Night lay heavy upon the Moon Lotus Sect's temporary residence. The snow outside fell in silence, blanketing rooftops and courtyards in pale light.
In his chamber, Haotian sat cross-legged, bare-chested, sweat beading along his skin. His body still bore faint tremors from collapse, yet his eyes shone with unyielding clarity.
The Heaven Sundering Trinity Scripture lay open before him, its ancient characters shimmering faintly in the dim lanternlight. It was not a scripture meant for mortals. Each line carried weight like thunder, each diagram of circulation a storm of heaven and earth.
He had touched it before, cautiously. But now—after facing the beast tide, after seeing the storm that still loomed—he could no longer wait. His enemies were not only beasts, but men. He could not afford weakness.
He pressed his palms together, guiding his breath inward.
The scripture demanded he split his cultivation into three simultaneous flows, each threading through different meridians, like rivers diverging from a single mountain spring. Heart core, dantian, and spiritual sea—all three had to resonate at once.
It was madness. A misstep would rupture the balance, shatter his foundation, and scatter his soul.
But Haotian closed his eyes, and began.
At first, qi surged smoothly through his dantian, a familiar path. Then he forced a second current upward, burning through his chest, threading around his heart core. His meridians screamed, strained from wounds not yet healed. Sweat dripped from his brow, his teeth clenched against the pain.
Finally, he drew a third current into his sea of consciousness. His mind flared with pain, visions sparking—stars collapsing, mountains splitting, seas overturning. His skull felt as though it would split apart.
But still, he endured.
Heaven Sundering Trinity… if I cannot master even this much, then what right have I to walk against fate?
His heart core pulsed violently, his dantian trembled, his spiritual sea rippled like a storm. For a breathless moment, all three currents threatened to collapse.
Then—resonance.
A low hum filled his body, deep and resonant, like the beating of a primordial drum. The three flows aligned, weaving together into a harmony that surged through every vein. His body shook violently, but his spirit roared in silence.
Outside, the snow shivered from the rooftops. Lantern flames flickered, bending toward his chamber as though drawn by unseen gravity.
Haotian's eyes snapped open. For an instant, galaxies swirled within them—the echo of the Eyes of the Universe—before fading back into gold.
His breath came harsh and ragged, his body trembling, but he sat unbroken.
The Heaven Sundering Trinity Scripture had begun to take root within him.
But he knew the truth. This was only the beginning. His body was too weak to sustain it for long. Every attempt pressed him to the edge of collapse.
Yet Haotian's lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smile beneath his exhaustion.
Beast or man, tide or betrayal… when the storm comes again, I will not falter.
He closed his eyes once more, drawing his three rivers into flow again. The night deepened. The storm beyond the mountains grew nearer.
And in silence, Haotian's resolve blazed brighter than any star.
Night pressed down upon the Moon Lotus residence, the snowfall outside muffling the world in silence. Within his chamber, Haotian sat cross-legged, his breathing steady but heavy, sweat beading along his chest.
He closed his eyes.
The world outside vanished. Within his consciousness bloomed a vast golden hall — endless shelves lined with glowing texts, each radiating with ancient resonance. This was his Golden Text Library, the inner archive hidden in his heart core.
Among its countless volumes, one text pulsed brighter than the rest. Its cover glowed with blinding runes, its aura heavy as heaven and earth itself:
The Heaven Sundering Trinity Scripture.
He reached out with his will, and the book unfurled. Lines of golden script danced like living flame, weaving rivers of light across his inner world. They spoke of madness: dividing qi into three flows, threading through heart core, dantian, and spiritual sea all at once.
No mortal would dare. No sect would allow it.
But Haotian pressed his palms together, and began.
Within his body, qi surged into motion. The first flow spiraled through his dantian — familiar, grounded, stable. A second tore upward through his chest, encircling his heart core. Pain lanced through his veins, sharp enough to twist his breath. His still-recovering meridians screamed.
The third flow rushed into his spiritual sea. His mind thundered with visions — mountains shattering, stars collapsing, rivers of fire consuming the world. His skull felt as though it might split apart.
The three currents bucked wildly, threatening to scatter and rip him apart from within.
But Haotian clenched his jaw, his eyes snapping open within the golden library, galaxies swirling faintly in their depths.
I will not falter.
He forced the flows into alignment, bending pain into discipline, shaping chaos into harmony.
For a heartbeat, the three rivers resonated.
A low hum spread through his body, deep and primordial, like the echo of creation's first strike. His heart core and dantian pulsed in unison, his spiritual sea shone with blinding light. His entire frame shook violently, sweat pouring down his skin.
In the outer world, snow shivered from the rooftops of the sect. Lantern flames bent toward his chamber, flickering in distorted arcs as though pulled by unseen gravity.
Haotian sat unbroken. Barely.
The Heaven Sundering Trinity Scripture had begun to take root within him.
His breath tore ragged from his lungs, body trembling as he sagged forward. His meridians were strained, his core pulsing dangerously near collapse. He knew he could not sustain this long. Not yet.
But a faint smile touched his lips.
Beast or man, tide or betrayal… let them come. When the storm arrives, I will be ready.
And within his golden library, the scripture glowed brighter, waiting for him to return.
The golden light within his inner library dimmed, the scripture's glowing runes folding back into silence. The shelves stilled, the storm of visions receding.
Haotian opened his eyes.
The chamber was dark again, the lantern nearly guttered out. His body trembled with exhaustion, sweat soaking through the bedding beneath him. He could barely move his fingers.
Yet his heart core pulsed faintly in rhythm with his dantian and spiritual sea, the fragile echo of the trinity's resonance still lingering within him.
No one in the sect knew. No one could know.
To them, he was resting, recovering his body after shattering the beast tide. To them, he was simply a hero who had collapsed from strain.
But here, alone in the stillness, he forced himself to tread a path no sect would allow, no elder would condone. A scripture that could destroy him with a single misstep was now seeded in his veins.
Haotian exhaled, his vision blurring, the taste of iron faint on his tongue. His body begged for rest, but his will pressed forward.
Not yet. The storm is not gone. The north stirs… and enemies among men will rise again. If I do not advance faster than the world, then the world will bury me.
His eyelids grew heavy. He let his body fall back against the bedding, too drained to adjust.
The lantern flickered once, then went out.
Darkness claimed the room. Only the faint, steady pulse of his heart core remained, like a war drum sounding in silence.
And beyond the walls, the Moon Lotus Sect slept in peace—unaware of the storm their disciple nursed in secret.
Dawn came slow and pale, the snowfall outside softening the light that seeped into Haotian's chamber.
He opened his eyes. The ache in his meridians gnawed deep, his chest still felt as though fire and ice were warring within. Every breath dragged pain across his ribs.
Yet when he sat upright, he forced his face still.
The Moon Lotus Sect believed their savior rested and grew stronger by the day. Disciples whispered of his glory, elders watched him with awe and caution. None could suspect that each step he took was laced with hidden weakness.
Haotian pushed himself from the bed, using the wall to steady his frame. His hand trembled faintly on the wooden beam, but when he reached the basin of water, his reflection was calm: golden eyes sharp, expression unreadable.
No cracks. No weakness.
He washed the sweat from his face, straightened his robes, and stepped into the courtyard.
Disciples looked up instantly, their chatter ceasing. They bowed, eyes shining with reverence."Senior Brother Haotian.""You're walking again!"
He gave a faint nod, his tone even. "The body mends with time."
Inside, his pulse stuttered with strain. Each word pressed his lungs, but his expression did not shift. He walked slowly across the courtyard, every step measured, as though nothing weighed upon him.
Later, when he returned to his chamber, he sank heavily onto the bedding, his body trembling the moment the door closed. The mask dropped. His breath tore ragged through clenched teeth.
He pressed his hand against his chest, where his heart core pulsed faintly, unsteady.Too fragile. Even now, one more attempt at the Trinity could shatter me.
His golden text library flickered in his inner vision, the scripture glowing faintly, calling him to return. But he closed his eyes against it.Not yet. If I collapse again, I will not be able to hide it. And if the sect sees weakness… it will spread like cracks through their morale.
Silence pressed heavy around him.
Haotian exhaled slowly, letting the mask of stillness settle back onto his face.So long as I stand, they will believe I am unbroken. And if they believe, then I will not allow myself to fall.
The lantern in Haotian's chamber flickered low. He sat cross-legged on his bedding, his breath shallow, his body trembling faintly as he fought to still the chaos in his meridians.
The door slid open without warning.
Yin Xue stepped inside.
Her robes whispered softly, her presence like a blade sheathed in frost. She closed the door behind her, the faint click sealing them in silence.
"Haotian," she said. Her tone was calm, but it cut through the air like ice over steel.
Haotian straightened at once, forcing steadiness into his frame. "Sect Master."
Her gaze lingered on him, too sharp, too perceptive. She walked closer, stopping before him. The lamplight gleamed against her eyes as she studied his face, his posture, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow.
"You walk the courtyards as though you are whole. The disciples believe you unshaken. Yet when the crowd is gone, you sit here trembling."
Haotian's breath hitched—only once—but her eyes caught it.
He said nothing.
Yin Xue's lips curved faintly. "Did you think you could hide such things from me?"
Her hand extended, fingers brushing the air above his chest, her spiritual sense sweeping across him. Haotian's body tensed, but he did not resist. The faint tremor in his meridians, the strain in his heart core—she felt them all.
Her gaze sharpened. "Your body is like an overdrawn bowstring. Pull it again, and it will snap."
Still, Haotian's expression did not waver. "It will hold."
Her eyes narrowed. "Will hold… until it breaks? You gamble with your life, Haotian. Do you believe the sect can afford its savior collapsing once more?"
The words were cold, but beneath them lay something heavier—a trace of fear she did not show her disciples.
Haotian lowered his gaze briefly. "If I do not push, I will fall behind. The storm that comes will not wait for me to mend slowly."
For a long silence, Yin Xue said nothing. She only stood, studying him with the weight of a master who saw too clearly the cost her disciple bore.
Finally, she exhaled softly, her voice quieter, though no less firm."Then listen well. If you insist on carrying such a burden, you will not carry it alone. Let the world see you as unbroken—but here, before me, you will not pretend. If you collapse again, you will tell me. If your body falters, you will not shroud it in pride. Do you understand?"
Haotian's golden eyes lifted to hers, steady. After a moment, he inclined his head. "…Yes, Sect Master."
Yin Xue's gaze lingered, as if weighing his sincerity. Then she withdrew her hand, folding her sleeves.
"Good. Remember this: a spear may pierce the heavens, but even a spear requires the hand that wields it. You may stand at the front, but I will not allow you to break beneath the weight of the sect."
With that, she turned, sliding the door open once more. Cold air rushed in, stirring the lantern flame.
Before leaving, she paused. Without turning back, she spoke one last time.
"Rest, Haotian. Do not mistake recklessness for resolve."
Then she was gone, leaving the chamber silent once more.
Haotian sat unmoving, his hands clenched upon his knees. Slowly, a faint smile ghosted across his lips.
She sees through everything… yet still leaves me the choice. Sect Master Yin Xue… truly, you are formidable.
The lantern flickered low, casting long shadows against the walls. Haotian closed his eyes, the faint pulse of his strained heart core echoing in the silence.
The night over the Moon Lotus Sect was still and cold. Snow blanketed the courtyards, lanterns burned softly against the wind. Inside his chamber, Haotian sat cross-legged, his robes already soaked through with sweat.
His breath rasped, shallow and uneven. His entire body quivered, caught between fire and ice. The Heaven Sundering Trinity Scripture seared across his golden text library, its runes blazing like molten chains, demanding a harmony his mortal frame could not yet endure.
His heart core thundered in his chest, each pulse sending shockwaves through his ribs. His dantian swelled, swollen with unstable power, threatening to rupture. The third core between his brows flickered faintly, fragile as a dying ember.
Haotian's jaw tightened, blood trickling between his teeth. If I stop here, I break. If I continue blindly, I die. But if I open the dormant meridian… there may be a path forward.
He inhaled sharply, then rammed his qi into the sealed channel.
The answer was torment.
Agony ripped through him. His veins bulged grotesquely under his skin, writhing like snakes as torrents of qi battered them. His muscles tore in places, threads of flesh parting beneath the unbearable pressure, blood welling from his pores in fine rivulets.
A violent cough tore through him. Scarlet sprayed across his chest. His nose bled in streams, his ears dripped red, and blood welled in his eyes until crimson tears streaked his cheeks.
Still, he endured.
Every surge of qi slammed against the dormant meridian's locked gate, recoiling like a hammer striking iron, tearing deeper into his body. His bones shuddered. His back arched violently, so hard the bedding beneath him cracked. The chamber walls rattled as shockwaves pulsed outward.
Break! he roared within, his fists clenching so hard his nails pierced his palms. Blood dripped steadily onto the floorboards.
His body was on the edge of collapse. Veins stood out black against his skin, pulsing violently, ready to burst. His breathing came ragged, broken into wet gasps. Each heartbeat felt as if it would tear him apart.
A sharp crack echoed in his sea of consciousness. The first fissure.
The backlash redoubled. His chest convulsed, his heart pounding like a drum of war. Another mouthful of blood sprayed free, staining his robes darker. His vision blurred, the world dissolving into red haze and starlight.
Then—
The gate shattered.
The dormant meridian burst open.
Qi howled through the new channel like a flood breaking its dam, ripping down walls of resistance, tearing through his veins. His body seized violently, then shuddered as the torrent forced his channels wider instead of breaking them.
The lantern flame snuffed out. The window cracked in its frame. The chamber floor shook beneath the storm within him.
Haotian collapsed forward, drenched in blood and sweat. His muscles trembled, his veins still swollen and throbbing with raw qi, but he endured. His golden eyes burned dimly through the mess of crimson, unyielding, defiant.
The path ahead had opened—though the price left him standing at the brink of death itself.
Haotian's body shook violently, skin flushed crimson, muscles twitching as though they were tearing fiber by fiber. His veins bulged grotesquely, dark cords writhing under his skin as torrents of qi forced their way through. Blood streamed from his nose, ears, and eyes in crimson rivulets, soaking his robes. Each breath rasped wet and broken, his chest convulsing with the strain.
Then the flood broke through.
Qi surged upward into the third core between his brows. The dim ember that had flickered so faintly suddenly blazed into a sun, light piercing through every fiber of his being.
His body convulsed once, veins swollen to the point of rupture—then, abruptly, everything relaxed. His muscles trembled, then began knitting faintly. The torn meridians steadied.
The agony—
The endless torment that had consumed him—
Vanished.
Haotian gasped sharply, then drew in a deep, steady breath. The blood dripping from his face slowed, then stopped. His skin, moments from tearing apart, smoothed as if bathed in unseen balm. His body no longer screamed; it resonated with calm, unshakable rhythm.
The three cores pulsed in unison.
The resonance spread outward.
A thunderous shockwave erupted from him, rattling the chamber. The wooden floor split, bedding shattered, dust sifted from the beams above.
Outside, disciples stumbled, clutching rails and walls as tremors shook the sect. Elders jolted awake mid-cultivation, their expressions paling at the surge of energy.
Above the sect, the heavens swirled. Clouds twisted into a vast vortex, winds tearing across the mountains. Snow lifted in sheets, pulled skyward into the churning storm.
Then the first roar came.
ROAR!
It shook the heavens, a dragon's cry so deep it reverberated in the marrow of every disciple's bones. Birds scattered from the cliffs. The very earth groaned in reply.
In her meditation hall, Sect Master Yinxue froze. The shockwave slammed into her chest, nearly staggering her. Her eyes widened in disbelief, her heart sinking.
That aura… Haotian. Foolish child!
She rose in a rush, her robes snapping with the sudden movement, fury and dread warring in her eyes.
I warned him to rest. I warned him not to force his cultivation—yet he dares to ignore me at the cost of his life?
The second roar thundered, louder still. Lightning cracked within the storm above, illuminating the vortex in blinding flashes.
Inside Haotian's sea of consciousness, golden light split the void. From the rift, a colossal dragon of molten brilliance coiled into existence, its scales glistening like suns, its roar deafening.
It spiraled once through his inner world—then a second dragon formed.
And a third.
The resonance had begun.
Unstoppable. Irreversible.