Yang Feng stood in the thick darkness, his purple eyes glowing fiercely. The light they emitted seemed to intensify against the consuming blackness around him, casting a faint, otherworldly glow on his sharp features. He focused his intense gaze on the old man seated cross-legged before him, whose white hair and weathered skin seemed almost translucent in the dim light.
"Who the hell are you?" Yang Feng demanded, his voice laced with a blend of suspicion and confusion.
The old man sighed, his expression calm but carrying the weight of endless ages. "Now, that shouldn't be your first question," he replied with a hint of amusement in his tone. "Shouldn't you ask where you are, or what place this is, or even which realm?"
Yang Feng's eyes narrowed, realization slowly dawning on him. "You…" he began, but his voice was cut off as the old man continued, speaking over him with a voice as steady as stone.
"All your questions have clear answers, yet here you are, seeking guidance like a lost spirit." The old man's gaze softened, though he did not break eye contact with Yang Feng.
For a moment, Yang Feng stood still, his mind reeling with a flood of unasked questions, each colliding against the next. Who was this man? And how did he know so much about him?
The old man rose slowly, his movements fluid and graceful, belying his apparent age. "Come," he beckoned, turning away from Yang Feng. "Let's discuss elsewhere." With a small motion, he raised his hand, and a portal materialized in the air before them—a swirling doorway filled with colors both vibrant and dark, merging like a storm contained within an invisible frame.
Yang Feng hesitated, feeling the strange pull of the portal. He glanced back at the closed doors of the library room behind him, then at the old man's steady figure as he disappeared into the portal. Trust was a scarce resource for Yang Feng, but his curiosity and the promise of answers drove him forward.
As he stepped through, he felt a rush of energy swirl around him, and then he emerged into a vast room. The space was beautifully adorned yet humbly simple, with wooden furniture, soft rugs, and walls adorned with paintings of mountains and plains. Across the room, a balcony opened out to a breathtaking view of towering mountains and lush green plains bathed in the warm orange glow of sunset. The sky seemed endless, painted with streaks of color that gave the entire scene an almost surreal beauty.
The old man stood at the edge of the balcony, his back to Yang Feng as he gazed over the landscape. Yang Feng approached, feeling the soft wooden floor beneath his feet and breathing in the cool, fresh air that filled the room. For a moment, they both stood in silence, the natural beauty of the scene grounding him.
"Can you really answer all my questions?" Yang Feng finally asked, breaking the quiet as he stood beside the old man.
The old man turned, his face contemplative as he looked at Yang Feng. "Destiny is cruel, is it not?" he began, his voice soft yet weighted. "In the upper realms, you were never treated as a normal being, always bound by the fate of your lineage and powers. And now, even after death, here you are… still tethered to the abnormality of fate."
Yang Feng's heart tightened at the reminder of his past, his identity as an immortal prince, as an inheritor of godlike power. "Where is this place that you speak of?" he asked, a trace of wonder slipping into his voice.
The old man gestured towards the vast mountains before them. "This is the Spiritual Realm," he said. Yang Feng felt something stir within him, a sense of familiarity mixed with curiosity.
"The Spiritual Realm…" he murmured, the words feeling strange yet known on his tongue.
The old man continued, "Beyond the seven glorious upper realms, there exists another dimension—a realm within the lower mortal planes. These are the seven lower realms, and the Spiritual Realm is one among them. It is the heart of these lower realms, divided into three vast spiritual domains or 'lands,' as they are called. Much like the 5th Realm in the upper realms, the Spiritual Realm holds a central position, giving rise to some of the strongest deities, such as Li Shen."
Yang Feng's interest piqued at the name. "Li Shen," he repeated, the words resonating within him like the rumble of distant thunder.
"Yes," the old man replied, turning to face him fully. "Li Shen, the Thunder God himself. You, as his inheritor, should know much of his legacy. But few know the story of his early days… as a mere mortal in the lower realms, his hunger for power driving him through untold hardships and sacrifices until he achieved the immortal ascension."
Yang Feng's eyes glinted, a fierce light coming alive within them. "You mean… there is a way to return to the Azure Domain?" he asked, the question barely more than a whisper, yet filled with fervent hope.
The old man nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. "Indeed. There are paths, though they are steep and perilous. Some say that by reaching the hundredth level of a spiritual master, one can attain divinity in these lower realms. But ascending to the upper realms, to become an immortal… that is a path requiring an even greater transformation."
Yang Feng's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
The old man's expression grew solemn as he explained. "The qi root… it is the foundation of all immortality. Without it, one remains bound to mortality, forever limited. Only when you reach the hundredth level and cultivate a qi root can you begin the journey to the upper realms."
The words sank deep into Yang Feng's mind. "The… qi root?" he echoed, his voice laced with both confusion and intrigue.
The old man nodded, his gaze distant as he seemed to search through memories lost to time. "The qi root is the essence of all true power, the very core of immortality. For those born as mortals, it is a rare and precious gift. Only once you reach the pinnacle of the spiritual path—once you touch the hundredth level—will you be given a single chance to forge a qi root. Fail, and your destiny ends there, bound forever to mortality. Succeed, and the gates of the upper realms will open to you. But you will start as a Qi-TU"
Yang Feng absorbed the words, his heart racing with the weight of the revelation. If he were to succeed, he would return to the realms of his birth… but he would be no stronger than a Qi Tu, the lowest tier.
"Many in the upper realms are born with a qi root," the old man went on, "an inheritance that grants them immunity to disease, boundless lifespans, and resistance to harm. But for mortals who cultivate this power, the process is arduous, the pain immense. Only the strongest wills can bear it."
Yang Feng clenched his fists, feeling the fire of determination ignite within him. "So, I can reach immortality again… if I cultivate this qi root?"
The old man's lips curved into a faint smile. "Indeed. Immortality is a path, Yang Feng—a journey of trials and triumphs. But remember, even in the upper realms, immortality does not grant invincibility. As you well know, death can still find its way to those who tread this path."
The memories of his own demise resurfaced, bringing a chill to his heart. He had once tasted the fruits of power, only to lose it all. And yet, here he stood, gifted a second chance.
"Born as an immortal, yet reborn as a mortal… what a twisted fate indeed," the old man murmured, his gaze steady as he looked at Yang Feng.
Yang Feng's mind was in turmoil, but a sense of purpose had taken root. He had the knowledge now, the understanding of what he must do. The path would be grueling, the pain unrelenting, but it was his only way forward—to reclaim what he had lost, and perhaps… to rise even higher.