CHAPTER 1
The moon hung high in the night sky, pouring down a silvery light so intense it felt almost tangible. Through the tall windows of the martial arts hall, its glow filtered in like a sacred mantle, illuminating the polished wooden floor and casting long, sharp shadows. The stars—more numerous and brighter than usual—watched in silence, as if bearing witness to something that had yet to be born.
At the center of the hall, a young man wielded his sword.
Wei Han.
He was around twenty-five years old, with the lean, solid body of someone who had trained since he could walk. Every movement he made was precise and clean, devoid of any unnecessary gesture. The sword danced in his hands with hypnotic grace, tracing perfect arcs through the air, cutting through the stillness of the night with a faint whistle. There was no opponent before him, yet every thrust carried the gravity of a fight to the death.
His mind was elsewhere.
While his body followed a sequence engraved deep into his very bones, his thoughts wandered aimlessly. He did not think about techniques, forms, or even victory. He simply allowed the sword to move, as if it were not a tool, but a natural extension of his own existence.
As long as he could remember, he had wielded a sword.
A genius, they called him.
A prodigy of kendo.
From childhood, Wei Han had moved from tournament to tournament, amassing victories with an ease that inspired admiration… and envy. He had never lost a single competition—regional, national, international. Even at world championships, his name appeared again and again at the very top of the podium. To the world, he was someone destined for greatness.
The sequence ended.
The sword came to an abrupt halt, and silence once again filled the hall. Wei Han closed his eyes and slowly released a breath he had been holding for a long time, as though he were letting go of more than just air.
He opened his eyes.
His gaze swept across the place he stood in. The walls were lined with display cases filled with trophies and medals—gold, silver, engraved with dates and the names of competitions any martial artist would recognize instantly. Irrefutable proof of a lifetime devoted to the sword. Proof of success, glory, and recognition.
And yet…
Wei Han felt empty.
A quiet hollow in his chest that no victory had ever managed to fill. Everything others desperately longed for, he already possessed, yet he found no satisfaction in it. It was as though he had reached the end of a path he had never consciously chosen to walk.
He gently tightened his grip on the sword's hilt.
Something was missing.
Something he could not even name.
The emptiness in his chest gave way to a memory.
His master's face appeared clearly in his mind, as if summoned by the moonlight. A man whose back remained straight even in old age, with a sharp gaze and hands covered in scars that told stories he never needed to recount. To Wei Han, that old man was not merely a kendo instructor—he was the very embodiment of the sword itself.
Powerful.
Undeniably powerful.
His master had reached a level few could comprehend. Even at an age when others could barely stand, his mere presence commanded respect. When he wielded a sword, the air itself seemed to grow heavy, and every movement carried an invisible weight, as though it contained decades of understanding and will.
And yet…
Time forgives no one.
Not even the strong.
Advanced age had eventually claimed his life, silently and inexorably. There were no enemies, no final battles, no crossed blades beneath a blazing sky. Only a quiet bed, a final breath… and the emptiness left behind.
That was when a somber question took root in Wei Han's heart.
A question he never dared to voice aloud.
Why?
Why practice the sword with his entire soul?
In a peaceful world, where wars were distant memories and conflicts were resolved through words and treaties. In a world where humans, no matter how hard they struggled, were destined to age, weaken, and disappear without ever reaching anything beyond that inevitable cycle.
Not even his master—someone so formidable—had been able to escape.
The sword had not changed his fate.
The hall fell into absolute silence. Only the faint creak of wood beneath his feet and the distant murmur of the night wind accompanied his thoughts. For several seconds, Wei Han remained motionless, his gaze lowered, allowing that corrosive doubt to pierce straight through him.
Then, his eyes hardened.
Without warning, Wei Han swung his sword once more.
Steel sliced through the air with a clean, decisive sound, as if it sought to split not only the night itself, but also every unnecessary thought daring to cloud his mind. One movement, then another. Fast. Precise. Absolute.
He stopped thinking.
The sword danced once more beneath the moon, and with every strike, Wei Han forced himself to keep moving forward—even though he still did not know where that path would lead him.
The scene shifted abruptly.
Far from the silent martial arts hall, on the outskirts of a forest where the moon and stars reigned without rival, the city stood alive and noisy. Though night had already fallen, the bustle showed no sign of fading. The constant sounds of cars, overlapping conversations, laughter, distant music, and hurried footsteps filled the air, forming a chaotic symphony that could only belong to a great metropolis.
Neon lights and streetlamps illuminated the streets, reflecting off the wet asphalt and the windows of tall buildings. In one of those apartment complexes, several floors above the ground, a single room remained lit.
Inside was a young man around twenty-five years old.
His body was well-built, with perfectly sculpted muscles that betrayed countless hours of training. Even at rest, his figure radiated a sense of restrained strength. He lay back casually, holding his phone in one hand as he scrolled with an expression of irritation.
"Why are the characters so useless…?" he muttered, frowning. "And why do the protagonists always do the same things?"
His voice carried a mix of fatigue and disappointment, as though he had seen too much of the same thing over and over again. A few seconds passed before he clicked his tongue and turned off the phone's screen.
Jin Yuchen closed his eyes for a moment and let out a long sigh. Then he sat up and stretched, his muscles tightening and relaxing naturally, like an animal accustomed to physical exertion.
The noise of the city continued to filter in through the open window.
Life went on, indifferent.
After stretching, Jin let his arms fall and silently allowed his gaze to wander around the room.
It was not especially large, but every corner was filled with clear signs of its owner. Improvised shelves and wardrobes packed with books occupied much of the space. There were old volumes with worn corners and yellowed pages alongside newer editions with glossy covers—titles that spoke of immortals, ancient sects, forbidden techniques, and heroes who defied the heavens.
As long as he could remember, he had been obsessed with cultivation stories.
Popular myths, ancestral legends, tales passed down through generations… and, of course, xianxia novels. He had devoured every story with an almost obsessive passion, imagining himself walking through those impossible worlds where humans broke their limits and transcended destiny.
But lately…
Nothing filled his soul.
Each new book felt emptier than the last. Flat characters, recycled plots, protagonists who seemed to advance without true conviction. Stories that once would have set his heart racing now barely held his attention for a few minutes before leaving a bitter aftertaste.
Jin stepped closer to the window and gently pulled aside the curtain.
The moon shone high in the sky, bathing the city in a soft, cold light. Beyond it, the stars stretched out in vast numbers—too many. For some reason, they seemed far more numerous than on any other day, as if the heavens themselves had grown deeper, closer.
A faint unease stirred in his chest.
He looked away, shaking his head, and let out a quiet laugh.
"I'm overthinking things," he murmured.
Still, he knew staying cooped up inside would not help. He slipped his phone into his pocket, grabbed a light jacket, and decided to head downstairs. A nearby park, quiet at that hour, would be enough to clear his mind.
As he closed the door behind him, the city continued its eternal murmur… oblivious to the stars watching silently from above.
The park was almost empty.
Jin Yuchen stopped near a low railing and gazed out at the city stretching before him. From there, the nighttime spectacle was hypnotic: buildings lit like artificial constellations, avenues turned into rivers of light, glowing windows concealing thousands of different stories. The city never slept—it simply changed its rhythm.
For a few seconds, he allowed himself to watch in silence.
Then, he stepped back.
His feet spread firmly apart, his knees bent, and his center of gravity lowered. He assumed a perfect horse stance—stable, solid, like roots driven deep into the earth. His back remained straight, fists clenched at his waist, breathing deep and controlled.
Jin had always been passionate about martial arts.
Since childhood, he had forged his body with near-obsessive determination. Weights, endurance, flexibility, control. He had pushed every muscle, every tendon, every limit, again and again, seeking to surpass what was called "human." Pain was familiar. Fatigue, an old companion.
But reality had been cruel.
Lately, the same question surfaced in his mind again and again, like a shadow impossible to dispel.
Why?
Why had he done so much?
Was it worth it?
In this world, it did not matter how much he trained. It did not matter how strong his body became or how unyielding his will was. He would never reach anywhere. There would be no transcendence, no breaking of fate, no hidden paths leading to something more.
Humans were destined to go nowhere.
As those thoughts passed through him, Jin felt the heat building in his muscles—the slight tremor in his thighs, the tension in his lower back, the controlled burn that signaled real effort. He remained motionless, enduring, as if daring the world itself to knock him down.
Then—
A thunderous roar.
The sound was deep, unnatural, as if the sky itself had cracked apart. Jin's eyes widened as he snapped his head upward.
For an instant, he saw it.
A star.
No—it was not falling… it was plunging downward, leaving behind an incandescent trail that tore through the heavens. Its brilliance was too intense, too close.
Time seemed to stop.
Jin did not even have the chance to scream.
A blinding flash engulfed the entire park, devouring the city lights, the ground beneath his feet, and his very thoughts. Everything was swallowed by an absolute white.
And, far away…
In an old martial arts hall, isolated from the world, beneath the same moon and the same unnaturally bright stars, a surprisingly similar scene was unfolding.