The first light of dawn cut through the clouds over Frostveil Peak, silver and pale like a blade. The mountain was silent, but the air hummed with latent power. At the edge of a sheer cliff, Tiān Lán stood alone, black hair plastered by mist, azure robes swaying lightly in the wind. The disciples below had gathered—some out of curiosity, most out of disbelief—but none dared approach.
He closed his eyes. Breath slowed. Fingers flexed.
> Foundation Establishment Completion—Check.
The Skyfrost Vein-Severing Art hummed within him, dormant yet pulsing with anticipation. This was not ordinary cultivation. This was the awakening of a storm that had slept for centuries.
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Core Formation: First Layer (Early Stage)
A spark ignited deep within his dantian. Mist-like qi condensed into liquid frost, spiraling around a nascent proto-core. Pain flared—every meridian shrieked as impurities were torn free, as lightning traced across frozen veins. Frost formed on his eyelashes.
Every breath drew the mountain's essence into him. With each pulse, the proto-core trembled violently. This was the knife-edge of life and death. One misstep would shatter his body.
A faint echo whispered in his mind: "Remember… you are Yè Tíanshuāng. Precision, not brute force."
He guided the proto-core with subtle adjustments, letting the mist condense evenly. The first ring of frost spread from his feet across the cliff, hissing as stone froze.
The early stage solidified—a fragile sphere of condensed qi. Rivals whispered in disbelief:
> "He… he's forcing Core Formation without even reaching mid-level Foundation!"
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Core Formation: Second Layer (Mid Stage)
The proto-core rotated faster, grinding heaven and earth essence into dense crystalline glow. Pressure intensified. Lightning-frost veins traced along his skin. Pain now was exquisite—flesh trembling under the surge.
Every inhale drew ambient qi; every exhale expelled excess energy. Threads of pale violet lightning danced over his skin, intertwining with frost like a living tattoo. Snow swirled in a mini-blizzard around him, lifted by his aura alone.
Inside, the proto-core crystallized into a storm embryo, pulsing like a heartbeat. Each pulse hummed like distant thunder. One false move could rupture the crystal, ending him in a single, shattering instant.
Tiān Lán's eyes, normally calm, glimmered faintly storm-blue. He guided the mist, using instinctual motions from his past life. The storm embryo stabilized. Mid stage complete.
Disciples below staggered back, some kneeling in awe. Even Kaì Zhěn's smirk faltered.
> "He… he's not human."
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Core Formation: Third Layer (Late Stage)
The storm-core roared, demanding more qi. Veins of lightning lanced through the sky, feeding into the spinning embryo. Frost qi surged outward, coating the cliff in a crystalline glaze. The mountain responded—wind whipping violently, snow rising as if answering a summons.
The pain reached unbearable heights. The core threatened to shatter from within. Every meridian strained, every organ screamed. Yet Tiān Lán's body did not break. Yè Tíanshuāng's instincts guided him. The storm was not an enemy; it was a partner.
The embryo grew, pulsing violently, now resembling a miniature storm-scape contained within him. Frost lightning licked the air, snowflakes dancing like silver sparks. Rivals gasped. Elder whispers grew tense:
> "He… he's bending the mountain's ley lines to himself."
The late stage solidified. The core glowed a calm, yet incomprehensible silver-blue. Peak approach imminent.
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Core Formation: Fourth Layer (Peak Stage)
Time seemed to freeze. Snow hung suspended. Birds halted mid-flight. The storm condensed inward, folding chaos into a single point.
Tiān Lán's heartbeat slowed to match the pulse of the core. Qi spiraled faster than thought. His body became a conduit for elemental forces, balancing lightning and frost perfectly. Even the cliff quivered under the pressure.
Then, with a release that felt like tearing the heavens open—BOOOOM.
Silver-blue light exploded. The peak-core formed: a perfect storm-core spinning inside his dantian, calm, flawless, and brimming with potential. Thunder rolled across the mountains. The world had felt the birth of something ancient and unstoppable.
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Nascent Soul Emergence
From the storm-core, a faint silhouette shimmered. Miniature Tiān Lán, eyes storm-blue, coalesced like a whisper of his soul.
> Lingxiāo's voice rang in his mind.
"Master… the Nascent Soul stirs. Do you awaken it?"
He exhaled, sealing the phantom. Not yet. Patience was a weapon. Revealing too early would draw eyes he did not wish to see him. The Nascent Soul receded like mist at sunrise, leaving only the perfected peak-core behind.
The mountain, the disciples, the entire sect—all felt it. Something had changed. Something godlike had returned.
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Tiān Lán opened his eyes. A faint halo of frostlight crowned his head. Even from this distance, the power radiated like a storm-bringer.
He had not yet stepped fully into Spirit Realm. But the first tendrils of that realm whispered at his mind—threads of space, time, and elemental law calling him forward.
Rivals dared not breathe. The world itself seemed to pause, acknowledging the rebirth of Yè Tíanshuāng.
Tiān Lán smiled faintly. Storm-born, frost-laced, lightning-bound—he was ready.
> Let them come.
Thunder rolled again, deep, low, and endless. Heaven itself had taken notice.
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