Beneath a boundless sky strewn with burning stars, a lone figure lay upon the quiet earth.
The night was vast. Endless. Silent.
And within that silence… a storm brewed.
Xingchen stared upward, his dark eyes reflecting the scattered constellations. To any passerby, he would seem at ease—calm, almost idle. But beneath that stillness, something flickered.
Longing. Anticipation.
"…Two weeks." His voice was low, almost lost to the wind.
It had been two weeks since his rebirth. Two weeks since he had managed to discharge himself from that sterile white room.
His brother had argued, of course. His brother had stayed by his bedside for days, dark circles under his eyes, quietly terrified that Xingchen would slip away again. Xingchen had spent those fourteen days learning the strange contours of this new life—absorbing a history he hadn't lived, memorizing the layout of a cramped apartment, and watching his brother work himself to exhaustion just to pay for the medical tape anchoring Xingchen's broken ribs.
At first, his mind had been chaos. Fragmented thoughts, clashing identities, a storm of emotions that nearly tore him apart.
But now…
It was quiet. Stable. Whole.
And only now—only after the domestic haze of this new world had settled—did the weight of realization truly sink in.
"This world…" A faint smile touched his lips, though his eyes remained distant. "…is extraordinary."
In his previous life, power dictated everything. Strength was law. Cultivation was the sole path that led beyond mortality. But here? Here, mortals—fragile, short-lived beings with no cultivation to speak of—had forged something entirely different.
Technology.
A path alien to him… yet undeniably profound.
Machines that could think. Tools that could calculate beyond human limits. Weapons that could rival low-level cultivators. For a fleeting moment, looking at the glowing glass rectangles and digital networks of this era, he had truly believed those so-called "artificial intelligences" were ancient relics that had gained sentience.
"…Ridiculous." Yet… impressive.
Without spiritual qi, without cultivation, they had still reached beyond their world. They had even touched the heavens—stepping onto Mars.
His gaze deepened. "If they had time…"
If their lifespans weren't so painfully short… what kind of civilization would they have become?
It was a terrifying thought. A path completely different from cultivation… yet perhaps just as boundless.
"…Still." The faint warmth in his eyes faded. "This changes nothing."
Because no matter how extraordinary this world seemed, it lacked the one thing that mattered. Qi.
He had tried. Again and again, sitting in meditation while his brother slept in the next room, expanding his senses, searching every inch of his surroundings. Nothing. No spiritual qi. No celestial energy. No trace of anything he could cultivate.
A dead world. At least… that's what it should have been.
But Xingchen slowly sat up, his gaze sharpening as a sharp twinge in his torso reminded him of his mortal limits.
"…No." Something felt wrong.
This world was too vast. Too complete. There was no way such a world could not sustain power beyond mortality.
"I'm missing something."
A quiet certainty settled in his heart. He rose to his feet. The grass beneath him swayed softly, untouched by wind.
"…Then I'll start from the beginning."
He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. His breathing steadied. His thoughts stilled.
Then—he moved.
Not like a mortal training his body, but like something ancient awakening. His arms traced slow, deliberate arcs through the air—each movement precise, controlled, as though following an invisible rhythm etched into the fabric of existence.
Step. Turn. Flow.
His body moved in harmony, every motion connected, every breath aligned. This was no ordinary technique. This was the Yin-Yang Celestial Tempering Scripture—a heaven-rank method he had forged through blood, insight, and countless near-death experiences in his previous life. A technique that tempered the body through opposing forces: Lunar cold. Solar heat. Destruction and rebirth.
He had reached the fourth level once. Now… he would begin again.
Time passed. Minutes slipped by like drifting smoke.
Nothing. No response.
A faint ripple of doubt stirred within him—
Then—something changed.
A thread of cold. Subtle. Sharp. It pierced through his skin like a needle of frost.
Xingchen's eyes snapped open. "It—"
The cold spread, flowing into his veins, his flesh, his bones. Deeper. Further. Until it reached the very core of his being.
His heartbeat quickened. "It works…"
But the moment that thought formed, pain erupted. Not from the body. But from something far deeper.
A ragged scream tore from his throat.
His body trembled violently as he collapsed to one knee.
It wasn't a pain he had known before. Not in this life. Not even in the last. It was as if something unseen had reached into him—grasping his soul, peeling it apart layer by layer.
His vision blurred. His breath shattered. His thoughts fractured. It felt like drowning—no. Worse. Like being dragged into an endless abyss with no way to resist.
"…Again…?" The thought surfaced faintly. "…Am I… dying… again?"
"No!"
His will surged. His survival instinct roared like a beast awakened. Every fragment of his being resisted. Clung. Fought.
But it was meaningless. The force crushing him was absolute. Unreachable. Unstoppable.
His consciousness began to sink. Deeper. Further. Until even the pain began to fade.
"…So this… is the end…"
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Then—something pulled him back. Violently. Suddenly. Like a hand reaching into the abyss and dragging him out.
His consciousness snapped awake. The pain—gone. The weight—gone.
Xingchen's eyes flew open. And everything had changed.
He stood upon an endless sea. The water was still, silent, like a mirror stretching into infinity. Golden mist drifted across the surface, thin and ethereal. Strange runes shimmered within it—appearing and fading like whispers of a forgotten language.
"…Where…" His voice fell into the void. No echo. No response. Only silence.
Then—he saw it. Far beyond the horizon. Something vast. Something impossible.
A gate. No—not merely a gate.
It was as if reality itself had been torn apart… and something ancient stood behind the fracture. Colossal. Boundless. Its surface was cracked, fractured by the weight of time itself. Ancient runes spiraled across it, glowing faintly as though they carried the memory of countless ages.
Xingchen's breath stilled. "…What is this…?"
His heart trembled. Not from fear, but from something deeper. Reverence.
"Heavenly...dao!" A thought suddenly struck through his consciousness.
Towering above him like the boundary between existence and nothingness.
A voice—not heard, but felt from within him, from beyond him, from everywhere—echoed: Move forward.
His body moved before his mind could react. Step. Step. The sea did not ripple beneath his feet. Distance lost meaning. Time blurred.
The gate grew larger. Closer. Until he stood directly before it.
Push it. Open it.
The urge surged violently within him, like a desire carved into his very soul. He raised his hand. Hesitation flickered for only a moment—then his palm met the surface of the gate.
The world stopped. No sound. No movement. No time.
Then—something responded. A single rune on the gate flickered. Faint. Ancient. Alive.
Xingchen's pupils shrank. Before he could react, the rune broke free. Not physically, but as if its very essence peeled away from the gate.
A thread of golden light. Thin as a hair, yet carrying a weight that made his soul tremble. It shot toward him. Too fast. Too sudden.
"—!"
It pierced through his palm. No resistance. No pain. And yet—everything changed.
The moment it entered his body, his mind exploded. Endless fragments surged within him—broken symbols, shattered meanings, a language he could not comprehend, yet one that felt… familiar.
His blood roared. His bones trembled. His soul quivered.
It was not power. Not yet. It was something far more terrifying. A mark. A seed. A… key.
"Wh—"
Before he could grasp even a fraction of it, the Dao Gate reacted. A violent tremor rippled through its massive structure. The fractures across its surface glowed—then erupted with blinding light.
And in that instant, pressure descended. Crushing. Absolute. His body, his soul, his very existence—all screamed as if they would shatter into nothingness.
"—!"
No sound escaped him. Even his voice was suppressed beneath that overwhelming force. And just as suddenly, he was expelled. Thrown. Dragged back through the sea, through the void, through everything—
Until—
Xingchen's body jolted violently. His eyes snapped open.
The night sky returned. The stars burned above him once more. His body lay on the grass—drenched in cold sweat, trembling uncontrollably. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, his broken ribs screaming in protest.
"…That…" His voice trembled. "…was real."
His gaze slowly lifted toward the sky. But what he saw… was no longer the same.