The world around him was silent—too silent.
Ripples...
Han Chen opened his eyes, and for a moment, he thought he had awakened in a nightmare.
But what lay before him was something far worse than dreams could conjure.
Floating midair, directly ahead, was a black sphere—void-like—its surface swirling like thick ink.
At its center was a single, unblinking purple pupil, staring straight into him, as though it could peel apart the very layers of his soul.
"...Where is this?" Han Chen muttered, his voice hollow.
He turned his head slowly, his eyes scanning the strange and desolate expanse that surrounded him. He stood not on solid ground, but atop a dark, viscous sea. Each step rippled, but the liquid didn't feel like water. A sea of consciousness, barren and cold.
The sky above was drenched in blood-red mist, and a crimson moon hung unmoving in the air, its glow casting a strange melancholy. There was no wind, no sound. Just the scent of rot, and the haunting stillness of a realm untouched by time.
This was no dream.
This was his.
His Sea of Consciousness.
A reflection of the true self.
And Han Chen... From childhood, he loathed the world. Loathed people. Even his parents—especially his parents. Love was a lie, family a farce. At the age of fourteen, he made a decision most couldn't even fathom.
CRACK
The memory surged through him like thunder—his dagger plunging into the hearts of the ones who gave him life, while they slept in peace, believing their son still held an ounce of love.
He had always believed that all things must die. That in the end, everything must return to nothingness.
The purple eye twitched.
Han Chen's breath caught.
His gaze was drawn—no—dragged toward it, as though the pupil had hooked his very consciousness. The world bent, stretched, twisted—
WHOOOOOM
An illusion of depth exploded before his eyes. A vortex of shadows pulled him deeper, his soul vibrating with a strange resonance. Then, a voice echoed—cold, filled with strength.
"I am Chen Feng. Heaven-Desecrating Devil Immortal."
"Become one with me. For I am you... and you are me."
Han Chen's knees buckled. BAAM! He collapsed, as a rush of incomprehensible emotions burst through his heart.
"Lowly one greets the esteemed Immortal…" he whispered, lowering his head and kowtowing before the floating eye.
Even inside his own mind, the rules of the LU Continent held power.
When a mortal gazes upon an Immortal, he must kneel. If not—Punishment.
But then, the voice echoed again—this time softer, gentler, with something like familiarity.
"I'm you... you are me. There's no need to kneel." Han Chen raised his head slowly, his eyes full of confusion.
"What… do you mean?" he asked, his voice quivering not with fear—but with something he hadn't felt in a long time. Curiosity.
Suddenly, a warm current surged around him, like invisible hands lifting his body from the surface of the death-sea. His limbs rose, weightless. He hovered. He floated.
The eye pulsed. Voice echoed.
"I'm at the end... I don't have much time."
"Listen carefully."
"The heavenly eye needs to absorb the seven elemental Qi to unlock its first restriction."
"Water. Fire. Earth. Metal. Wood. Life... and Death."
The voice faded. Silence returned.
The eye remained, still staring. Han Chen floated above the dark sea, heart pounding, mind racing.
"Chen Feng... Immortal..." he whispered, his fists clenching.
A part of him, the part that murdered without hesitation, stirred with excitement. The voice returned, reverberating through the very fabric of Han Chen's soul.
"Before I am gone, I will open your meridians. You must cultivate... and return."
Han Chen barely had time to react before the ocean stirred.
A stream of seawater—dense, glowing faintly with a black light—rose unnaturally from the surface.
It twisted in the air like a living serpent and struck him with pinpoint precision, crashing into the area just below his naval—his dantian.
He staggered back, eyes wide.
The water didn't splash. It didn't drench him. It entered him.
Like a raging tide funneled through a needle, the seawater poured into his core with impossible force. He could feel it surging inside him—cold, fast, and overwhelming. And yet, as more and more flooded into him, the level of the ocean didn't drop. Not even a ripple vanished from the sea.
Then—it stopped.
The stream broke. The sea fell still.
For a heartbeat, everything was silent.
Then came the pain.
A sharp, unbearable heat exploded from his core, rushing outward through every limb. His veins lit up like molten fire. His bones felt as if they were being shattered and rebuilt at once. His flesh twisted and strained under the pressure. He gasped, mouth open wide in agony, but no words came—only a scream.
A scream that didn't sound human.
It tore out from deep within him, raw and wild, as if his very soul was howling through the pain.
"AAAARRRRRRRRRRARGGGGGGGHHGHHH—!"
His knees buckled.
He fell to the ground, vision blurring, limbs twitching. Every breath felt like knives in his lungs.
Every heartbeat echoed like thunder in his ears. The world tilted, spun, and cracked. Then—His body went limp. The pain vanished, swallowed by oblivion.
He lost consciousness.
----------
Han Chen's eyes fluttered open.
Cold air rushed into his lungs as he gasped, instinctively reaching a hand to his chest. His fingers touched hard earth—cracked, dry, and uneven. He blinked slowly, vision adjusting to the faint silver glow of moonlight above.
He was lying in crater.
Around him, the rocky peak of a mountain stretched out under the night sky. Stars shimmered overhead, and a cold breeze whispered through the darkness. It was midnight… but the last thing he remembered was broad daylight. Had he been unconscious that long? He tried to sit up, groaning as stiff muscles protested.
"How long was I out…?" he muttered, voice hoarse.
His stomach growled fiercely, a sharp reminder that it had been days since he'd eaten.
Two, maybe three days? His body was weak, but something felt... different.
Very different.
As he took a breath, his eyes narrowed.
All around him—floating in the air—were tiny, dim specks of light. At first, he thought it was an illusion, the aftermath of pain and exhaustion. But they were real. Dozens… no, hundreds of them. Glimmering dots, drifting slowly through the night like fireflies made of mist. He raised a trembling hand toward them. The dots seemed to shimmer in response, as if acknowledging his presence.
"Is This... Spritual Energy??"
His body stirred with a strange warmth, and instinctively, his focus turned inward. The moment he did, a soft glow pulsed from his abdomen. His dantian. It lit up faintly with a green light, like a lantern in a cave. As if drawn by that glow, the spritual energy around him began to shift. The specks in the air trembled, then surged toward him.
They streamed into his body.
The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt. The energy flowed through his skin, into his veins, and down pathways he had never known existed. His meridians—the channels of energy within—welcomed the flood like dry riverbeds in a storm.
Warmth. Power. Clarity.
He could feel it, filling him from the inside out. His pain dulled. His hunger eased, just slightly. His vision sharpened. For the first time in his life, Han Chen had stepped onto the path of cultivation.
And deep within his heart, beneath the exhaustion and confusion, a single thought burned :
"I can cultivate... I don't have to stay in this mountain anymore." as his emotion-less face let out a cold laught.
The mountain was quiet, except for the wind. Han Chen stood near the broken edge, the cold air brushing against his skin like rough cloth. The land behind him was cracked and scattered—dark soil, shattered rock, and no trace of the old path he'd once taken dozens of times. A landslide had carved through the side of the slope days ago, leaving the mountain bare and jagged. There were no trees here. Just rock, dust, and the distant howls of wind scraping against stone.
In the horizon behind him, a faint orange glow bled into the dark sky. The stars above were beginning to fade, swallowed by the first signs of morning.
He shifted his weight, the worn fabric of his trousers stiff with dried dirt. He glanced down at the pouch tied to his belt, then loosened the string and peeked inside.
Clink.
The sound of coins brushing against each other.
"One hundred copper," he murmured.
He stared out across the plain below. Far beyond the fields and low hills was Heng City—just visible now as a shadowed smudge against the skyline. "I can last… five days with it."
He sighed and lowered the pouch. His stomach growled in protest.
Grrrlk.
"I should head to the city," he muttered. "There's nothing for me here."
He looked back once—not at a house, but at the crumbled stones where the landslide had torn through the mountain's old paths. It would take time to find a new way down. Carefully. Slowly. He turned and began his descent, the loose gravel shifting under his boots.
-----
It took him an hour.
He slid down parts of the slope, using broken branches and flat stones as makeshift footholds.
More than once, he nearly lost balance. Once, a rock came loose beneath him.
CRACK.
THUD.
He landed hard on his side, coughing as dust rose around him. By the time he reached the foothills, the sun was clear above the horizon, casting long light over the open land.
-----
Three hours later.
Han Chen's legs were numb. His throat was dry. He hadn't eaten since. The last of his water had been gone hours ago. He walked on, one step after the other, along a dirt road that stretched across farmland and small woods now thinning with the season. Still no sign of the city.
Then—faint in the distance—the sound of wheels creaking.
Creeaak. Clop-clop.
A caravan.
He turned to look.
Three ox-drawn wagons, canvas-covered, moving steadily down the road toward him.
A driver sat at the front of the lead cart, flicking the reins lazily. Han Chen stepped aside and raised a hand. Not too high—just enough to signal.
The lead cart slowed.
The driver, a middle-aged man with a grey scarf and rough face, looked him over. "You alright?"
Han Chen said. "Looking for a ride. I can pay."
The man squinted. "Where to?"
"Heng City."
A pause. Then: "Three copper gets you food and a spot in the last wagon." Han Chen reached into his pouch, counted the coins slowly, and handed them over.
The bread was dry, but he ate it anyway. He sat inside the back wagon beside a stack of barrels, sharing the space with two quiet laborers who mostly slept. He didn't ask questions, and they didn't offer conversation.
The ride was slow, but steady.
He dozed off once, waking when the wagon hit a rut.
By the time the caravan reached the outer edge of Heng City, it was afternoon.
The city walls rose high—stone, weathered, and wide enough for four horses to ride across. Lanterns hung from long poles near the gate, their light flickering in the wind.
Han Chen stepped down from the wagon and nodded to the driver. "Thanks."
The man waved it off. "Stay sharp in there."
Han Chen gave a nod.
The city gates loomed ahead, open for now, with guards checking bags and carts as they passed.
Beyond them, the hum of city life—voices, footsteps, distant hammering from a forge—reached his ears.
He entered with the crowd, holding his pouch close.
The streets were alive with motion. Food stalls, merchants, kids weaving through the crowds.
The scent of dumplings, roasted chestnuts, and oil drifted through the air, tightening the knot in his stomach again.
Han Chen paused under a street lantern. He had 94 Copper.
He needed a place to sleep. A way to earn. Maybe a meal that wasn't stale bread.
But first, he needed to make it through the night.
-----
By the time Han Chen found an inn, the sky was already turning gold and red. The streets of Heng City had begun to quiet; the market stalls were closing, and the smell of cooked rice and soy filled the air. He walked into a small tavern near the western wall—nothing fancy, but clean enough.
The innkeeper, an older woman, looked him over before naming her price.
"Seven copper a night for the room," she said, counting on her fingers. "Nine copper more for three meals a day. Whatever you like from the menu."
Han Chen nodded. "Sixteen copper in total."
He handed her the coins, one by one. The pouch on his belt grew lighter—just under eighty left now.
The room was small, with a single bed, a wooden table, and a window overlooking the alley. The scent of oil and faint smoke drifted in from the street. Han Chen sat on the edge of the bed, his legs trembling slightly. He'd walked since dawn—climbing, sliding, riding, then walking again. Every part of him ached.
As dusk deepened and the lantern outside dimmed to a soft orange glow, his eyes grew heavy.
Within minutes, sleep took him.
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----