The light of teleportation faded in the grand hall, and Jie Ming’s figure reappeared.

The instant his feet touched solid ground, he clearly felt countless gazes—like invisible probes—converge upon him.

These gazes carried complex meanings.

Examination, inquiry, disbelief, deep curiosity, and even a trace of inexplicable… regret?

What was absent was the congratulations or admiration due a victor who had just claimed ultimate triumph in fierce melee.

Jie Ming understood this well, his face remaining calm.

He knew the “methods” he had employed on the contest grounds had been seen clearly by the sharp-eyed high-level wizards in the hall.

Though their gazes varied, out of wizardly courtesy and respect for Wizard Noren, no one rashly approached to disturb him.

Except Viola.

She sidled over like a thieving crab, scooting silently to his side.

Then, with a light elbow nudge, she whispered incredulously:

“Hey, Jie Ming… your law… is it really related to ‘Imaginary Elements’?”

Seeing Viola’s sneaky yet knowledge-hungry demeanor—and sensing the surrounding wizards pretending to chat while perking their ears—Jie Ming couldn’t help chuckling.

He didn’t lower his voice; instead, he nodded openly and admitted frankly:

“Mm, that’s right.”

He felt this wasn’t lying.

In this wizard universe, “spiritual qi” as an energy form truly didn’t exist in their cognitive system.

Classifying it under “Imaginary Elements” or products of “Fictional Laws” was, from their perspective, perfectly reasonable.

Though prior observations through the light screens and Jie Ming’s own admission of “Imaginary Elements” had already sparked guesses.

When he truly confirmed it, the hall still inevitably filled with suppressed gasps and murmurs.

Viola widened her eyes, asking bluntly:

“What were you thinking?! Why choose this direction?!”

Jie Ming had anticipated such reactions.

In mainstream wizard cognition, selecting “Imaginary Elements” or related “Fictional Laws” as a core research path was quite “non-mainstream”—even deemed “irrational.”

This stemmed from the contradictory, trap-filled nature of “Fictional Laws” themselves.

When Jie Ming decided to anchor his wizard path in “spiritual qi,” his primary concern wasn’t constructing the Incense Fire Divine Dao but a more fundamental question: in this wizard universe centered on materialism and rule exploration, was advancement possible via a law “non-existent” in this universe?

To this end, he spent vast time and effort querying related data in the Noren Workshop’s immense knowledge repository.

Ultimately, he found information on “Fictional Laws.”

The conclusion was simple: possible.

Wizard civilization’s history was long; brilliant minds and bold thinkers abounded.

Long ago, top wizards pondered similar issues: laws were essentially summaries of objective phenomena or constants, explorations of truth—mere “knowledge.”

If a wizard could “set” a phenomenon and “define” its operational laws, then study and master it like real laws—wouldn’t that theoretically approach omnipotence?

This path was termed Fictional Laws by wizards.

“Imaginary Elements” were phenomena produced or linked by such “false,” subjectively “defined” laws.

“Imaginary” already revealed its essence: born of imagination, not objective existence.

Theoretically viable—and historically, some wizards succeeded.

Yet ultimately, “Fictional Laws” was nearly eliminated from mainstream wizard choices.

Reasons abounded.

First, though theoretically possible, true success was rare as phoenix feathers.

Constructing a “Fictional Law” producing “Imaginary Elements” recognized by the wizard system required utmost rigor and self-consistency in the defined law.

After all, barring legendary ninth-levels, the wizard world remained highly “materialistic,” objective constants unyielding.

Fabricating a law system that endless chaotic void base rules would “acknowledge” was far harder than deeply studying an existing law.

For example, researching “fire element law” required only focusing on fire’s properties, changes, interactions with other elements.

But “defining” a similar new “X element law” demanded profound understanding of fire, water, earth, wind, etc.

Even energy conservation, spatial structure—ensuring no fundamental conflicts with these cornerstones while retaining sufficient “novelty.”

Simply: researching a normal law might require comprehending and absorbing a wisp of related plane origin for entry.

Fabricating one demanded absorbing multiple diverse plane origins—resource and knowledge thresholds exploding exponentially.

This alone eliminated ninety-nine percent of aspirants.

Yet this couldn’t stump wizard civilization’s true unparalleled geniuses.

Resources could be accumulated; knowledge learned.

The key was the second issue: definitions couldn’t be “too” rigorous.

This seemed contradictory to the first.

But per data Jie Ming found: overly rigorous, flawless logic loops often meant the law wasn’t fully “fictional”—but a real, undiscovered/recorded one!

Corresponding to some obscure but existent substance, energy, or constant.

Ironically, the era when “Imaginary Elements” research peaked was one of wizard civilization’s fastest for discovering new elements and laws.

Many geniuses’ painstaking “creations” proved mere “discoveries” of niche real rules.

For those resource-exhausting, self-proclaimed extraordinary geniuses, this was a devastating blow.

Declaring their “creation” and “definition” mere lucky “discovery” was far worse than failure for truth-seekers.

After eliminating another batch, the rare lucky—or those grasping subtle balance—finally “fabricated” laws and advanced via them.

Then the third issue arose: Fictional Law holders generally had weak individual combat power.

Statistics showed: across levels, such wizards’ combat strength barely averaged the tier.

Seemingly acceptable?

But those surviving prior brutal filters to master Fictional Laws were all unparalleled geniuses, monsters among monsters.

For them, “average” was failure!

They should far surpass peers.

Reasons for weak combat varied.

Each fictional law was unique—no predecessors’ experience; all paths self-pioneered, trial-error costly.

Fictional laws had to somewhat align with world underlying constants for system recognition—far from initial “arbitrary, convention-defying” omnipotence; heavily restricted.

Of course, Fictional Laws weren’t worthless.

Their greatest boon: producing “Imaginary Elements.”

These theoretically non-existent things could be conjured by the mastering wizard.

Depending on understanding depth and angle, produced Imaginary Elements had peculiar properties conventional elements couldn’t match.

Simply: combat weak, but excelled in “producing special materials” and “making money.”

Their Imaginary Elements often rare catalysts or cores for high-end alchemy/special artifacts.

But that was it.

For geniuses capable of mastering Fictional Laws, “earning money” was never difficult—too many resource paths.

Exchanging such high thresholds and costs for a “high-end material supplier” role was, to most top wizards, extremely poor value.

Thus, Jie Ming’s admission of a law related to “Imaginary Elements” sparked such astonishment and confusion.

In their view, with Jie Ming’s displayed potential and wisdom, any promising existing law path promised limitless future—why this seemingly arduous, “dim-prospected” detour?

For Jie Ming, using “Fictional Laws” and “Imaginary Elements” as cover perfectly whitewashed and rationalized his true foundation—”spiritual qi.”

At least, if his Infernal Sulfur plane’s anomalies were detected later, it wouldn’t cause excessive panic or probing—merely seen as a special “Imaginary Element” environment.

As he pondered, Wizard Noren—seated high—stood with a chuckle.

His movement instantly silenced the hall; all whispers ceased.

Wizard Noren walked slowly to Jie Ming, those eyes brimming with infinite wisdom scrutinizing him, satisfaction on his face.

“Well done, little one.” Wizard Noren’s voice was mild yet powerful. “Very creative, high potential. Since you won, this reward is yours.”

He extended his hand, passing the seemingly plain yet life-representing Substitute Death Doll to Jie Ming.

Jie Ming inhaled deeply, suppressing excitement, receiving it respectfully with both hands: “Thank you, Lord Noren!”