After observing the chaos on the beach for some time, Wang Chen gradually pieced together the situation.
To pass the test, they needed to cross the ocean.
And the only way to cross it was by ship.
Not some divine vessel carved from heavenly jade.
Not a flying treasure powered by spiritual arrays.
A ship.
Constructed from the forest beside the shore.
The trees.
The stones.
Raw materials.
At first glance, the arrangement seemed almost laughably mundane.
Some might ask: now that they were "eternal existences," why not simply swim across?
Wang Chen almost snorted at the thought.
Although their cultivation had been sealed, their intelligence remained intact. None of them were fools. The ocean stretched endlessly to the horizon, its waves rising dozens of feet high before crashing violently back down. Even without spiritual beasts lurking beneath, attempting to cross by swimming would be absurd.
Time-consuming.
Exhausting.
And needlessly dangerous.
