The night was still. A cold wind swept through the small village of Qinghe, rustling the leaves of the ancient willow trees. The moon hung high, casting a silvery glow over the wooden houses. In the distance, a lone wolf howled, its cry blending with the whispering wind.
Within a humble courtyard, a boy sat cross-legged beneath a gnarled pine tree. His dark eyes were closed, his breathing steady. He was barely sixteen, yet his features held a maturity beyond his years—his sharp jawline, the determined set of his brow, and the faint glimmer of pain hidden behind his closed eyelids. His name was Long Haochen.
Born to a once-prominent martial clan, Long Haochen should have had a bright future, but fate was cruel. His father, Long Tianyu, was once a renowned cultivator, but a devastating battle had crippled his cultivation, reducing him to a mere mortal. Stripped of status and resources, the Long Clan fell into decline, and Haochen—once a young master—became nothing more than the son of a disgraced man.
Yet, despite the taunts of the villagers and the sneers of those who once bowed before his family, Long Haochen did not despair.
Instead, he trained.
Every day, from dawn until midnight, he honed his body. He could not cultivate like others, for his meridians were sealed—an affliction he was born with, making it impossible to absorb spiritual energy. But he refused to accept his fate. He swung his sword thousands of times until his hands bled, practiced footwork in the rain until his legs could no longer move, and pushed his body to its absolute limit.
But no matter how much he tried, he could not step into the realm of cultivators.
Tonight was no different.
As he finished his training, his breathing ragged, Long Haochen clenched his fists. Why? Why was he born this way? The heavens seemed to mock him, giving him an unbreakable will yet denying him the power to change his fate.
He picked up his wooden training sword, its handle wrapped in worn-out cloth, and took a deep breath. The moonlight cast long shadows on the ground as he stepped into his stance, eyes focused.
Whoosh!
The sword cut through the air. Once. Twice. A hundred times.
His movements were smooth but carried a sense of urgency. He knew that talent meant nothing without effort, and if he was to survive in this cruel world, he had to be stronger than those born with divine bloodlines or celestial blessings.
Breathe. Slash. Move. Repeat.
Time passed. His arms burned with exhaustion, sweat dripped from his brow, and his legs trembled. But he continued.
Until—
Crack.
The wooden sword snapped in half.
Long Haochen stopped, staring at the broken weapon in his hands. His grip tightened, but then he sighed. "Even the sword has its limits," he muttered.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and turned towards his small wooden house. The structure was old, its beams weathered from years of neglect. A dim light flickered inside. His father was likely awake, coughing as he always did.
As he stepped forward, a voice called out.
"Haochen!"
He turned to see a young girl standing near the entrance of his courtyard. She had long dark hair tied back in a simple braid and wore plain yet clean robes. Her eyes, filled with concern, studied him carefully.
"Xiaoyu," Haochen greeted.
Lin Xiaoyu was the only friend he had left after his clan's fall from grace. While others distanced themselves from him, she remained by his side.
"You're training late again," she said, stepping closer. "You should rest. Overworking yourself won't change anything."
Haochen gave a small smile. "I can't afford to rest."
Xiaoyu frowned. "Your meridians—"
"I know," he interrupted, his voice quiet. "But I refuse to accept that this is all there is for me."
Silence stretched between them. Xiaoyu sighed. "At least eat something before you collapse." She pulled out a small cloth bundle and handed it to him.
Haochen hesitated before taking it. Inside were simple steamed buns and a small container of soup. His stomach rumbled at the sight, and Xiaoyu smirked. "See? Even your body agrees with me."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Thank you."
She nodded before stepping back. "Get some sleep, Haochen." With that, she turned and disappeared into the night.
Haochen watched her go before sighing. He sat down on the worn wooden steps of his home, staring at the stars.
Why? Why was he different?
He had asked himself that question countless times, but the heavens never answered.
Until tonight.
---
The moment was sudden.
The air stilled. The distant howls of wolves ceased, and the gentle rustling of leaves grew silent. A golden light, faint at first, flickered within Haochen's chest.
Then—BOOM!
A force exploded outward. His body convulsed as pain seared through his veins. He gasped, clutching his chest, his vision blurring as symbols—ancient and incomprehensible—swirled before his eyes.
A voice, deep and boundless as the cosmos itself, echoed within his mind.
"Primordial Vessel System... initializing."
The world around him faded. Darkness swallowed everything, yet within that void, countless golden rivers surged through an endless cosmos. They twisted and turned, forming the shape of a vast, primordial vessel—a ship crafted from celestial energy, large enough to carry entire worlds upon its deck.
Long Haochen's mind reeled.
He could feel it. Power. Pure and boundless, surging within him like a storm barely contained. His sealed meridians—once a cage—now burned with golden radiance.
Then, the voice spoke again.
"Host detected. Awakening the Primordial Vessel Core."
A sharp pain lanced through Haochen's soul, but he gritted his teeth. He had endured pain his entire life—this was nothing.
More information poured into his mind. The Primordial Vessel System—an ancient force lost to time, a power capable of defying the heavens themselves. Unlike normal cultivation methods that absorbed spiritual energy, this system did not rely on meridians.
Instead, it created a vessel.
A cosmic ship that could contain and refine power beyond mortal comprehension.
Haochen gasped as his body trembled. The golden light around him grew stronger, forming runes across his skin.
Then—silence.
The light faded, and the world returned to normal. The night breeze swept past, rustling the trees once more. The distant wolves howled again, as if nothing had happened.
But everything had changed.
Long Haochen slowly opened his eyes.
His once dark pupils now carried a faint golden glow.
A notification appeared before him, written in glowing symbols only he could see.
---
[Primordial Vessel System Activated]
Host: Long Haochen
Current Rank: Vessel Awakening Stage
Vessel Capacity: 0/100
Abilities Unlocked: [Primordial Absorption]
---
Haochen's heart pounded. He clenched his fist, feeling an unfamiliar warmth coursing through his veins. His sealed meridians no longer felt like a cage.
For the first time in his life, he could cultivate.
He exhaled slowly, looking up at the stars.
The heavens had finally answered him.
And he would seize this chance with everything he had.