Chapter One: A Dream Sent from Beyond

At night, the desolate earth had long since withered, silent beneath the heavens. The moon gradually rose in the sky, illuminating the mountains and rivers in a pale glow.

Chen Ming gazed at the wild landscape, so primitive, and found himself momentarily dazed.

“This is no longer Earth,” he thought.

He remembered, with stark clarity, the shock he experienced years ago upon first awakening. He had once been an ordinary university student in the twenty-first century, facing imminent graduation, his days consumed by the search for employment. Then one day, after returning from another interview to his shabby rented room, exhaustion overtook him. He collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep—only to awaken as a tree.

At that time, a group of people, as primitive as prehistoric humans, were kneeling before him in worship. A gentle warmth suffused his body, and then, startled by the scene before him, he almost panicked. Fortunately, he had already become a tree, unable to move; otherwise, who knew what disaster might have ensued.

In the years that followed, his soul gradually grew stronger. Recently, he had finally managed to break free from the ancient tree’s form and could, for brief periods, leave his body and wander.

He looked up at the sky, his brow furrowing slightly.

Outside, under the bright moonlight, as darkness deepened, faint black shadows began to emerge, bearing an uncanny air. Some of these shadows were shaped like humans, others like beasts—each different, but all displaying a fierce, menacing aspect. A strange, terrifying atmosphere blanketed the land.

These ghostly faces were twisted and cruel, their eyes filled with malice as they stared unblinking at the sleeping people beneath the ancient tree. Their faces were greedy, yet none dared approach.

A faint, eerie sound, inaudible to ordinary ears, came from nearby. Chen Ming’s eyes flickered, but he remained unmoved.

It was a black wolf-like specter, its spirit both savage and confused, instinctively inching forward.

A mournful howl broke the silence as the wolf spirit’s outstretched paw was suddenly dissolved by an invisible ripple, vanishing utterly.

When it had nearly reached one of the sleeping humans, a streak of white light had appeared, disintegrating its form.

At the same time, Chen Ming sensed his protective barrier had been triggered. He sneered inwardly.

How could ordinary mortals hope to traverse worlds and survive?

The reason Chen Ming remained unharmed was the divine core embedded deep within his true spirit. According to his understanding, this divine core had been with him since birth—a family heirloom he had always worn as a jade pendant. Only after his rebirth did it finally awaken.

The tree where he had been reborn was the guardian totem of this tribe. After countless generations of worship and sacrificial rites, it had become one with the people, bound by threads of faith. It was precisely the accumulated power of belief, offered over untold years, that had enabled his spirit to awaken at this moment; otherwise, even another millennium might not have been enough.

In a certain sense, every member of the tribe was his follower. How could he allow monsters and demons to harm them so easily?

He sighed softly.

Turning away, he surveyed the world with his current perspective—seeing sights utterly unlike what ordinary eyes could perceive.

In the distant wilds and grassy hills, the spirits of dead creatures filled the land—some appeared bewildered, some fearful, others fierce or savage—most still bore the marks of their demise. Deeper still, a darker shadow loomed, chilling to the bone. Countless natural spirits crowded the world, so that in Chen Ming’s divine vision, a faint black haze veiled the earth, saturating everything with an ominous sorrow.

But nearer, at the tribe’s settlement, the scene was quite different.

Here, a tranquil white radiance enveloped the area, dispelling and purifying all evil. Meanwhile, a faint red aura was taking shape, seemingly able to restrain the surrounding ghosts and monsters, but it was so thin and laced with gray that it was all but invisible and could do little to repel the fiends.

Chen Ming understood at once. The white light was faith itself—the product of many generations’ worship, deeply rooted in the people’s hearts, strengthened by the power of the divine core, shielding the land for dozens of miles around.

The red aura, however, was the nascent fortune of these thousands gathered together. But the people were too feeble and impoverished, lacking any true structure to unite their strength, so their fortune was scattered, easily shattered by any encroaching evil.

With this in mind, he entered one of the larger dwellings.

Large and grand, that is, compared to the surrounding humble, dilapidated huts—for someone from Earth, these homes were laughably primitive. Yet by local standards, this was a mansion, even lavish, with a layer of white, faintly red-tinged light encircling it—a remarkable sight amid the tribe’s poverty.

This aura was the concentrated fortune of the tribe, a sign of this person’s status and influence within the community.

Chen Ming ignored the protective barrier, passing through without a glance. As he entered, the red-tinged aura even parted to admit him.

Normally, fortune repelled all things unholy, even divine beings, but Chen Ming bore the divine core and was the tribe’s ancestral deity; their fortunes were already intertwined. Far from rejecting him, the aura actively protected him.

Inside, he found an elderly man lying on a bed of animal pelts, adorned in furs and a necklace of beast teeth.

Chen Ming regarded him silently, the divine core turning deep within his soul. Suddenly, a white thread appeared and magnified before his eyes. In that moment of intuition, Chen Ming understood: this was the thread of faith, linking every follower to him, however faint or strong their devotion.

He nodded inwardly. The thread was thick and pure, a sign of sincere, if not fanatical, belief—enough for his purposes.

He shook his head with a wry smile. “To think that I, a true god, bearer of the divine core, am reduced to relying on the thread of faith to communicate.”

In legends, the majesty of the gods was vast and immeasurable. According to memories from the inheritances he’d received, some gods of terrifying power could, with a single thought, create or destroy worlds as if it were nothing. Yet here he was, so constrained and powerless.

Alas, to be reborn across worlds was a feat against the will of heaven. For Ardis to be reborn at all had nearly exhausted his divine core. Though the tribe’s worship had sustained him, all his power went to repairing the damaged core, and even his body was nothing more than an immobile tree.

With no other choice, he had accepted the reality.

As the thread of faith emerged, a strange sensation arose within him.

It was as if a ray of white light suddenly appeared in a world of chaos.

Chen Ming frowned, then the scene before him shifted.

He saw, upon a barren, desolate continent, a towering tree standing proud and alone.

Its trunk soared to heights unknown, tens of thousands of miles perhaps, supporting the blue sky and white clouds, like the world tree of ancient legend, cleansing the world by its presence.

Chen Ming gazed upon the majestic tree—vast as the world itself—and nodded in satisfaction. With a thought, an ancient soul appeared before him.

Gramma had been sleeping peacefully in his home. Old as he was, restful sleep had become rare, especially in such a chaotic world. To find security and comfort in his twilight years was itself a blessing.

“Hm? Why do I hear the sound of running water?” His consciousness was clearing, and he sensed something was amiss. Instinctively, he opened his eyes.

He was stunned.

The land was shrouded in a gentle light. Herds of animals and prey roamed the grasslands. In the distance, a massive waterfall cascaded, and great shoals of plump fish played within its waters.

Looking up, he saw islands of colossal size floating in the sky.

The entire realm was beautiful and grand beyond words, leaving him speechless with awe.

But as he lifted his gaze to the far horizon, his shock became uncontrollable. “Heavens! What is this?”

In the distance, an ancient tree soared to the heavens, as if it alone held the world in place, eternal and unyielding.

Unable to contain himself, he fell to his knees, no longer daring to look up. “Almighty Ardis, have I entered your divine kingdom?”

Ardis was the name the tribe gave Chen Ming’s tree-form, a title signifying honor and the power of nature.

From afar, as if answering his call, a mighty will descended: “Gramma.”

“Yes, my almighty god! What is your command?” The old man bowed even lower, afraid that even a glance would be a blasphemy.

“I shall soon awaken in the mortal world. In three days, you must lead my followers here to worship.”

The voice grew more powerful, and Gramma was about to reply in a booming voice when it continued: “As a reward for your devotion, I grant you divine magic. Now return.”

Gramma finally looked up, puzzled by the god’s words, but then witnessed a scene beyond belief.

The sun—a vast, radiant sphere of dazzling light—descended from the heavens at once slow and swift, pressing down upon him before he could even cry out.

Yet the expected agony did not come. Instead, Gramma was bathed in light, lifted in spirit as if sublimated, a warmth embracing his heart and soul, filling him with understanding.

Before he could savor the sensation, a tremendous, gentle force expelled him from this world.

The vision faded, and he was back in the wooden hut.

This time, Chen Ming stood within, panting, barely able to maintain even his spectral form.

“I never imagined that bestowing such a minor magic could nearly shatter the form I struggled so hard to manifest,” Chen Ming sighed. “Just a little more, and my attempt to impress would have ended in ignominious failure. If it weren’t to quickly manifest divine power and gather faith, why would I go to such lengths?”

He lingered for a while, waiting for his power to recover, then, sparing a glance at the still-sleeping Gramma, he departed without hesitation.