The discharge procedures went suspiciously smooth. Chu Yang stood at the hospital entrance, squinting at the sunlight he hadn't seen in days. The bizarre encounter three nights ago felt like a fever dream—except for the **Jade Slip** burning a hole in his pocket, its constant warmth a brutal reminder:
*It was all real.*
He absently touched it. Since that night, it had stayed **unnaturally warm**, like sunbaked stone. Stranger still, when he focused, those **azure specks**—*qi*, as the Slip called them—swirled visibly in the air.
The taxi dropped him at his dilapidated apartment complex. A 90s-era six-story building with peeling paint and stairwells plastered with plumbing ads. Yet now, he saw it draped in a **translucent veil of qi**, shimmering like heat haze.
"Unit 302. Home sweet home." His key hovered at the lock—**scratches**. Fresh ones.
The door creaked open to **chaos**.
Drawers yanked out. Wardrobe toppled. Even the mattress slashed open.
"Not a robbery," he muttered. His cheap laptop sat untouched. The emergency cash in his sock drawer remained.
His eyes snapped to the desk—to the **false-bottomed drawer** he'd engineered himself.
Untouched.
The Jade Slip glowed brighter when uncovered, its carvings now crisp with strange glyphs.
"What secrets are you—"
**The Slip erupted from his hands.**
It **hovered midair**, blasting emerald light. Golden text **projected onto the walls**, headed by four towering characters:
**"TAIXU COSMOS SUTRA"**
Chu Yang staggered back. The script was ancient seal script—yet he **understood**.
*"Before the Void divided… Before Heaven and Earth… One Qi endures…"*
As he read, the dormant energy in his veins **awakened violently**. Qi rushed in through his pores, flooding meridians never meant to handle such torrents.
"A… cultivation manual?" His pulse spiked. He sat cross-legged, attempting to guide the flow.
At first—**bliss**. Energy cycled smoothly, sharper than any caffeine high.
Then—**agony**.
Too much qi. His narrow meridians **bulged like overfilled pipes**. Ants seemed to crawl beneath his skin. His chest compressed—
*"Can't… breathe…"* Blood trickled from his nose. The Slip kept spinning, **accelerating the qi influx**.
A fist hammered the door.
"Hello? I'm your neighbor! What's all the ruckus?" A woman's voice, cool as glacier water.
The pounding turned to **kicks**.
"Forgive my intrusion."
**The deadbolt shattered inward.**
A tall woman stood framed in the doorway—**black ponytail**, sharp features, wearing a plain white tee and jeans. Her eyes…
*God, her eyes.*
In Chu Yang's qi-sight, they **blazed with condensed spirit energy**, a hundred times brighter than any normal human's.
Her gaze locked onto the floating Slip. **"A Taixu Legacy Slip? How does a mortal have this?"**
Chu Yang couldn't speak, only clawing at his choking chest.
She crossed the room in two strides, seizing his wrist. Her fingers pressed like **branding irons** onto specific points.
*"Ahhh—!"*
Fire and ice raced through his meridians as she **forcefully rerouted the qi**.
"Follow my guidance!" Her voice brooked no argument. *"Qi sinks to the dantian… up the Governor Vessel… crowns at Baihui… down the Conception Vessel…"*
Her palm on his back became a **lodestone**, pulling the rogue energy into alignment.
**The Slip fell silent**, clattering to the floor.
Drenched in sweat, Chu Yang gasped, "Th-thank you—"
She wasn't listening. After drawing the curtains, she snatched the Slip, her frown deepening.
"Who *are* you?" Her glare could flay skin. "This artifact belongs to the **Taixu Sect**. It shouldn't be in mortal hands."
"I don't know any sect! A dying elder gave it to me three days ago, and then I could see—"
"—Qi. Meaning it's **bonded to you**." She tossed the Slip back, her expression unreadable. "Do you know how close you were to **meridian rupture**?"
"Chu Yang," he croaked. "And you?"
A pause. "**Su Yuyan**. 301." She headed for the door. "Speak of this to no one. Don't attempt cultivation for three days."
"Wait! You know about the Slip? The qi? How did you—"
"Too many questions." She paused at the threshold. "Tomorrow. 9 PM. The rooftop." A final warning glance:
"And watch for **men in black**."
The door clicked shut.
Chu Yang examined the Slip—**a new hairline crack**, golden light seeping through.
Outside his window, a **crimson moon** rose, illuminating a silhouette atop the adjacent building:
A **black-robed figure**, watching.