Volume One, Chapter Fifty: Ants Traversing the Vast Desert

After another day of rest and recovery at the oasis, Mo De and Mu Qing had no choice but to set out once more. Desert tribes were gathering outside the oasis, seemingly preparing to replenish their water supplies. The fierce battle between tribes that the two had witnessed earlier had been for the right to drink first. To prevent the precious oasis of life from being destroyed by conflict, all tribes, upon approaching the oasis, would lay down their arms and come to drink in an established order.

They packed their belongings into the spatial ring Mu Qing had acquired, while Mo De stored enough water in the space within his sword scabbard. Yet, even after Mo De took a considerable amount of water from the small lake at the heart of the oasis, its level did not drop in the slightest. With time pressing, Mo De had no mind to study the lake’s peculiarities; he simply grabbed his scabbard and hurried after Mu Qing.

Farther away, the victorious desert fox tribe, led by their chief, advanced toward the oasis. Each fox stepped lightly onto the oasis, meticulously avoiding every plant, and clustered obediently around the lake to drink. They cherished this rare opportunity to drink their fill—a pleasure granted only every few months.

To drink the clear lake water directly was a far greater joy than extracting moisture from roots or the blood of prey. The fox chief, meanwhile, paused on a patch of bare ground by the lake and sniffed intently, a flicker of suspicion passing through his russet eyes.

Soon, the oasis was left far behind. Mo De and Mu Qing pressed eastward, their bodies swathed in long robes to shield them from the ever-fiercer sun. Mo De led the way across the fine yellow sands, while Mu Qing produced a large parasol from the storage ring and rested it over her shoulder.

The desert was a vast painting, with travelers no more than ants. Their two small figures moved eastward across the tawny expanse, but even at the edge of sight, there was nothing but endless sand.

“We should’ve waited for those tribes to finish drinking and then slipped back to the oasis. This weather is unbearable,” Mu Qing muttered, nostalgic for the oasis’s cool shade, but Mo De shook his head.

“The local creatures would never be fooled as to our presence,” Mo De explained, trudging unevenly through the soft dunes. “For desert dwellers, a water source is sacred—outsiders aren’t permitted to desecrate it. Apart from drinking, they won’t tolerate any waste.”

“That lake is indeed extraordinary—not only does it purify itself, but no matter how much water is taken, the surface never drops. Still, it’s ultimately under the protection of the native tribes. We’re only guests, and it would be unwise to provoke further conflict after taking what we need.”

“I get it, but why is it getting hotter? It wasn’t like this when we traveled through the desert the other day.” Mu Qing’s cheeks were flushed red from the heat. She could endure it, but endurance and enjoyment were not the same thing.

“It might be those newly formed ‘strange moons’ above us. No one knows what effects they might bring,” Mo De replied, shading his eyes as he looked up at the several full moons suspended in the sky.

The full-moon phase of the lunar tide had brought an unusual number and brilliance of “lunar projections.” In broad daylight, these strange moons seemed to magnify the sun’s power. Unrelenting, fiery light poured ceaselessly into the barren desert, raising the temperature of the entire sea of sand. Sweat evaporated the moment it surfaced, forcing the pair to sip water constantly as they traveled.

Originally, Mu Qing carried a wooden tray to use as a fan, but fanning herself in air nearing fifty degrees only brought waves of heat, so she gave up. The ground was worse; every step seared her feet with heat that rose through her soles. Even after several encounters with the torment of black fire, she could never come to like high temperatures.

Mo De, walking ahead, was far more composed. Since childhood, Li Changsheng had taken him on missions all over the world, not just within China’s domain. Once, on an expedition to “the Land of Discovery”—Africa—Li Changsheng had led a young Mo De across the “Sea of Death,” the Sahara. Such “touring” meant Mo De’s academic studies always lagged, but his experiences left him unfazed by hardship.

“Our top priority is to figure out where we are. Just walking east isn’t a long-term solution,” Mo De interrupted Mu Qing’s grumbling. In truth, he didn’t know how far they’d have to go to escape this sea of sand, but at least they had enough water and food.

Water was never a worry; even if their supply of unusual canned food ran out, they could hunt. At night, various small creatures would emerge from beneath the dunes for air.

“Do you think we’ve been teleported outside China’s domain?” Mu Qing asked, dejectedly trailing behind.

“I doubt we’ve been sent out of the domain itself. But if we were really teleported to another part of the Central Continent—or even another continent—it’d be a problem,” Mo De said, scratching his head.

Long-distance travel was never easy. Few people roamed the world as freely as Mo De; most never left their safe zones. It was because so many now chose to stay within their safe domains that the Inter-School Alliance in China organized “Autumn Hunts” for high schoolers, hoping to spark curiosity about the unknown world beyond.

If they’d truly been sent out of China’s domain, it would be a major issue. The world-altering lunar tides would cut off all contact with the outside, and who knew how long it would take to get home. Glancing up again at the strange moons, Mo De silently wished the lunar tide would end soon, though he knew it was impossible.

“Mo De, what if I went up and smashed a couple of those strange moons? Wouldn’t that cool things down?” Mu Qing’s sudden question interrupted his thoughts. Even through her sunglasses, Mo De could sense her sincerity, and had to stop her from rolling up her sleeves for such a wild idea.

After some effort, he convinced her not to try breaking the moons for relief. He understood the relentless heat was wearing her down and offered comfort: “It’ll be much cooler at night. Once we’re through this shifting sand, we’ll rest by day and travel by night.” The dunes were too unstable for pitching a tent or building a camp; you might wake up to find yourself carried off by the shifting sands.

Mu Qing finally gave up her grand plan after a cool drink from her flask. She had no idea what might happen if those moons were shattered, and with their height, it wasn’t as if she could reach them with mere physical strength. “How much farther until we’re out of this sand sea...?”

The sun blazed down, and the strange moons added their fire. The desert’s heat and the yielding sand made the journey arduous. Only when the ground beneath their feet stopped dragging at their shoes did Mo De, seeing Mu Qing’s hopeful expression, announce they’d reached firmer ground and could set up camp to rest.

Mo De quickly dug a large pit in the solid sand, placing the mat Mu Qing took out in the shade at the bottom. Mu Qing stuck her parasol in the sand and sprawled beneath its shadow. The pit was noticeably cooler than the surface, and they planned to rest there until sunset before continuing their journey at night.

Each with a can of special rations, they let the sun heat their meal atop the sand. In this heat, Mu Qing had no desire to brew tea; she wished only to sink into cool water. The oppressive heat left her drowsy, and after eating, her eyelids grew heavy.

“If you’re sleepy, get some rest,” Mo De said gently, seeing fatigue overtake her.

“I’ll nap for a bit. Wake me when it’s my turn to keep watch.” No sooner had she spoken than she fell asleep, clutching a bag of cold lake water to cool herself.

Mo De, meanwhile, retrieved the spatial scabbard and began to examine it. He had studied it briefly in the oasis and gleaned an important technique from it.

The scabbard itself possessed storage abilities, which was how they carried their water. But the water storage was only a small portion of its internal space. After being stimulated by black fire, the scabbard’s camouflage had been broken, revealing many previously hidden marvels.

It had clearly been modified, holding far more space than an ordinary spatial stone of its size. And storage was only one of its features. The person who’d done the work had woven layer upon layer of barriers using vast spatial power—an approach Mo De found very familiar.

Indeed, the giant spatial stone at his own organization’s base, “The Tide,” was protected by similarly intricate barriers.

Mo De was now almost certain: this scabbard had been crafted by Li Changsheng. Not only had his mentor made the scabbard, but he had also placed a mass of black fire and a mysterious membrane within, sealing them with countless spatial barriers.