compare to a gun?

“Fool, how can that rusted hunk compare to the Pure Yang Sword?”

Huang Dongshan seemed to see the disdain in his cousin’s heart.

“Search with all your might! It is our hope to return. Everyone on the ship must cooperate.”

“Yes!”

Huang Qiushan and Wang Xingbing responded.

“Divine light immortal descends to the mortal realm; sword and abode unite to transcend the ordinary!”

“Dark ghostly realm traverses the Blood Sea; because of mortal calamity, the divine shall not ferry!”

Huang Dongshan murmured these four lines, neither quite poem nor prose, but possessing profound meaning. Unfortunately, he only knew that the Pure Yang Sword held secrets and could never fully understand them.

The more elusive it was, the stronger Huang Dongshan’s desire to possess the Pure Yang Sword grew.

“Through solitary night and ghostly divine sea, one Pure Yang sword reaches infinite!”

“Old man, just telling me these two lines won’t help. I’ll pry your mouth open if I have to!” Huang Dongshan’s eyes darkened, his handsome face clouded with chilling coldness, exuding an icy terror.

“Dr. Yang is speaking?”

Huang Qiushan was taken aback. Though he didn’t understand the words, he knew who his cousin meant by “old man.”