The summit of the Senti-mountains was not merely a geographic location; it was a wound in the fabric of reality. At this altitude, the cold did not just freeze the skin—it froze the very concept of time. This was a true Anti-Life Zone, a territory where the natural laws of physics and Qi stood still, paralyzed by an entity they could not comprehend. There was no sound of wind here, for the air itself was too terrified to move. Amidst this white, suffocating wasteland sat a solitary, weathered hut, looking less like a shelter and more like a tombstone for the world.
Inside the hut, Huang Qing sat in absolute, terrifying stillness. To a passing traveler, he would have appeared as a hermit lost in a meditation, but beneath his bronze skin, the Divine Cells were vibrating in a rhythmic, agonizing pulse. It was a hunger that had been suppressed for five hundred years—a primordial greed that viewed the entire world as nothing more than a ripening fruit waiting to be plucked. Each cell was a microscopic predator, screaming for the essence of stars and the blood of gods.
Huang Qing's mind drifted to the pathetic hierarchy of power that governed this weak era. He could feel the flickers of life at the base of the mountain. In this world, cultivators climbed the ladder of Realms, thinking each step made them deities:
Mortal Shedding (Levels 1-3): Breaking human limits. (The "trash" currently approaching).
Earthly Saint: Shattering mountains and taking flight.
Heavenly Sovereign: Controlling weather and erasing cities.
Celestial Star: Immortality and the awakening of Star-Energy.
Ancient God: Continent-level threats. (Where the legendary Xerxes once stood).
Universal Devourer: Erasing the Laws of Reality. (Huang Qing's current state).
Primordial Sin / Void Sovereign: The End. The power to swallow the entire universe.
'Divine Cells... be still,' Huang Qing commanded inwardly. His voice was a cold anchor in a sea of chaotic hunger. Every time he drew a shallow breath, the walls of the hut trembled. 'The scent drifting up the mountain is stale. It is the blood of level-three insects. Wait for the nectar of an Ancient God. Wait for the harvest of the stars.'
The silence outside did not break; it was shattered. Below the final ridge, the heavy, disciplined boots of the Murim Alliance "Prodigies" crunched through the permafrost. These were men who had never known defeat, led by Young Master Zhao, a peak Mortal Shedder who believed his blue lightning Qi made him a god among men.
Among them stood Captain Feng, a veteran who had survived forty years of demonic wars. Feng's legs trembled, but it wasn't the frost. He looked down and saw a sight that turned his soul to ice: where their boots touched the ground, the snow did not melt—it turned a bruised, necrotic Black. He looked at Zhao's legendary blade and saw fine spiderwebs of "Void-Rust" creeping across the divine steel. The mountain wasn't just cold; it was consuming the "meaning" of their existence.
"Whoever is hiding in this shack, crawl out!" Zhao's voice boomed, though it sounded thin and fragile against the vacuum of the peak. "By decree of the High Council, this peak is now the property of the Murim Alliance! Vacate, or your blood will stain this snow!"
The door of the hut did not creak. It simply ceased to be a barrier.
Huang Qing stepped out. He wore a Void-Silk Robe woven from the fabric of a starless night. His left hand was buried deep in the folds of his robe, his posture relaxed and dangerously casual.
"Property?" Huang Qing's voice cut through the air like a cold blade. "Humans are fascinating. You spend your flickering lives claiming dirt, never realizing that you are standing on the edge of the very abyss that will consume your lineage."
Zhao's temper flared. "I am a peak expert! My lightning can cleave the earth!" He unleashed a massive surge of blue lightning.
But as the energy touched the invisible boundary around Huang Qing, the blue light died. It turned Pitch Black, corrupted and stripped of its frequency, falling to the snow like tattered ribbons of soot. Huang Qing didn't use a shield; he simply issued an "Order" to the energy, and the lightning obeyed its superior.
Captain Feng fell to his knees. His veteran instincts forced a vision into his mind—a Primordial Shadow towering behind Huang Qing, a gargantuan silhouette whose mouth was open to swallow the sun. He realized then that even an Earthly Saint would be nothing more than a snack for this man.
Huang Qing withdrew his right hand with a slow, hypnotic grace. On his wrist sat a Celestial Sun-Dial, an ancient instrument that measured the "Biological Debt" of those before him.
'Time has run out,' Huang Qing thought, glancing at the dial's frozen needle.
He held his hand up and performed a sharp, crystalline Snap.
The logic of reality broke. Huang Qing gave a biological 'Order' to the cells within Zhao's body: Cease to exist.
Zhao froze mid-air. A terrifying psychological weight crashed into his soul. He saw a vision of thousands of his ancestors—the entire Zhao lineage—turning their backs on him before dissolving into dust. Huang Qing was not just killing the man; he was erasing the resonance of his history.
In an instant, Zhao's blood pressurized and rebelled. It burst through every pore in a violent crimson mist, but the "Anti-Life" pressure of the Divine Cells ignited it before it could fall. Zhao's physical mass simply vanished—erased at the molecular level. His ornate robes collapsed onto the snow, completely flat and empty. As the clothes hit the ground, a cloud of fine, grey ash puffed out from the neck and sleeves like a cold, final breath. There was no body. No weight. Only the hollow remains of an arrogant dream.
Huang Qing pulled a pristine silk handkerchief from his robe. With slow, rhythmic movements, he wiped a microscopic speck of ash from his thumb.
"Captain," Huang Qing said, his voice cold enough to stop a heart.
Feng could only shake in terror, staring at the empty, ash-filled suit of his master.
"Go back to the world below. Tell your Aakas (Masters) that the master of the house has returned. Tell them that the silence they have enjoyed for five hundred years was only a loan..."
Huang Qing's gaze fixed on Feng with a hunger that felt like a black hole.
"...and I have come to collect the Principal and the Interest."
Huang Qing turned and walked back into his shack. He picked up an Old Jade Flute and began a haunting, low-frequency humming.
Far below, as Feng and the survivors scrambled down the mountain, they suddenly felt a searing pain in their souls. Their Qi wasn't just disappearing—it was being Harvested. Huang Qing didn't need to touch them; his very presence was a gravitational vacuum for energy. Thousands of meters away, as Huang Qing breathed in, their cultivation was pulled from their bodies like smoke into a storm. By the time they reached the base, they were nothing but empty shells, their life-force drained to fuel the mutation of Huang Qing's cells.
The mountain returned to its unnatural silence. But the "Celestial Stars" in the high heavens felt the ripple. The debt collector had arrived, and his hunger was absolute.