The No. 1 Hunfen King in the Entire Server [Interstellar] Chapter 28

So don’t go back.

Lin Jing froze for a moment, confused. “Not go back? Won’t our stamina drop like crazy out here?”

Xu Wanzhi replied calmly, “The system lied to you. Trust me or trust it—your choice.”

Lin Jing: “….” 

“You’re comparing yourself to the system now?!” This guy sure had guts. Could he be any more self-assured?

Xu Wanzhi chuckled lightly, then explained, “As for stamina, just get some sleep, and it’ll recover on its own.”

“What about food?” Lin Jing pressed.

After a brief pause, Xu Wanzhi smiled faintly. “There are plenty of creatures in the ocean. Food shouldn’t be an issue.”

Lin Jing hesitated. “…Alright.”

He figured he must’ve lost his mind—trusting Xu Wanzhi’s nonsense over the system’s warnings.

Letting the matter drop for now, Lin Jing shifted his gaze back to the scene in the distance.

The blood-red “firework” had already dissipated. The massive nautilus dragged its heavy form through the ocean, disappearing into the depths like a lingering nightmare.

Elena approached the nearsighted guy, leaned slightly toward him, and said something with a smile.

The boy’s face turned deathly pale. He hurriedly lowered his head, trembling fingers fiddling with his camera, clearly determined to stay out of it.

Lin Jing sighed and averted his gaze. “Yeah… maybe not going back is the right call after all.”

He used to think Elena was just inexplicably strange. Now, he thought she was downright deranged.

Turning around, Lin Jing noticed Xu Wanzhi raising his camera and snapping a shot in the direction of the fading scene.

The photo developed instantly, capturing the moment the bloody mist dissipated. The center of the image showcased a surreal, gradient blend of orange, pink, and red—like an explosion in a delicate watercolor painting. It was hauntingly beautiful, a stark juxtaposition to the reality of someone being devoured alive.

As always, Xu Wanzhi handed the photo directly to him.

He casually asked, “Beautiful?”

Lin Jing was brutally honest. “Not at all.” Fireworks made from a human body? That was just morbid.

But speaking of fireworks, Lin Jing suddenly remembered Elena’s mention of “cosmic fireworks” earlier. Curious, he asked, “Do you like fireworks?”

Xu Wanzhi’s tone remained calm. “Fireworks? Depends on who sets them off for me.”

Lin Jing was stunned. “You’re picky about that too?”

Xu Wanzhi continued nonchalantly, “But I’ve never liked any of the fireworks I’ve seen in my life so far.”

“Then you don’t actually like fireworks.” 

Xu Wanzhi glanced at him. “Why? Were you planning to set some off for me?”

Lin Jing paused before replying honestly, “No, I just thought of what Elena said earlier about explosions.”

Xu Wanzhi chuckled faintly and softly repeated the name, “Aurora.” His voice carried a cool, magnetic quality that was inexplicably captivating.

“You’ve heard of it too?” Lin Jing asked, surprised. They were around the same age—how come Xu Wanzhi seemed to know more?

“Mm,” Xu Wanzhi replied simply.

Lin Jing wanted to probe further, but sensing Xu Wanzhi’s reluctance, he changed the subject. “So, where are we staying tonight?”

Xu Wanzhi answered, “The Ordovician is followed by the first mass extinction. Let’s find a cave to hide in.”

Lin Jing was in the middle of hopping off a reef when the statement nearly made him twist his ankle. Shocked, he turned back. “What? The mass extinction is happening soon?”

“Yeah,” Xu Wanzhi replied calmly.

Lin Jing grimaced. “Are we going to get wiped out along with everything else?”

“No,” Xu Wanzhi reassured him. “I told you, the system’s bluffing. Other than attacks by ancient creatures, players aren’t affected by external factors.”

That made sense. If external factors could harm players, this game would be unplayable.

Considering the harsh environment of the Paleozoic era, the ocean water itself probably contained lethal elements, and even the sunlight filtering down was likely saturated with intolerable radiation.

Lin Jing was curious. “You seem to have quite a grudge against the Survivor system.”

Xu Wanzhi chuckled, amused. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Maybe a little.”

“Why? Played it too much and discovered all its flaws?” Lin Jing teased.

He recalled how, in their previous world, he’d had a discussion with Xu Wanzhi about the Survivor game mechanics. Thinking back, it felt almost laughable—talking strategy with the leaderboard’s number one player? He’d really been fearless in his ignorance.

Then again, he himself had once basked in the glory of being number one, too.

Xu Wanzhi raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly. “I play this game because I’m forced to.”

Lin Jing was stunned. “…” Wow. Forced to play, and you still made it to the top of the rankings. What are the rest of us even doing with our lives?

Thinking about his own current situation, he suddenly felt too depressed to continue the conversation.

Though the Ordovician was teeming with life, tagging along with Xu Wanzhi had allowed Lin Jing to collect samples of nearly 90% of the creatures already.

Now, their priority was finding a safe place to rest.

The wristband wasn’t just a stamina meter—it also functioned like a clock. Each phase of the game began counting down from the moment a player’s stamina naturally started depleting to zero.

As they traveled westward, Lin Jing muttered to himself, “The Ordovician mass extinction was caused by gamma-ray bursts hitting Earth from space… so won’t staying near the ocean’s surface be super dangerous? We should probably head deeper underwater, just to be safe.”

“Mm,” Xu Wanzhi agreed.

Lin Jing searched for holes, walking and stopping intermittently as his gaze shifted. He noticed that trilobites were scattered everywhere on the ground, their appearance largely unchanged.

While other creatures had evolved into various strange and diverse forms, this ancient lineage remained the same, still bearing its signature armor and antennae, quietly feeding on the ocean floor. Their distinct features made them instantly recognizable.

Lin Jing muttered, “Trilobites sure thrived in these two eras. Will they disappear in the first mass extinction?”

Xu Wanzhi chuckled. “No, you’ll be seeing them throughout this entire game.”

Lin Jing was momentarily surprised. “That resilient?”

The seabed was filled with coral reefs and rocks. He crouched down, parted a swaying cluster of sea anemones, and spotted a trilobite about seven centimeters long. Amidst the vibrant underwater landscape, it moved leisurely, as if strolling through its own garden.

Lin Jing suddenly had an idea. “Do you think the system completely regenerates organisms every time it refreshes them, or does it evolve them directly from their original forms?”

Xu Wanzhi: “Why are you asking this?”

Lin Jing thought he was a genius. His dark brown eyes reflected the vibrant underwater plants as he smiled and said, “Why don’t we conduct an experiment?”

He took off his backpack and pulled out a deep red marker. Gently cupping a trilobite that had been nibbling on something, he placed it in his palm. The trilobite twitched its antennae in protest at being picked up but, seemingly used to idleness, didn’t even bother struggling. It simply found a spot in his hand to settle down again, looking like a lifeless bug.

Lin Jing chuckled, scolding it playfully. “No wonder your kind hasn’t evolved much in millions of years.” A life of complacency and inertia, he thought, perfectly embodied in eight simple words.

Starting with top-tier gear, yet barely changing even up to extinction.

Smiling, Lin Jing took a red pen and lightly marked an “X” on the trilobite’s shell.

The seawater felt more like a projection, unlikely to retain any artificial markings.

Xu Wanzhi watched him thoughtfully. “Are you planning to look for it next time?”

Lin Jing replied, “I’ve stamped it, of course, I have to keep an eye on it.”

The little trilobite remained completely unaware that an “X” had been drawn on its back.

Lin Jing gently touched its antennae, his smile as soft as a spring breeze. “Live well. I hope I’ll see you next time.”

The trilobite twitched its antennae slightly.

Xu Wanzhi’s gaze deepened. “What if you don’t see it next time?”

Lin Jing frowned, thought for a moment, then switched to a white pen and drew a circle around the red “X.” Whistling, he praised himself, “If I don’t see it again, this white circle will be my tribute to it.”

Xu Wanzhi was momentarily stunned before bursting into laughter. “You really are clever.”

Placing the trilobite, now marked with an “X” and a circle, back in its original spot, Lin Jing crouched and watched its slow-moving antennae, finding it more and more adorable. Sincerely, he remarked, “So cute.”

Xu Wanzhi smiled. “Yeah.” Really cute.

Moving westward, the light gradually dimmed, and their stamina was steadily depleting. If they didn’t find shelter before it hit zero, they would likely be killed by the chaotic creatures during the mass extinction. Lin Jing searched everywhere—coral, reefs, caves, seaweed fields—he even tried digging, but when he found that the seabed was all quicksand, he gave up.

Finally stopping in front of a massive underwater rock, he sat down and looked around. “If there’s no other choice, we’ll stay here.”

Next to the enormous rock, there were several medium-sized rocks clustered together, forming narrow gaps that could serve as shelter.

Their stamina countdown had reached five.

By now, the others were probably back on the submarine, sitting in the meeting hall, each with their own agenda, eating.

Lin Jing looked up at the scene before him, feeling an unexpected calm—no regret at all.

He had chosen the harder path, only to discover an entirely different kind of beauty in the ocean depths.

The light was dim; the sunset’s afterglow barely reached the deep sea, making the bioluminescent flora and fauna stand out even more.

The water was a silent black, filled with drifting plankton weaving through the seaweed. Jellyfish floated above, swaying like lanterns in the distance, their murky yellow glow resembling a sea of moons. Coral reefs and sea lilies decorated the rocks in lush clusters, their delicate forms illuminated by the faint blue glow of fungi nestled among them. This tranquil ocean seemed to echo the sound of water flowing from billions of years ago.

Lin Jing instinctively turned his head. The water and seaweed filtered the light, and in the dim glow, he could see Xu Wanzhi’s profile.

The small tear-shaped mole at the corner of his eye was illuminated, his lips faintly pressed into a line. Between the interplay of light and shadow, there was an unusual stillness and seriousness about him, mixed with an innate cold indifference.

“Xu Wanzhi.” Lin Jing’s heart skipped a beat as he called out.

Xu Wanzhi shifted his gaze back, lips curving slightly as he asked, “Are you really planning to stay here for the night?”

Lin Jing: “What else? There’s not enough time. Do you have a better place to go?”

Xu Wanzhi tilted his head upward, a smirk playing on his lips. “Of course I do. Want to come with me?”

Lin Jing found his question pointless. “Of course.”

He had already trusted him enough to stay outside instead of returning to the submarine—what was there to refuse?

Even he thought he was crazy. Last round, Xu Wanzhi had hidden his true identity so well, only revealing it at the last moment. And yet, Lin Jing still dared to trust him now?

The thought made him wary. “Wait a minute. You’re not some kind of deep-sea boss trying to eliminate all the players, are you? Am I the first one you’ve lured in?”

Xu Wanzhi looked at him seriously. “I am. Are you scared?”

Lin Jing: “…”

Lin Jing: “No. It’s just a game.”

Xu Wanzhi didn’t believe him. “You didn’t take winning and losing so lightly in the last round.”

The stamina countdown was now at 4.

Lin Jing felt exasperated. “Are you done yet?”

Xu Wanzhi’s laughter was genuine this time, his voice tinged with delight. “Is it so hard to admit you trust me?”

D*mn it. Lin Jing turned to leave.

But Xu Wanzhi grabbed his wrist. His skin was cold to the touch.

Pulling Lin Jing closer, Xu Wanzhi’s breath was warm against him as he said with a smile, “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s dive into the deep sea together.”

Dive into the deep sea?

Lin Jing’s eyes widened in shock. Was he crazy, or was Xu Wanzhi? But as it turned out, Xu Wanzhi’s madness didn’t end there.

He led him to the top of the rocky formation. The massive rock was like an underwater mountain. From the peak, Lin Jing saw what lay behind it: a deep trench, dark and foreboding, like the gaping maw of a monstrous abyss.

Lin Jing didn’t have thalassophobia, but the sight still made him shudder.

The scariest thing about the deep sea was the unknown. A trench like this could be thousands of meters deep, harboring gigantic sea monsters no one had ever seen.

“You’re planning to jump down?” Lin Jing tried to keep his voice steady.

Xu Wanzhi: “Of course….” Seeing Lin Jing’s expression change, he laughed and corrected himself. “Of course not.”

Lin Jing let out a small sigh of relief. But then, Xu Wanzhi suddenly reached out, grabbing the tentacle of a massive jellyfish, nearly two meters wide. Tugging it downward, he said with a grin, “Look, we’ve got a ride.”

Lin Jing: “???”

He could only watch as the jellyfish, instead of darting away when touched, slowly lowered its gelatinous body. The pale yellow creature, resembling a suspended moon, stopped in front of him. Its translucent body pulsed gently, glowing with a crystalline, dreamlike light. Words failed to capture his astonishment.

As Lin Jing was nudged forward onto the jellyfish, he murmured in a daze, “You really dare.” Once he climbed on and settled down, his expression grew even more conflicted. “And apparently, so do I.”

That Xu Wanzhi, with his extraordinary mental power and status as a character independent of the players, had such abilities didn’t surprise Lin Jing.

This jellyfish likely resided near the trench and was merely taking them along as it passed by.

It floated leisurely toward the abyss, its body trailing softly behind.

Seated atop the jellyfish, Lin Jing was on edge, his thoughts racing: “This thing is 90% water—what if it suddenly collapses? If I fall and die, I’ll be kicked straight out of the game, right? Ha ha.” His nerves were so taut that every sound—the murmur of deep-sea currents, the distant groans of massive creatures—became unnervingly vivid.

It wasn’t just one jellyfish heading into the depths; a cluster surrounded them. Dotted in the darkness, large and small, they drifted together. As they descended into the abyss, the timer on Lin Jing’s wristband continued counting down.

3.

The light dimmed further.

Xu Wanzhi’s deep gaze lingered on Lin Jing’s face. He smiled and said, “It’s not too late to admit you’re scared.”

Lin Jing, unwilling to show weakness, replied, “No way. I’m actually enjoying the experience.”

Xu Wanzhi: “Oh.”

2.

The water currents shifted, accelerating slightly, as if heralding the passage of time. The space around them seemed to distort subtly.

Lin Jing alternated between opening and closing his eyes, attempting to calm himself.

Beside him, Xu Wanzhi silently watched, his lips curling faintly in amusement.

The jellyfish crossed the horizon, drifting like a ghost into the trench’s depths. The atmosphere felt ancient, ethereal, as if suspended in a dream.

“1.”

Xu Wanzhi’s voice sounded at his side.

At the same moment, Lin Jing’s wristband flashed a red warning light.

The jellyfish beneath them accelerated instantly as it plunged into the abyss. Around them, a multitude of jellyfish lit up like countless lanterns in the deep.

In the submerged blackness, the water seemed to freeze, as if time itself had halted. Lin Jing’s heart raced. He pretended to check his wristband, lowering his head to hide his expression from Xu Wanzhi, and closed his eyes, silently praying for the jellyfish to deliver him safely.

A second later, he heard Xu Wanzhi’s amused voice: “Zero.”

It was as if a system had been triggered. Everything shifted—evolving, transforming, and unraveling.

“Open your eyes,” Xu Wanzhi said.

Suddenly, the abyss was illuminated. Blinding light pierced through the darkness, fracturing into countless colors that cascaded across the trench.

The jellyfish beneath them plummeted at breakneck speed, stirring currents that rippled Lin Jing’s hair and clothes. The fractured light painted a kaleidoscope over the trench walls, and the sea revealed its vibrant, chaotic beauty.

Everything was in flux—life forms transforming, dying, and being reborn. The scene was otherworldly and fleeting, a kaleidoscope of existence. The floating plankton, moss along the cliffs, and plants and creatures at the trench’s depths danced in a torrent of change. Individual deaths seemed insignificant in the flood of time; only the rise and fall of species mattered in this flow. Daylight lasted but an instant, like the grand opening of a cosmic show. Darkness soon reclaimed the world.

The trench returned to its true, somber form—silent, impenetrable blackness.

The countless glowing jellyfish dispersed into smaller, dimmer lights, like scattered stars, leaving a profound sense of cosmic isolation.

The only constant was the jellyfish beneath them.

And then… Lin Jing instinctively turned his head.

Xu Wanzhi was watching him with a half-smile, and their eyes met.

The slow, shifting sound of the trench moving due to tectonic activity echoed beside them.

In the truest sense, seconds stretched across tens of thousands of years.

Diving into the deep sea, passing through time.