The ancient stars flickered above Tianyuan Academy, their light distorted ever so slightly—as if something beyond the sky was watching.
In the deepest corner of the academy, behind a sealed pavilion untouched by time, a shrine quivered.
A whisper danced through the darkness.
> "He walks again… The Heaven's End returns…"
---
Elsewhere, across the continent in a modern cultivation city built upon the ruins of an old imperial capital, the Academy of Infinite Meridian buzzed with excitement.
Not because of a festival.
But because the Grand Tournament was about to begin.
A clash of modern cultivators, wielding spells crafted from soul scripts and techniques refined through crystalized qi. Talismans, flying swords, rune-tech gear—all converging into a spectacle of talent.
And in the crowd, unnoticed and calm, stood a young man dressed in simple black robes, hair tied back in an old-fashioned knot. He didn't carry a sword, nor did he emit any spiritual pressure.
He was Li Xuantian.
He came not to fight, but to observe.
> To see the level of cultivation in this modern age.
To witness how far the world had strayed.
---
The first few battles began.
A fire talisman practitioner unleashed a storm of flame that twisted like a serpent. His opponent used spirit armor enchanted by lightning inscriptions. Each clash shook the platform, but to Xuantian, it was no different from children throwing stones.
He sighed.
> "Form without depth. Speed without stillness. Techniques without Tao."
To his left, Yan Ruyue stood watching quietly. She had followed him without question since the Vault had opened. And somehow, despite the vast difference in their cultivation age, she didn't find him distant.
She found him fascinating.
"Disappointed?" she asked.
"I'm not angry at them," he replied. "I'm angry at what was lost."
---
Just as another match began, the sky dimmed unnaturally.
At first, the crowd thought it was a weather technique. But then…
> A ripple of space surged across the arena.
From above, a crack in reality split open, and something fell through.
Not a person.
A corpse.
Or rather, a puppet made from flesh—stitched together from corpses, bound with black talismans, and radiating demonic qi.
It landed with a sickening thud in the center of the platform.
People screamed.
The announcer tried to retreat, but he collapsed—eyes rolled back as a black curse mark spread across his face.
From the corpse-puppet, a voice emerged—not spoken, but projected directly into the minds of everyone present.
> "This is a message to the cultivators of this age…"
> "The False Immortal has awakened."
> "Your era of peace is over."
A wave of demonic energy erupted from the corpse, corrupting talismans and causing spirit artifacts to shatter. A dozen cultivators collapsed on the spot, their spiritual cores destabilized.
And in the chaos, only one person walked forward calmly.
Li Xuantian.
---
He stepped onto the arena platform, staring at the puppet.
The demonic entity within laughed.
> "So you're the Eternal Soul they whisper about. You look pathetic."
Xuantian did not reply.
He simply raised a finger.
Not a weapon. Not a spell. Just a finger.
And then he tapped the air.
The entire puppet froze.
A moment later—BOOM!—it exploded into a black mist, purified by a formless force.
The mist tried to flee. It couldn't. It was caught in an invisible net formed by Dao resonance.
> "Y-You… You've touched the Path again—how?"
Xuantian finally answered. "I never lost it."
He closed his eyes.
> Seal.
The mist screamed as it was reduced to ash, pulled into a silver charm that floated to his hand—an old trinket from his sect, reforged silently.
The crowd stared in stunned silence.
They had witnessed a miracle.
---
Later that night, back at Tianyuan Academy, the elders gathered around a flickering projection of the event.
The Headmaster's face was grim.
"The False Immortal," he said, "is not just a legend."
One of the elders asked, "What exactly is it?"
Li Xuantian stood in the shadows behind them and spoke.
"He was one of us. A fellow sect leader. A genius of his age. But he sought immortality without Dao. He merged with demonic essence and became a hollow god."
"He died in the Great Collapse," the Headmaster said.
"No," Xuantian replied. "He was sealed."
> "And now the seal is breaking."
---
Meanwhile, in a hidden world beyond the Abyss Gate, the False Immortal sat upon a throne made from bones of ancient beasts. His body was human-like, but every inch of his flesh was covered in glowing black script.
He had no face—only a shifting mask of mist and hatred.
One of his generals knelt.
"He has awakened."
The False Immortal didn't move.
But the entire throne room shook.
> "Good."
> "Let the Eternal Soul return. Let him remember everything."
> "For I will show him what true despair is."
---
Back in Tianyuan Academy, Li Xuantian stood before the Celestial Lake once more. The moon reflected on the surface, calm and endless.
Yan Ruyue walked to his side.
"Is it true?" she asked. "That you sealed the False Immortal yourself?"
"I did," he replied. "At the cost of my sect, my people, and the truth."
"And now?"
He turned toward her. "Now, I walk the path once more. I have no sect. No empire. Only the Dao remains."
A soft breeze passed between them.
Yan Ruyue's hand brushed against his, hesitant but sincere.
"We'll walk it together then."
He didn't respond immediately.
But he didn't pull away.
---