A man stood very still in the middle of Heaven.
Not the kind of heaven mortals prayed to when they ran out of options. The real one. The kind built brick by immortal brick by hands that believed history should kneel.
Heavenly Court.
Palaces floated like islands. White jade bridges stitched halls of gold together. Star rivers curved across the sky as if someone had painted light on the world and refused to wash the brush.
From far away, it looked flawless.
Up close, it looked like a blade sharpened too many times.
Li Xiao Bai stood among the gathered immortals, neither at the front nor the back. The front was for display and sacrifice. The back was for people who hoped nobody noticed their fear. The middle gave clean sight lines and exits that still existed if Heaven decided to bite.
He wore a harmless identity.
To them, he was a minor figure from an Information Grotto-Heaven. A forgettable background. A face that belonged to the scenery.
He kept it that way because scenery survived longer than heroes.
He did not move. Movement drew eyes. Eyes drew questions.
Questions led to attention.
And attention inside Heavenly Court tended to become a grave.
The air felt wrong.
It was clean, painfully clean. Every breath carried a cold purity so perfect it became suffocating, like the world had been scrubbed until the smell of life was considered a stain.
Moonlight fell across the grand formation, not because the moon was generous, but because Heavenly Court had stolen light long ago and learned how to hang it wherever needed.
The formation dominated the sky.
Layer upon layer of glowing patterns revolved in precise circles. Symbols rose, sank, and vanished. Star lines intersected like threads in an enormous loom. Every few heartbeats those threads tightened, then loosened again, as if the formation was breathing.
And at the center of everything, floating calmly as if it owned the place, was a fruit.
Qi Harvest Fruit.
It was the size of a human head, pale and translucent like milky jade. Inside it, thick currents of qi rolled and churned. Not mist. Not wind. A sea trapped behind glass, surging with pressure, pressing against invisible walls.
The immortals around Li Xiao Bai stared at it the way starving men stared at bread.
Some whispered prayers.
Some held their breath.
Some looked drunk on certainty.
"He is coming back."
"Primordial Origin is returning."
"Heavenly Court will rise again."
Li Xiao Bai listened and kept his face empty.
He was not here to worship.
He was here to measure.
Three Venerables existed at the same time. One wrong step could turn an immortal into a footnote, or worse, into a resource point somebody else harvested.
Heavenly Court had been harvested before.
Spectral Soul had torn through this place like a storm that enjoyed screaming. Vaults emptied. Treasures vanished. The immortal graveyard burned thin. The scars were still here under fresh paint, hidden the way old bruises hid under silk.
But that was not today's danger.
Today's danger was success.
Because success meant Primordial Origin truly returned, and the world's balance tilted until something cracked.
Li Xiao Bai studied the formation instead of the faces.
Information Path did not rely on strength.
It relied on details.
The outer rings rotated with perfect timing. Star patterns never collided. Every pulse from the fruit was captured, refined, and redirected back into the core.
Which was exactly why his instincts kept whispering.
Something that perfect was either controlled by an absolute genius, or trapped inside a cage built by one.
A low murmur rolled through the crowd. Not words. Mood.
Then mood sharpened into attention.
Star Constellation Immortal Venerable stood near the core.
No guard wall.
No defensive halo.
Her presence was the defense.
She looked calm, like the sky before lightning. Her calm was not gentle. It was measured. Every line of her posture carried decision. Even the way her sleeves hung felt like a quiet threat, as if the air itself had been taught to behave around her.
The immortals found comfort in her calm.
Li Xiao Bai did not.
Star Constellation's calm meant only one thing.
She had already accepted the cost.
And Heavenly Court's costs were never small.
The fruit pulsed again.
For a brief moment, the light inside brightened and the qi currents shifted. Not violently. Just a change in rhythm, like a song altering one note.
Most immortals did not notice.
Li Xiao Bai noticed.
Then he felt it.
A pressure.
Not killing intent. Something colder.
A pressure like a hand resting on the back of your neck, guiding your head to look where it wanted.
This was the sensitive stage.
The stage where the method demanded purity.
Where the core began to take shape.
If a flaw existed, it would show itself here, when the noise thinned and reality was forced to agree.
Inside the fruit, the qi condensed.
A shape appeared.
At first vague, easy to blame on imagination.
Then undeniable.
A spine.
A rib cage.
Shoulders.
A head, still faceless, smooth as stone, heavy with presence.
One immortal fell to his knees and cried.
Li Xiao Bai did not kneel.
He simply watched.
Heavenly Court believed it was building salvation.
He recognized a weapon being forged.
And he recognized the material.
The "Qi Sea Ancestor" at the core was never the original.
It was a clone.
A Qi Path clone.
Sealed, stripped, drained, then refined into a foundation so the method could take root. Birth and origin mattered more than cultivation display. Identity was the real ingredient.
The fruit pulsed again.
The qi hesitated.
A stutter, less than a blink.
The surrounding formation reacted instantly, tightening circuits, smoothing the flaw away.
The crowd saw nothing.
Li Xiao Bai saw the correction was too fast.
Then a second stutter followed.
Longer.
The formation corrected it again, but strain showed for the first time. Symbols flickered too quickly. Star patterns rotated faster, as if the method was trying to outrun something.
Star Constellation shifted her stance.
Small.
Almost invisible.
But clear.
She was bracing.
Li Xiao Bai remained still, but his mind sharpened.
Deep inside the method, where the refined foundation lay, something was wrong.
He could not see it directly.
Nobody could.
That was the point.
But patterns were enough.
Reality was trying too hard to pretend.
Then he saw it.
For a heartbeat, on the fruit's translucent surface, a distorted reflection flickered as the qi tide twisted.
Not Primordial Origin.
Not Star Constellation.
A calm gaze.
A gaze that looked at the fruit the way someone looked at a tool already measured, already understood, already doomed.
Li Xiao Bai's blood turned cold for the wrong reason.
Because he recognized the gaze.
Fang Yuan.
The reflection vanished immediately, swallowed by swirling qi.
Li Xiao Bai did not believe in coincidences.
The fruit's glow surged.
Light expanded from the core, swallowing the sky's colors. Rings accelerated. Symbols flashed in rapid sequence. The entire method felt like it was rushing, as if time itself had become an enemy.
For one breath, everything held still.
Then the world broke.
The explosion did not come with flames.
It came with rejection.
The core erupted.
A wave of force blasted outward, silent for the first fraction of a heartbeat. The innermost layers vanished as if their dao marks had been wiped from existence.
Then sound arrived.
Not noise.
A sky-wide scream.
Defensive killer moves ignited in panicked bursts. Some were too slow. Some misfired. Some collapsed instantly. Immortal palaces cracked like brittle shells. Jade bridges snapped. Star rivers twisted and scattered into spirals.
Li Xiao Bai felt the idea of direction slip.
Space cracked.
Real cracks, black lines opening across the sky like wounds. They swallowed everything near them. Halls, formations, immortals, light, swallowed without leaving debris.
Voices cut off mid-scream.
A second wave struck, sharper than the first.
A massive chunk of Heavenly Court tore loose and surged outward. Broken halls. Shattered inscriptions. Collapsing roads. Bodies flung like dust inside a storm.
Li Xiao Bai was inside that chunk.
The boundary of Heavenly Court was supposed to be absolute.
Now it cracked like thin glass.
The chunk punched through.
For an instant, Li Xiao Bai saw Heaven behind him collapsing into confusion.
Then he saw what waited beyond.
A blackness that was not night.
A blackness that erased meaning.
Light did not enter it.
Sound did not echo within it.
Distance stopped being a promise.
The chunk fell toward that blackness.
Its edges touched first.
And the edges were gone.
One word rose, heavy and final.
Chaos.