Night fell without sound.
The moon hovered above a wasteland that no longer breathed. No insects chirped. No rivers flowed. Even the stars seemed hesitant to shine.
In the middle of that stillness sat Wang Chung.
His body was cross-legged on a smooth stone, his back straight, eyes half-closed. Around him, the faint glow of the Extreme Golden Core dimmed and brightened like a heartbeat. Each pulse drew in the ambient qi of the world—and purified it until it became almost invisible.
For seven days and seven nights, he did not move.
---
A voice murmured inside his consciousness, soft as the sigh of wind through ancient graves.
> "You have silenced Heaven's gaze.
But can you silence the voice within yourself?"
Wang Chung opened his eyes.
Golden light flashed, then vanished.
> "If the heavens cannot stop me," he whispered, "why should I fear my own heart?"
The bead hidden deep within his soul—the same mysterious artifact that had merged with him years ago—stirred faintly. Threads of translucent energy spread through his meridians, carrying with them something ancient… something not of this world.
The earth trembled.
---
A black storm gathered above the valley, its clouds swirling into a spiral.
Lightning did not roar—it hummed, a low, vibrating tone that set every blade of grass trembling.
The first Immortal Tribulation had arrived.
Not from the heavens, but from within himself.
This was the Whispering Lightning, born when one's inner dao rebelled against their path. It judged not one's strength, but one's resolve.
Wang Chung stood. His white hair lifted in the windless air.
> "So this is my first tribulation," he murmured. "Fitting that it comes from silence itself."
He raised his right hand.
---
The first bolt descended—no sound, no light, only the taste of metal in the air.
When it struck, his flesh burned silently, his bones shuddered, his meridians screamed—but no sound escaped him.
He clenched his jaw, forcing his qi to flow backward, refining the pain into pure energy.
> "Pain is truth," he muttered. "Truth becomes will."
He slammed his palm against the ground, redirecting the next bolt into the mountain beneath him.
Stone turned to dust. Rivers of molten earth formed around his feet.
Each strike was heavier than the last.
Each whisper more persuasive.
> "Abandon this path… Return to dust… You are alone…"
> "I have always been alone!" Wang Chung roared—not aloud, but through his soul. The mountains around him cracked in response to his thought alone.
---
The bead within his soul pulsed once, then shattered into light.
A stream of liquid gold coursed through his body, repairing wounds as fast as they formed.
In that instant, he saw memories that were not his: ancient cities floating in the void, cultivators kneeling before a throne of light, a man standing alone against an endless sky.
> "The Silent Heaven Emperor…" he whispered.
"So the bead was… a fragment of your will."
A final bolt gathered above him—massive, golden, vibrating with the power of creation itself.
If it struck, even an Immortal would perish.
Wang Chung smiled faintly.
> "If silence wishes to test me, then let the heavens fall quiet forever."
He drew his hands together, forming a mudra born of instinct.
Qi and soul intertwined. The whispering lightning descended—
—and vanished one inch before touching him.
The entire world froze.
---
Inside his dantian, the Extreme Golden Core cracked open, revealing a second core within—a Silent Core, translucent and ethereal, spinning slowly.
His realm surged past the limits of the Golden Core and stabilized at the peak of Nascent Soul—a level he had reached not through luck, but through defiance.
Above him, the dark clouds dispersed. The stars reappeared, brighter than ever.
But none dared shine directly upon him.
Wang Chung looked at his hands.
His veins glowed faintly with gold. His heart no longer beat in rhythm with the world—it beat in rhythm with the silence.
> "So this is the price," he said softly. "The more I rise, the further I drift from humanity."
He turned toward the distant horizon, where countless sects still flourished—ignorant of the storm that would one day consume them.
> "Scarlet Sun Sect… enjoy your peace while it lasts."
He stepped forward, and his figure dissolved into motes of light, carried away by the wind.
The valley behind him remained utterly still—silent, lifeless, sacred.
---
That night, across the continent, cultivators felt a shiver in their souls.
Some called it an omen. Others called it enlightenment.
Only a few understood the truth:
A new Immortal path had been born.
A path that defied Heaven itself—
The Path of Silent Ascension.
---