The Broken Dream rumbled through the hyperspace corridor like a drunk dragon with engine problems. Its hull squealed. Its lights flickered. And in the galley, something hissed that absolutely shouldn't be hissing.
Li Tianxuan sat at the edge of a dented metal bench, clutching a steaming mug of... well, it was brown and liquid. That was all he dared assume.
Across from him stood what might be the galaxy's most passive-aggressive appliance.
"Incorrect consumption posture detected," said Greg, the sentient coffee machine. His voice was smooth and smug, like a noble who just discovered your shoe had a hole.
"I'm literally sitting and drinking," Tianxuan said, glancing at his mug warily.
"Improper mug angle. Potential flavor optimization: 3.7% below standard."
"You're judging how I drink space coffee?"
"Always."
Tianxuan blinked. "Can I uninstall you?"
"Only if you'd like your next cup brewed at 4000 Kelvin."
From the corner, Zhao Wuming snorted without looking up from his plasma blade, which he was fine-tuning with monk-like focus. "Told you. Judgmental."
The ship's interior was a charming blend of cozy chaos and mechanical trauma. Every surface had been patched, repainted, or scribbled with profanity in at least three languages—including one written exclusively with emojis. A soft hum of duct-taped energy shields accompanied their flight like a very nervous lullaby.
From the overhead staircase, the bridge was barely visible through a grated floor, where muffled arguments regularly flared.
"Chef! You turned the coolant into soup again!"
"It was labeled non-toxic!"
"That doesn't make it chicken broth, you culinary terrorist!"
Tianxuan turned to Wuming. "How does this ship still fly?"
"Mostly fear. Part luck. And the prayers of that coffee machine."
"And duct tape."
"And duct tape," Wuming nodded solemnly.
The door to the engine bay burst open, releasing a gust of burnt ozone and a spray of glittering coolant. Out stepped a short woman in oil-stained overalls, goggles pushed up on her forehead, and a grin that said I just fixed something that definitely should've killed us.
"You're the relic kid?" she asked, hands on her hips.
"I guess?"
"Cool. Name's Fang Suyin. I do engines. Also sabotage. Mostly on Wednesdays, though sometimes I cheat and sabotage things on Tuesdays too."
Tianxuan nodded slowly. "Good to know. I'm Li Tianxuan. I drink judgmental coffee."
"Heh. You'll fit right in."
Later That Day
The crew gathered in the war room—a glorified broom closet with a flickering holoprojector that coughed sparks every time someone breathed near it. The walls were lined with cracked screens, coffee stains, and a very suspicious pile of ancient noodles in one corner that no one acknowledged.
Captain Lin Gaoyang appeared on the screen at last. Sharp features, cybernetic eye glowing, scar running from temple to jaw. A man who had clearly seen too much and regretted exactly none of it.
"We've got two problems," he said without preamble. "One: the kid's now tagged by the Obsidian Empire, the Lightstream Pirates, and probably half the bounty guilds in the quadrant."
"Wow, I'm popular," Tianxuan muttered.
"Two: our reactor's leaking faster than Greg during sarcasm mode."
Greg beeped indignantly. "I do not leak. I seep with elegance."
"The hell does that mean?" Suyin muttered.
"Are we still talking about the coffee machine?" Tianxuan asked.
Wuming shrugged. "You'll get used to Greg. Or not. He's like a parasite with Wi-Fi."
Captain Gaoyang continued, voice grim. "Tianxuan, that relic inside you? It's broadcasting. Anyone with a third-rate scanner and a grudge can trace you."
"So I'm basically a walking emergency beacon."
"A very valuable one," the Captain corrected. "We're heading to Qingyun Station. It's off-grid, run by old allies. They'll get you started on the basics of the Dao Star Codex."
"Wait," Tianxuan frowned. "I thought cultivation took decades?"
"It does," Gaoyang replied, "unless you cheat."
Wuming gave a rare smile. "We're very big on cheating."
"And caffeine," Greg added. "Mostly caffeine."
A Little Tour
Suyin led Tianxuan through the winding corridors of the Broken Dream. It smelled of recycled air, solder smoke, and slightly burnt seaweed. They passed crew quarters (half stitched together from old escape pods), a meditation chamber that doubled as a broom closet, and a targeting center currently being used to dry laundry.
"You get used to the smell," Suyin offered cheerfully.
"Which smell?"
"Yes."
They stopped at a crude mural scrawled in charcoal on a wall—stick figures in space armor fighting a squid with laser eyes.
"That's from our last job," Suyin said proudly. "We fought a hypersquid over a shipment of spirit-grade soy sauce."
"...Why?"
"Someone insulted a merchant prince's grandmother."
Tianxuan blinked. "Is that a... serious crime?"
"Absolutely not," she said. "But the prince was drunk and we were bored."
Elsewhere, Across the Stars…
Far away in a cold obsidian hall lit only by floating runes, the Obsidian Empire made its move.
Commander Jin Moyan, wrapped in black voidsteel armor, sat upon a floating throne of glass and bone. Her violet eyes glowed as she watched the Codex's pulse flicker on her screen.
"The Codex has awakened," she said, voice low. "The boy lives."
Beside her, General Varth, a half-machine warlord with obsidian plating and a cannon arm, knelt.
"Shall we dispatch the Voidfang assassins?"
"No. Too messy. Send the Pale Hunters."
A murmur spread through the chamber. The Pale Hunters were whispered killers, faceless, speechless, merciless.
"I want him alive," Jin Moyan said. "And screaming."
Behind her, a hundred masked figures knelt in silence, their faces hidden behind smooth porcelain masks.
The Codex Stirs
Back aboard the Broken Dream, Tianxuan lay on a cot barely big enough for a moderately sized hamster. He stared at the ceiling, feeling the faint pulse of the relic in his chest.
The Dao Star Codex stirred in his mind—lines of light, celestial diagrams, and drifting runes unfolding like petals. The first of them flickered before his eyes: The Stellar Meridian Map.
He sat upright, breathing slowly.
Energy tingled through his veins. Threads of astral light coiled under his skin like golden serpents.
The first step: Astral Vein Opening.
He sat cross-legged.
Inhale. Exhale. Let the relic guide the flow.
The ship's hum vanished into silence. His breath slowed. The Codex etched itself into his bones.
Then—
CRACK.
A soft snap echoed in his ears. His chest flared with heat. His back arched slightly as something inside him shifted—like starlight opening a hidden gate.
He gasped and opened his eyes.
"I think... I just opened one," he whispered.
From a shadowed corner, Zhao Wuming sipped from a battered mug.
"Not bad. Most people take months. You took two minutes and a minor existential crisis."
Tianxuan coughed. "Is that... good?"
"If you don't explode overnight, I'd call it a win."
Greg beeped. "Statistically, only 17% chance of spontaneous combustion."
"Not helping."
"Then I've done my job."
And So It Begins
The Broken Dream sailed through hyperspace—flickers of light, distant stars, and interdimensional folds dancing around it like dreams.
Li Tianxuan lay still, eyes wide, the Codex whispering deeper truths to him.
Somewhere out there, the hunters were coming.
The Empire had felt the stirrings.
And far away, in another sector, a fortune teller gasped as her cards burned to ash—revealing only three symbols:
The Star Emperor returns.