The first light of dawn barely touched the slums of Broken Sky City, shrouding its filth and misery in an illusion of warmth. The air carried the familiar stench of rot, but Shen Tian no longer paid it any mind. He sat cross-legged inside the crumbling shack, his frail body motionless, his mind reaching deep within.
In his past life, a single breath could summon celestial storms. A single step could shake mountains. Now, he barely had the strength to remain seated. But the Eternal Dao Seed still existed within him—weak, but unyielding.
He closed his eyes, sinking into his soul.
---
A vast void stretched before him, dark and endless. In the center, a flickering ember floated—a tiny fragment of golden light, fragile yet eternal. It was all that remained of his former power, the last trace of the Dao of Immortality.
Shen Tian extended his consciousness toward it. The moment his will touched the ember, pain flared through his entire being. A force beyond mortal comprehension rejected him, as if the very laws of heaven still sought to erase him.
He gritted his teeth.
Even after all this time, the heavens still deny me?
The ember pulsed weakly, resisting his touch.
Shen Tian did not retreat. He had once grasped the secrets of eternity itself. He would not bow to mere remnants of divine rejection. Slowly, carefully, he adjusted his will—not forceful, not defiant, but steady, unwavering.
The ember trembled… then settled.
A faint warmth spread through his body. It was minuscule, barely more than a wisp of heat in a frozen sea, but it was enough.
He could feel it—the first stirrings of cultivation.
---
When Shen Tian opened his eyes, a thin sheen of sweat coated his skin. His body was still weak, but the difference was undeniable. The exhaustion that plagued him earlier had lessened. His mind was clearer.
The path forward was open.
Cultivation in this era was vastly different from his time. With the Dao of Immortality erased, the remaining paths were all tainted by the Nine Forbidden Daos—each powerful, but each carrying a cost too terrible to bear.
Blood Dao—Power through slaughter.
Soul Dao—Strength at the price of one's sanity.
Curse Dao—Mastery over decay and misfortune.
Each one led to immense strength, but none led to true eternity. None could rival the Dao that had been stolen from the heavens.
But Shen Tian was not like the others. He still carried a remnant of the lost path. He did not need to follow the rules of this broken world.
He would carve his own path.
For now, he needed a foundation—a method to regain his strength while keeping his presence hidden. His mind sifted through memories of countless lifetimes, searching for the most suitable technique.
Then, he found it.
Phantom Veins Sutra.
A technique of pure survival. Not meant for brute force, not meant for overwhelming strength. It allowed one to absorb the energy of the world subtly, unseen, untraceable. In his current state, it was the perfect choice.
Shen Tian closed his eyes once more, focusing on his breathing. His body was crippled, his meridians damaged beyond repair—but meridians could be rewritten.
He inhaled.
The surrounding air felt empty, devoid of true spiritual energy. The lower realms were barren, their essence long since drained by greedy sects and dynasties. But there were still traces—hidden in the wind, buried beneath the filth of the slums, lingering in forgotten places.
Shen Tian reached for those traces.
It was slow. The process felt like trying to gather water with cracked hands. But he persisted, weaving the faint energies through his body, guiding them into his core. The strands of power moved sluggishly at first, struggling against his broken frame—then, they began to flow.
A spark ignited.
His breath deepened. The frailty of his limbs lessened. The emptiness in his stomach did not fade, but the sharpness of hunger dulled slightly.
A single night's effort would not restore him. But this was the first step.
---
The door to the shack burst open.
Shen Tian's eyes snapped open. Instinct took over, his body moving before thought. He rolled to the side, just as a rusted dagger stabbed into the ground where he had been sitting.
A boy, no older than fifteen, stood in the doorway. His face was gaunt, his clothes tattered, his eyes filled with desperation.
"Give me your food," the boy hissed, clutching the dagger with shaking hands. "Or I'll cut you open!"
Shen Tian remained silent, studying him. His attacker's grip was weak, his stance unstable. He was not a killer—merely another starving soul, driven to desperation.
He could have fought back. Even in his weakened state, he could disarm the boy with ease. But something in the boy's eyes made him pause.
A reflection.
A long time ago, in one of his past lives, he had once been like this—desperate, willing to do anything to survive.
Shen Tian slowly reached into his sleeve and pulled out the last piece of moldy bread from yesterday. Without a word, he tossed it to the boy.
The boy flinched, as if expecting a trick. When none came, he snatched the bread and devoured it in seconds.
"…Why?" he muttered through a mouthful of crumbs.
Shen Tian leaned back against the wall. "You would've failed."
The boy glared at him but said nothing.
A moment passed in silence. Then, the boy lowered the dagger, his grip loosening. He hesitated, then muttered, "Jiang Hao."
Shen Tian raised an eyebrow.
"My name," the boy clarified. His expression was still wary, but something in his posture had changed. He studied Shen Tian, as if reassessing him. "…You're not like the others here."
Shen Tian smirked faintly. "Neither are you."
Jiang Hao scoffed. "I should've stabbed you."
"You should have," Shen Tian agreed. "But you didn't."
Another silence stretched between them.
Then, without another word, Jiang Hao turned and walked out of the shack.
Shen Tian watched him go, his expression unreadable. He had no need for companions. His path was his alone. And yet, the boy's actions intrigued him.
For now, it did not matter. He had more important things to focus on.
He closed his eyes once more, sinking back into cultivation.
The embers of power had been reignited.
And soon, they would become a raging fire.