Everything has a place of origin. Within our bodies, there lies such a place—the foundation of life's vitality, containing the essence of the entire self. This is known as the Source Wheel of Life, or simply, the Wheel of Life."
On a mist-shrouded, serene immortal mountain, two figures sat cross-legged: an old man and a youth. Lush trees, churning springs, cascading waterfalls, and circling cranes formed a vibrant, natural tableau. As the old man recounted the fundamentals of cultivation, the scene resembled a divine realm.
"Li Yao, do you know where this starting point is?" the old man asked the youth gently, his expression amiable.
Hearing the question, the young Li Yao pointed to his navel. "Is it here?"
Seeing this, the old man laughed heartily. "A promising child! Truly a natural-born cultivator, a genius who has awakened his Suffering Sea! You understand instantly!"
As a figure akin to an immortal, the old man was not typically so kind to ordinary mortals. His current attitude stemmed from Li Yao's exceptional talent and astonishing Daoist aura—an investment, not affection.
Li Yao responded with a slight, polite nod. The master's favor was a useful currency within the sect's economy, nothing more. His true teacher, the only one that mattered, resided within his own mind.
He had been a disciple of Hengyang Cave Heaven for over a month, devoting himself to the foundational principles. His performance was exceptional, mastering the basics in record time—a feat utterly unlike a typical ten-year-old.
Li Yao was, in fact, no ordinary child. He was a transmigrator. The method of his arrival was a classic tale, involving a significant role for a large truck.
He felt no nostalgia for his past life. Its attachments—the absent father, the fleeing mother, the decade of grinding hardship—had only been weights dragging him down. They had taught him the ultimate lesson: reliance on others ended in betrayal or loss. This new world presented a purer equation. Cultivate and ascend, or remain weak and perish. It was brutally simple, and he preferred it that way. His satisfaction came from the clarity of the path ahead, not from any rescued companionship.
Learning the foundations was tedious, a vast volume of knowledge. Perhaps due to the transmigration, his spirit and memory were excellent. When his parents in this world were killed by bandits, the trauma triggered his past-life memories, refining his spirit further and granting him a photographic memory.
This was a tool, like any other. He applied it diligently to the task at hand: acquiring the foundational knowledge required to access true cultivation scriptures. Sentiment had no place in the process.
The old man finished the day's teaching, watching Li Yao's departing figure. The time is almost right, he thought.
As a subordinate force of the Yao Guang Holy Land, Hengyang Cave Heaven's duty was to scout geniuses. Once Li Yao's aptitude was confirmed, the plan had been set: send him to the Holy Land. A verified genius would be a significant merit for the Cave Heaven.
...
Unaware and unconcerned with these machinations, Li Yao returned to his residence and secured his doors and windows. The politics of sects were a distant noise. His focus was on his own advantage.
As a transmigrator, Li Yao possessed a cheat—the essential tool for navigating a world of predestined heroes and heaven-defying geniuses. Allies could betray, masters could discard. Emotion was a vulnerability. His path would be built on the solitary, incontrovertible power granted by the secret within his soul.
As Li Yao stilled his mind, the book manifested within his consciousness—pale yellow, ancient, and lusterless. Tossed aside, it would be fit only to prop up a wobbly table leg.
Yet, this book held the Power of Enlightenment and Deduction. By inscribing scriptures upon it, the book could autonomously comprehend and deduce their truths, then impart that knowledge directly to Li Yao. Even fragments could be analyzed, giving rise to new, complete texts.
Its potency depended on its stored energy. It charged by absorbing heaven and earth's vital essence or by consuming resources like Source Stones.
Li Yao's apparent genius—his Daoist aura and awakened Sea of Bitterness—were mere side effects of the Heavenly Book's passive absorption. He was cleansed by the seepage of this energy. It was a fortunate benefit, but he felt no gratitude toward the object. It was a part of him, a tool to be mastered. Their relationship was one of utility, not reverence.
Now, with foundations complete, he would soon receive actual cultivation scriptures. Then, the tool could be properly used.
The Heavenly Book had been with him since birth. Though its absorption over ten years had been slow, the first page now glowed with a brilliant light—fully charged and ready.
Li Yao contemplated the book with clinical focus before his mind settled into perfect calm. He slept without dreams, his thoughts orderly.
The next day, the sky brightened. The Golden Crow soared, its sunlight bathing the earth.
After waking and tidying his bed, Li Yao stepped outside. There was time before his lesson. He intended to eat and return to private study. Suddenly, a tremendous roar echoed across the sky.
From the distant horizon, three divine rainbows pierced toward them, shrieking through the air.
"Boom!"
Then, like a thousand-strong cavalry charge, savage beasts treading the sky followed—ancient bloodline heirs exuding immense power. The thunder of their hooves shook the heavens. Each beast carried a cultivator, their advance evoking the momentum of tens of thousands.
They were ferocious, scaled, and overwhelming. The central rider held a large banner that flapped violently, radiating pressure. Upon it: Yao Guang Holy Land!
The spectacle was immense. A dozen figures advanced with the force of an army, making the very sky tremble.
Li Yao observed the display not with awe, but with cold analysis. Such concentrated power, he thought. It served as a perfect calibration of the pinnacle he would need to reach, or surpass, to ensure his own absolute security. They were not people to him; they were a walking benchmark of strength.
Hengyang Cave Heaven is a subordinate force, he calculated, his mind clear of fear. Their connection meant stability. For now, this sect was a useful, quiet library and a source of basic instruction. His goal was to extract those resources while remaining invisible to these larger forces. Attention from them at this stage offered no benefit, only unpredictable risk.
His current strength was negligible. Before such power, he was an ant. The logical course was to avoid the footfalls of giants.
It is not optimal to be seen today, he decided. I will sequester myself.
He resolved to be a shadow. Strength was the only true foundation. Until he was laid, he would be a ghost in the machine of the sect, minding only the business of his own growth.
But plans often go awry. Just as he finished a simple meal and turned to return to his room, a figure descended rapidly outside his residence.
It was a senior disciple of Hengyang Cave Heaven, a cultivator capable of flight by divine rainbow—a figure of considerable repute, ranked just below the Cave Heaven's top ten.
Li Yao's reaction was not deference, but a swift internal assessment. An interruption. From a high-status disciple. This is an uncontrolled variable. He moved to greet him, adopting the expected formal salute—a meaningless social algorithm to navigate the moment.
He began to bow and clasp his hands, but his arm was suddenly caught.
The hand held him with a gentle yet immovable force, stopping his bow mid-motion.