Dao Wei's breath was ragged. It misted in the chill air and vanished instantly, swallowed by the thick, low clouds that perpetually clung to the broken, mist-shrouded ridges. He sat alone just behind the small hut they stayed in, his back pressed comfortably against a rough stone embankment, facing the direction where the sun should rise. In Arrata, the sun never truly ascended the sky; it merely emerged, a pale, reluctant disk, filtered through layers of smoke, geological haze, and the endless, oppressive shadow cast by the impossible scale of the mountain-city that loomed somewhere high above them, unseen but ever-present.
For the third hour now, Dao Wei had tried and failed to gather Qi. The frustration was a familiar, dull ache, but it did not stir panic within him. Such a visceral reaction felt distant, irrelevant, like a sensation belonging to another life. Still, the failure sat heavy, an uninvited guest in the quiet chambers of his mind.
He knew every method by heart. Golden Circulation, the gentle, inward spiral that drew energy from the environment into the dantian. Thousand-Thread Breathing, a delicate, widespread net cast to gather the most minute spiritual particles. The Fourfold Spiral, a powerful, concentrated technique for rapid accumulation. He had mastered them all, reaching levels that few outsiders could comprehend, let alone replicate.
But here, each attempt yielded the same result: silence. His dantian, the internal sea of energy, remained untouched, unresponsive. It felt like a vast, locked door without hinges, impermeable to his will.
The Qi here existed, but it felt thick, almost viscous in the air, heavy with the strange, mineral tang of this land, but it was… wrong. It didn't flow into him, but resisted him, like a tide flowing backward, pushing against his every effort to draw it inward, to make it his own. It wasn't a void; it was an active rejection.
Dao Wei had meditated countless times in his past life, on mountain peaks, inside sealed chambers, even amid battlefields littered with corpses. Back then, meditation had been an act of force. He suppressed distractions, crushed stray thoughts, bent his mind into submission until Qi obeyed.
Here, beneath the Golden Bodhi Tree, that method failed him completely.
The moment he attempted to guide the Qi, it dispersed.
The instant he tried to control his breathing, the rhythm collapsed.
Dao Wei opened his eyes, frowning slightly.
"So even my habits are poison now," he muttered.
The Bodhi Tree did not respond. It merely stood, vast and patient, its roots glowing faintly beneath the ground.
Dao Wei exhaled and closed his eyes again.
This time, he did nothing.
No circulation.
No visualization.
No technique.
At first, there was chaos. Thoughts rose uninvited, memories of Qingling, the cold laughter of elders, the sensation of falling without end. His heart rate quickened as a subtle pressure formed in his chest, the familiar sign of instability.
In the past, he would have crushed it.
Now… he just watched it.
The pressure did not vanish, but it softened, like fog touched by morning light.
Something else shifted.
The Qi around him began to gather, drifting as if responding to his presence rather than his will. Threads of golden clarity intertwined with faint shadows, spiraling slowly toward his dantian.
Dao Wei's brow furrowed.
The moment the Qi touched his core, all resistance flared.
His Nascent Soul, once perfect, once refined to its peak, stood like a sealed gate. Cracks shimmered across its surface, a barrier reinforced by countless past breakthroughs, ambitions, and obsessions.
It would not break.
Not yet.
Pain blossomed behind his temples as memories surged without warning.
He stood once more in the Hall of Radiant Judgment.
He heard his own voice, cold and arrogant, declaring victory over a kneeling rival.
He felt the intoxicating rush of power, the certainty that the heavens themselves would bend.
The scene shattered.
Another took its place.
Blood-soaked ruins.
A city erased in the name of "necessary balance."
Dao Wei standing at the center, expression unreadable, heart empty.
"You chose this," a voice whispered.
Dao Wei's breathing faltered.
From the shadows of his consciousness, figures emerged.
One cloaked in blazing light, eyes sharp with pride and certainty.
One wreathed in darkness, gaze heavy with resentment and regret.
They were him, but fragments.
The Light Dao Wei stepped forward. "Power is proof," he said calmly. "Without it, you are nothing."
The Dark Dao Wei followed, voice low. "And with it, you destroy everything you touch."
Pressure slammed into Dao Wei's soul. His Soul vibrated violently, threatening collapse, not toward advancement, but implosion.
In Qingling, this would have been a fatal heart demon tribulation.
Dao Wei did not move.
The two figures continued to exchange accusations, justifications, and regrets, but their voices gradually lost weight, and their forms blurred, edges dissolving like ink in water.
"You are not enemies," Dao Wei said softly.
Both figures froze.
"You are experiences," he continued. "Just observed too late."
Silence fell.
The fragments faded and sank back into his consciousness, settling like sediment at the bottom of a clear lake.
The pressure vanished.
Dao Wei's breathing steadied on its own.
That…
That was the breath.
Not drawn by lungs, but by awareness.
The Qi surged again, this time unhindered. It poured into his body, tempering flesh, widening meridians, refining bone and blood to a level far beyond what a Nascent Soul cultivator should possess. His foundation expanded silently, layer by layer, until it reached a depth that rivaled a Second Level Nirvana cultivator.
Yet the barrier remained unbroken.
Dao Wei sighed.
One step away.
Yet impossibly far.
His eyes opened.
The world looked… sharper. The cracks in the distant sky were clearer, the flow of elements easier to distinguish. Even the Bodhi Tree's light revealed subtler hues within its gold, cycles within cycles.
Dao Wei placed a hand over his chest. His heartbeat was slow, steady, unwavering.
"This...this is... Reincarnation Magic," he murmured.
"Not power."
"Not transcendence…"
"..But space between thought and action. Between self and memory."
The Bodhi Tree's leaves rustled faintly, a single golden mote drifting down and hovering before him, as if in quiet acknowledgment.
Dao Wei sat there, breathing.
The golden mote did not fade.
Instead, they hovered before Dao Wei's eyes, steady and weightless, yet carrying a gravity that pressed gently against his awareness. With each breath he took, the mote pulsed once, brightening, then dimming, synchronizing with the rhythm of his breath.
Dao Wei rose slowly.
The moment he stood, the sanctum shifted. Roots beneath the ground shifted, rearranging themselves into a vast circular pattern centered on the Bodhi Tree. Lines of old, refined, and frighteningly precise light traced ancient formations.
"This… is the door," Dao Wei said.
"A threshold," the Bodhi Tree replied.
"Not all doors open outward."
The golden mote drifted forward, gliding toward the boundary where the sanctum met the fractured world beyond. As it moved, the air grew heavy. The seals that once shimmered invisibly now revealed themselves, layer upon layer of suppression, each inscribed with laws that resisted intrusion.
And yet… they were weakening.
A low rumble echoed through the sanctum. In the distance, beyond the veil, an elemental storm surged closer, drawn by the disturbance. Fire twisted into serpentine arcs. Metal screamed as it tore through the air. Water and earth collided in violent upheaval.
Dao Wei narrowed his eyes.
"Something is guarding it," he murmured.
The golden mote stopped, and the boundary rippled.
Then, it tore open.
A Split, an ugly wound in space, leaking chaotic Qi into the sanctum. The ground cracked, and roots recoiled.
From the opening emerged a shape.
Once, it had been a beast. Now it was a distortion, its form layered with conflicting elements. One limb burned, another froze, a third glinted like sharpened steel. Its eyes were hollow, reflecting nothing but madness.
A Corrupted Elemental Guardian.
Dao Wei sensed it immediately. This thing was not strong by realm, barely at the level of a newly formed Nascent Soul, but its instability made it lethal. Any direct clash would trigger elemental backlash capable of tearing his body apart.
In his previous life, he would have drawn his blade.
Dao Wei stepped forward instead.
The beast roared, a sound that fractured stone and sent ripples through the sanctum. It lunged, claws tearing through the air, carrying fire, frost, and metal in a single strike.
Dao Wei did not dodge.
The moment his foot settled, the Qi around him shifted. His presence expanded smoothly like a calm tide washing over jagged rocks.
The guardian faltered mid-stride.
Its roar twisted into a confused snarl. The violent surge of elements within its body met resistance from stillness.
Dao Wei raised a hand, palm open.
"Enough," he said softly.
The word carried no command or authority.
Within the guardian, the clashing elements hesitated. Fire dimmed. Metal dulled. Water stilled. For a single heartbeat, the chaos synchronized.
The beast collapsed.
Its form dissolved into streams of neutral elemental Qi that dispersed harmlessly into the air. The split in the boundary stabilized, reshaping itself into a narrow passage framed by softly glowing roots.
Silence returned.
Dao Wei lowered his hand. His arm trembled from strain held in check. His foundation could withstand it, but just barely.
"So this is the price," he murmured. "Harmony instead of dominance."
"You chose presence over conquest," the Bodhi's consciousness replied. "The door responds to that choice."
The passage pulsed once, inviting and warning. Beyond it lay Arrata: a world unbalanced, unforgiving, and utterly real.
Dao Wei stood at the threshold.
Behind him: the sanctum, the Bodhi Tree, a place of protection and preparation. Ahead of him: collapse, suffering, and a path he could no longer avoid.
Dao Wei took one last breath within the stillness.
Then he stepped forward.
The moment he crossed the threshold, weight returned to his body. Gravity asserted itself. The air grew coarse, heavy with conflicting elemental residue. The sky above was not gold, nor blue, but bruised crimson, cracked and bleeding light.