Night cloaked the deep-blue planet, where the sky hung vast and distant, constellations spinning silently like ancient star disks. Countless stars fell like streaming sand, scattering across the silent, ancient land, casting a mysterious and profound glow.
On the fringe of this unnamed galaxy, the stars slumbered. Spiritual energy swirled unseen. Mountains and rivers lay dormant, sects hid in the folds of the land, and cultivators wandered through faint light and shadow in search of their fate marks and paths. All things moved in rhythm with the seasons.
Yet within this vast sea of stars existed a forbidden domain, long shrouded in mist—Zhongyuan. Hidden in the center of an endless ocean, it was sealed from the outside world, untouchable and unseeable. For millennia, countless powerhouses had tried to break through the veil, only to vanish without a trace. None returned. Only those within Zhongyuan knew the secret paths to its inner realms.
Zhongyuan, with its vast rivers and mountains, held spiritual veins buried deep beneath its lands. These veins, large and small, formed the foundation of cultivation, nourishing those who practiced the way. Yet the veins were not evenly shared—they were controlled by sects, symbols of power and dominance.
The stronger the sect, the richer the spiritual veins. The weaker the sect, the scarcer the resources, and the harder the road of cultivation.
The Star Mark Sect, the leading sect among the Seven Sects of Zhongyuan, had reigned supreme for over a hundred years. Since the "Fall of the Seven Stars," it had guarded the core spiritual veins of Zhongyuan. With its immense fortune and legions of disciples, it became the place where countless cultivators sought the Dao.
An old saying circulated in the cultivation world:
"Seven sects stand side by side; Star Mark reigns supreme."
And among today's cultivators, another line was softly passed from mouth to mouth:
"Spiritual veins belong to the sect; fortune flows to the stars; all seek the path, and all turn to Star Mark."
This was not only the glory of the Star Mark Sect—it was a shackle that no other sect could shake. The unchanging structure of a thousand years was like the brightest star in the night sky—unchallenged, unmoved.
At this moment, deep within the Star Mark Sect, soft lights flickered. The night breeze carried a subtle fragrance of medicine and herbs, brushing past spiritual flowers, whose leaves quivered slightly as if in response to the whispers of starlight.
In this spiritually charged night, a grand manor stood at the summit of the sect's main peak—Starwalker Manor. It towered with unmatched might, its grounds vast enough to rival a hundred households. It was the heart of the sect's power, the holy land and dream of countless cultivators.
Within the manor, flames danced gently. The scent of sandalwood mingled with herbal fragrance, drifting through the corridors, wrapping even the night in warmth and silence. On either side of the halls, blue bricks lined the floor, red pillars bore intricate carvings, and spiritual flowers trembled as if sensing celestial murmurs.
In the grand hall stood an ancient star disk, its bronze edges worn with time. Star engravings flickered faintly with spiritual energy. Upon the disk, a faint purple glow flickered, uneasy, as if harboring a subtle omen beneath the calm of night.
Before the disk stood a white-haired elder, tall and silent. Robed in deep purple, hands behind his back, he radiated the calm of a mountain. A deep furrow etched his brow, and starlight glinted in his black pupils—vast and unreadable, like a bottomless abyss.
He was the sect master of the Star Mark Sect—Nixing Temple.
His gaze remained fixed on the flickering glow atop the star disk. A shadow passed across his eyes. Even atop the heights of power, his expression held deep concern. After a moment of silence, he murmured softly, voice low like thunder in the wind:
"The stars shift... fate marks tremble..."
As the words fell, night wind swept through the hall, lifting a few petals from spiritual flowers. They drifted down beside the star disk—silent, yet filled with foreboding.
The hall door opened without a sound. A figure stepped in, steady in step, his aura restrained, though his brows betrayed a trace of impatience and anticipation. Looking up at the elder on the platform, he asked with hesitation:
"Father, what troubles you?"
Nixing Temple did not turn, replying quietly:
"There is change in the stars... and the fate marks are unsteady."
The young man—Ni Linhai—frowned slightly. His voice took on a reassuring tone:
"Father, the Star Mark Sect stands above all. What calamity could possibly shake us?"
Nixing Temple slowly turned to face his eldest son, whose features bore seven or eight parts resemblance. A complex emotion flashed in his deep gaze, but he only sighed:
"Let's hope it's just your father's overthinking."
Ni Linhai was silent for a moment before a rare smile tugged at his lips. There was joy he could barely contain:
"Father, never mind the stars for now... I have greater news."
Nixing Temple raised an eyebrow, interest piqued:
"Speak."
Ni Linhai stepped forward and bowed, voice brimming with excitement:
"Father, Xin Hui... is with child."
The atmosphere in the hall froze for a heartbeat.
Nixing Temple's pupils shrank. Then his expression softened, and a booming laugh erupted:
"Good! Good! Wonderful! At last, another peerless warrior for our Star Mark line!"
He strode outward, laughter echoing:
"Come, let me see my fine daughter-in-law!"
Outside, the east wing flickered with gentle light. The air was thick with medicine and the scent of blooming spiritual flora. The garden, personally tended by Liu Xinhui, glowed with soft green hues under the stars, pulsing with life.
She stood watering the plants, porcelain pot in hand, its contents glowing faintly with flowing spiritual energy. Despite some weariness in her features, her gentle aura remained unshaken. Her gaze drifted now and then to her slightly rounded belly, filled with quiet warmth and devotion.
A burst of laughter came from outside. The main doors swung open.
Just as Liu Xinhui prepared to bow, a gentle but firm wave of spiritual energy supported her, preventing her from bending forward.
"No need for formality, my good daughter-in-law. Sit."
Nixing Temple entered with bright eyes, his gaze fixed on her abdomen, filled with joy and an intense, unspoken expectation.
"This child is the hope of the Star Mark Sect! Thanks to you and Linhai, our line has a future once more."
He turned to Ni Linhai, voice firm and heavy with layered meaning:
"This child is not just your blood. They are the future of the entire Star Mark Sect. Guard them well. Understand?"
Ni Linhai responded instantly:
"Yes, Father. I will not fail you."
Cultivation defied the heavens. The bodies of cultivators were saturated with spiritual energy—too intense for ordinary flesh to bear.
In dual cultivation, spiritual energy collided like rivers clashing. A single misstep could cause internal backlash, loss of life. Even if stable, conceiving a child was near impossible.
In the Star Mark Sect—its energy fierce, its veins strong—no true direct descendants had been born for a century.
Especially in Starwalker Manor. Since ten years ago, it had fallen behind the other six sects. No daughter-in-law, let alone a young heir.
Outwardly, Nixing Temple remained the composed and powerful sect master. But in silent nights, gazing up at the stars, he had felt an overwhelming unease—a quiet envy of the sects already blessed with new life.
The cultivation world was a race among peers. The faster the next generation grew, the more breakthroughs they achieved, the greater their sect's edge. Resources were never fair. They favored the strong.
This wasn't family business—it was the heavy game of fate and power.
His concern was not for this grandchild alone—it was for the legacy of the Star Mark Sect, the thousand-year glory that must not fade.
He had known loss. His wife died giving birth to Ni Linhai. That night, he sat watching the star disk flare with violet light—and could do nothing to stop fate.
Now, once more, the disk flickered. And this time, he would allow no failure.
Liu Xinhui gave a soft nod, her gentle smile hiding the weight she now carried. Her fingers brushed her belly. A spark of starlight flashed in her palm, then vanished into the night.
Nixing Temple turned to the attendants behind him and ordered sternly:
"During Madam Liu's pregnancy, take extreme care. If there's even a hint of error—face the sect's law."
Silence fell.
In the cultivation world, power ruled. Regardless of rank, order was maintained by strict laws. Among the Seven Sects, a single weakness invited devouring.
The Star Mark Sect could afford no softness.
The phrase "face the sect's law" struck terror into every servant. Sweat formed on bowed brows. The past was all too real.
Once, an overseer had ruined a thousand-year herb through neglect. He was sentenced to three thousand cuts, his spirit locked in a torment array until death.
Since then, none dared mention the place it happened. Even the spiritual residue was sealed.
Now, the future of the sect depended on this child and their mother. Any mistake would be paid in blood.
The night deepened. Lamps flickered. Spiritual energy flowed. And a heavy silence blanketed Starwalker Manor.
This was no family matter.
It was a silent war over fate, power—and the future of a sect's name written in the stars.