Beyond the Timescape

Chapter 2: Mutagen

“If he’s alive, it might actually be tied to the purple light… or it’s a trap.” Xu Qing narrowed his eyes, weighing his options.

His time in this ruined city had taught him a brutal truth: anything corrupted by the aura of the gods and twisted into a mutated beast was lethally ferocious and possessed terrifying strength. Fortunately, this forbidden zone hadn’t fully matured yet. The beasts mostly slumbered during the day. As long as he didn’t blunder into their dens—like he had when securing the bamboo slip—careful scavenging was survivable.

But beasts were predictable. Living people were not. A human heart was far more treacherous than a monster’s maw.

His gaze cooled into a sharp, predatory stare. Trap or survivor, he was going back to that sector. He just needed to be ready for blood.

Xu Qing tightened his grip on the bamboo slip. The physical changes from his recent cultivation gave him a sliver of confidence. His mind drifted to the slip’s contents. Beyond the breathing techniques, it detailed the harsh reality of their world’s cultivation.

Cultivation was an ancient legacy, predating the arrival of the Fragmented Face of God. Though warped by the apocalypse, the core progression remained: Qi Condensation, Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, and Nascent Soul.

Anything beyond Nascent Soul was omitted, likely lost to time or deemed too lofty for a scavenger’s text. Instead, the slip focused on a grim truth: the gods’ aura had infected the world’s Spiritual Qi. This cosmic radiation was a lethal poison to all living things. The survivors called it Mutagen.

Xu Qing knew this firsthand. The biting, invasive cold he felt while cultivating was the Mutagen lacing the Spiritual Qi. If this toxic energy accumulated too much, it triggered horrific mutations. A cultivator would either detonate into a mist of blood or warp into a mindless, grotesque beast. Whenever the Fragmented Face of God opened its eyes to gaze upon the world, the Mutagen concentration spiked, instantly accelerating this gruesome process.

Cultivation was practically a death sentence.

Yet, refusing to cultivate in this radioactive wasteland was just a slower suicide. The ambient pollution ravaged mortal bodies, slashing lifespans and breeding malignant plagues. It was a living purgatory where dying of old age was a myth. Cultivation was the only desperate path forward.

Over countless generations, humanity adapted. Modern techniques focused on absorbing Spiritual Qi while simultaneously filtering out the Mutagen, compressing the toxic sludge into a specific, isolated part of the body. This physical manifestation of corruption was called a Mutation Point.

A technique’s worth was measured entirely by its filtration efficiency. Naturally, the major sects and elite families hoarded the high-efficiency manuals. Apocalypse or not, the strong always monopolized the best resources. Depending on the method, the Mutation Point formed in different areas. But the end result was universal: to cultivate was to invite Mutagen into the flesh. A Mutation Point was inevitable.

Theoretically, this corruption was irreversible. Certain Pills could suppress the symptoms, but they couldn’t cure the underlying rot. The bamboo slip offered only a single, fleeting sentence regarding true purification.

Beyond the South Phoenix Continent lay a far more massive landmass: the Wanggu Continent. It was the cradle of humanity. Though it too suffered under the gods’ gaze, rumors claimed they had discovered a way to completely purge Mutagen.

But such a miracle cure couldn’t be mass-produced. It was a luxury reserved for the absolute elite. Ordinary cultivators could only dream of it, and for the countless low-level Rogue Cultivators scraping by in the dirt, it was a sheer impossibility. Rogue Cultivators relied on trash-tier techniques with abysmal filtration rates, making their progression agonizingly slow and their risk of horrific mutation astronomically high.

Yet, despite the lethal stakes, they were everywhere. Xu Qing knew he was now one of them.

The bamboo slip likened cultivating in this wasteland to a mortal swimming across a stormy, poisoned ocean toward an unreachable shore. Most drowned in exhaustion and madness long before catching sight of land.

But Xu Qing had grown up in the slums. He knew a single knife wound or a winter fever was enough to end a life.

“Better to risk mutating tomorrow than guarantee dying today,” he thought.

He traced the jagged scar on his chest and peered through the crack in his hideout. Dawn was approaching. The guttural roars and shrill screams echoing through the ruins had finally begun to die down.

“If the blood rain doesn’t stop, and I can’t find that purple light, I’ll have to abandon this city and hunt for herbs elsewhere.” He glanced down at his chest. The gods’ aura and the relentless blood rain had severely contaminated everything in the ruins, rotting the local flora. Usable medicinal herbs were practically non-existent.

He pressed a finger against his scar. Fresh blood welled up, seeping through the grime. His face paled slightly. Taking a steadying breath, he stripped off the ragged shirt beneath his oversized animal fur coat, tore it into strips, and tightly bound the wound. Then, he sat in the dark, silently waiting for the sun.

Not long after, the monstrous cries outside faded into absolute silence. Through the crevice, the sky shifted to a sickly, bruised gray. Dawn had broken. Experience told him it was time to move.

He didn’t rush. Standing up, he stretched his stiff limbs, forcing blood back into his muscles until a faint warmth spread through his core. Only then did he quietly shift the stones and debris blocking his exit. By the dim light filtering in, he opened his leather bag to take inventory.

He strapped a rust-pitted dagger to his calf. His primary weapon—a sharpened, pitch-black iron skewer—was tucked into his belt, perfectly positioned for a lightning-fast draw. Finally, he unwrapped a severed snake head from a piece of hemp cloth, inspected its venomous fangs, and carefully rewrapped it.

With preparations complete, Xu Qing closed his eyes. After a few deep breaths, he snapped them open, his gaze now cold and focused. He slipped through the exit, pausing at the threshold to scan the surroundings. Seeing no immediate threats, he burst forward, dashing into the dim morning light.

He raced toward the sector where he’d seen the possible survivor.

The perpetual blood rain choked the sky, blotting out the sun. The dawn was a murky, sickly twilight, like the fading gaze of a dying old man, its breath a cold wind that reeked of decay. Without proper warmth, the chill would seep into the bones, but Xu Qing’s earlier stretches kept the cold at bay.

His form was fluid and swift as he leaped over collapsed walls and scrambled across rubble, moving like a predator through the desolate cityscape. High above, a flock of birds soared, too distant to hunt.

Xu Qing glanced up at them, licking his lips. He didn’t know why, but after the gods’ gaze, while most life perished or mutated, birds had survived in greater numbers. They’d been his primary source of food. These birds also seemed to possess an instinct for finding relatively safe shelters, like the burrow he’d discovered by following their trails. Such spots weren’t completely secure, but they appeared less noticeable to the mutated beasts and other horrors.

He’d found two such places: his stone crevice and another near the old city lord’s mansion. For now, he ignored the birds, focusing entirely on his destination as he drew closer.

Upon nearing the area, he didn’t approach directly. Instead, he circled around to a high vantage point. Cautiously climbing up, he lay flat, motionless, squinting to minimize any glint in his eyes as he slowly peered down.

At first glance, Xu Qing’s pupils contracted. He saw the figure again—the same person from yesterday, sitting propped against a broken wall, clothes neat, skin unblemished. Most unsettlingly, their posture, expression, everything was identical to how they’d appeared the day before. It was as if they hadn’t moved an inch all night.

This defied logic. If it were a living person, the nocturnal horrors of the city wouldn’t have ignored them. If it were a corpse, the unpolluted body would have been devoured by mutated beasts long ago.

Xu Qing remained silent, his mind racing. Growing up in the slums had taught him patience. He lay there, watching intently as time crawled by. Morning turned to afternoon, and still, the figure didn’t stir.

After waiting for three hours, Xu Qing made a decision. He gently picked up a small stone and, with a flick of his wrist, sent it shooting toward the figure. The stone struck the body with a solid thud, causing it to sway and topple over like a lifeless doll.

As it fell, a glimmer of purple light was revealed on the ground where it had been sitting.

The moment he saw the purple glow, Xu Qing’s eyes sharpened, and his breath hitched. This was what he’d been searching for all these days—the purple light that had descended upon the city. Fighting the urge to rush forward immediately, he forced himself to wait a few more tense moments. When nothing happened, he exploded into motion.

He sprinted at full speed, his body coiling like a hawk diving for prey. In a flash, he reached the purple light, snatched it up, and immediately launched himself backward, putting distance between himself and the site. He didn’t stop until he was over 30 feet away, panting heavily as he examined the object in his hand.

It was a Purple Crystal, translucent and shimmering with an ethereal beauty.

His heart hammered in his chest. Looking back, he saw the fallen corpse. Without the crystal’s protection, its clothes were rapidly corroding, and its skin turned a sickly bluish-black in seconds.

This sight made Xu Qing clutch the Purple Crystal tighter. He turned and sprinted back toward his hideout.

But after running for a while, his steps faltered. A look of confusion crossed his face. He loosened his fur coat and looked down at the bandage on his chest. There was no fresh blood seeping through. Instead, a faint itching sensation had begun to spread.

Xu Qing’s eyes narrowed. He tore open the makeshift bandage and stared at his wound. His mind reeled. He distinctly remembered checking it at dawn; the injury hadn’t healed, and the edges had even darkened further. But now…

The gash on his chest had mostly closed, with only a faint scar remaining at the edges.

“This…” Xu Qing’s breathing grew ragged. Then, his gaze snapped back to the Purple Crystal in his hand.