Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Beast Tide

Meng Meng felt apologetic, but she also thought Zhang Ning looked rather foolish standing there, stunned. Still, out of courtesy, she followed his gaze—and was immediately struck dumb herself.

In the distance, countless wild beasts and strange creatures surged forward in a dense, black tide, so overwhelming that Meng Meng could hardly believe her eyes. Was the Five Deep Gorge Prairie truly home to so many beasts? It seemed boundless, stretching without end.

With her keen eyesight, Meng Meng could see the aberrant creatures frantically fighting for space as they advanced, attacking and biting at each other in their madness.

As they drew nearer, the ground began to tremble and roar with deafening thunder.

Meng Meng’s heart nearly ceased to beat, her limbs icy cold. Compared to this, the psychological shadow Zhang Ning had cast over her earlier was utterly insignificant. Especially terrifying were the creatures that looked hideous and fierce, as if shaped crudely from mud, gigantic in size—born hunters whose mere presence extinguished any hope of resistance in their prey, making surrender inevitable.

This was not something any human could withstand.

Just then, Zhang Ning shouted, “Run!” The cry jolted Meng Meng from her stupor, and the two moved swiftly, fleeing toward the distance. Their bodies shimmered with spiritual light, activating countless defensive artifacts. In perfect synchrony, they prepared to send for help. But in that very moment—

A terrifying roar, reminiscent of a lion, exploded in the air. The instant they heard it, both Meng Meng and Zhang Ning were struck as if by a heavy blow, collapsing to the ground! Meng Meng coughed up blood, while Zhang Ning felt all his senses stripped away—he could neither see nor hear anything, darkness enveloping him.

Yet, in this moment of dire peril, instinct overcame reason. Zhang Ning’s cultivation surged at unprecedented speed, resisting the murderous discomfort. Trembling but swift as lightning, he reached for his storage pouch; should he tear the special communication talisman, a Martial Emperor would arrive in a blink, tearing through space.

There was no time for Zhang Ning to regret his earlier command forbidding his subordinates to follow. His mind was sluggish, focused on one thing: calling for help.

But to his horror, he discovered the mountain-sized talisman was destroyed, and no plea for rescue could be sent. In truth, after that piercing roar, nearly all their treasures, previously glowing with spiritual light, were instantly shattered—no longer recognizable as the coveted artifacts that would incite fierce competition outside.

The sole exception was the inner space of the storage ring capable of holding living beings (the outer space had not been spared), but only one person could hide within.

A beat later, Zhang Ning finally registered the pain coursing through his body. He looked at Meng Meng, who had just managed to lift herself off the ground. Their earlier flight across the prairie had been at terrifying speed, but after hearing the roar, they fell without any way to cushion the impact. The overwhelming pressure was what struck them first; only now did the pain of hitting the ground set in.

Meng Meng happened to look at Zhang Ning, her gaze unwavering and fierce, not a trace of weakness in her eyes. Amid the buzzing in his ears, Zhang Ning somehow heard Meng Meng say, “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you!”

Anyone who saw Meng Meng’s eyes at that moment would believe her words without a doubt.

Zhang Ning could not fathom why Meng Meng was so determined to protect him, but his heart was rocked. He was about to activate the storage ring and hide inside, yet in that brief moment of panic, he forced himself to remain calm.

To Meng Meng, although Zhang Ning had succumbed to the pressure and fallen, he had not spit blood nor lost his composure. His eyes were cold as stars, resolute and calm: “Don’t worry. Until the very last moment, no one can say what will happen.”

Without another word, both forced themselves to their feet and continued fleeing toward the edge of the forest.

Zhang Ning marveled at how fast he could run despite his injuries. Both were pushing their limits, wringing every last drop of potential from themselves. Yet, in the short time since they had fallen, the beast tide was nearly upon them.

Speed-gifted aberrant beasts streaked past them, some beside, others overhead. Zhang Ning felt as if he were running in the middle of a highway, surrounded by trucks speeding by at breakneck pace, himself running on foot without even a helmet.

After countless close encounters with these creatures, Zhang Ning and Meng Meng struck together—blades and palms flashing! The sword lights of Meng Meng’s Void-Splitting technique and Zhang Ning’s powerful Immortal-Palms swept forward, carving a bloody path through the horde.

Every beast cut by Meng Meng’s sword was left with a clean, uniform wound; those struck by Zhang Ning’s palm were reduced to mangled pulp. The ground was littered with bizarre, hideous corpses and entrails. Yet the monsters were undeterred; their attacks did not slow their advance, and the tide pressed ever closer, denser and more terrifying.

Suddenly Meng Meng screamed, “Get down!”

In a flash, Zhang Ning obeyed without hesitation, retracting all his inner energy and dropping straight to the ground. Lightning-like sword lights sliced overhead, nearly grazing his hair. Seeing the dust thrown up before him, Zhang Ning knew the beasts struck down behind him were enormous—he had narrowly escaped death once more.

But despair grew. With all means of rescue and defense destroyed, how could their meager cultivation possibly carry them to safety?

Their cultivation levels were undeniably low. Though their combat prowess was remarkable, in the Eleven Realms of Martial Arts—Martial Disciple, Martial Master, Martial Platform, Martial Pill, Martial Infant, Martial Sect, Martial King, Martial Emperor, Martial Saint, Martial Lord, Supreme—even Martial Pill cultivators could dominate a region and found a third-rate sect.

Meng Meng, so young and a woman, had reached the peak of Martial Platform—a rare achievement. Zhang Ning, having crossed over less than half a year ago, had not even formed his Martial Platform, remaining at Martial Master level.

Both had overcome the odds, thanks to their sacred martial arts, but against these varied, powerful monsters, it was like slaughtering pigs and dogs—a testament to their extraordinary talent, but not a path for survival.

Zhang Ning noticed Meng Meng’s cheeks flushed, her steps faltering; she was about to collapse. What could he do? Would they both die here?

He could never abandon Meng Meng. Her condition was dire. If he left her and hid in the storage ring, her death would be tragic enough—worse still, the effects of the two fruits she had eaten earlier might expose her to even greater horrors. If that happened, Zhang Ning would never forgive himself.

“Careful!” Zhang Ning shouted in turn.

They kept saving each other, enduring the beast tide for the time it takes to burn a stick of incense.

After surviving countless close calls, Zhang Ning finally made up his mind. He said to Meng Meng, “Forgive me, Miss Meng.” Then he activated the storage ring.