Spring nights in Dusk Port were never truly quiet.
Gas lamps flickered to life along the mountainside, like golden eyes opening one by one. Down at the harbor, cheers rose into the air. Another performance had just begun at the Qi Illusion Theater. Tonight's tale was of an ancient emperor hunting for immortality. The immense light-projections stretched across half the sky. Spectators wore special helmets, and for a moment, they truly felt there — smelling blood and fire, feeling Qi rush past their skin.
At the corner fighting arenas, young people lined up. They battled using Qi-generated copies of themselves. Wins and losses were decided in an instant. Victors took home cheap Qi pills or tickets for carnival games.
New amusements kept coming like a tidal wave: live streams of sect battles on the Qi-net, immersion pods that let you taste flight and fleeting immortality, machines that recreated the roar of ancient beasts… These diversions filled the nights. Many drowned themselves in them, forgetting the harshness of cultivation and the cruelty of family feuds.
Dusk Port stood on the far southeastern edge of the vast Tianhuang Empire. Behind it rose towering mountains; before it lay the endless sea. The empire stretched from the snow-capped mountains of the north to the volcanic south. The imperial capital lay far inland, at the center of the realm.
Dusk Port earned its name from the way the sky blazed orange and purple at sunset, where sea and sky melted into one. The steep cliffs had been carved into terraces. The wealthy lived at the mountain's peak; the bustling harbor rested at its foot. Rich Qi veins ran beneath the mountains, making the land overflow with energy. It drew cultivators, traders, and wanderers from every corner of the world.
The harbor district was noisy and alive — docks, warehouses, and markets tangled together like a maze. Ships arrived and departed day and night, from distant islands, foreign sects, and lands beyond the empire. They carried strange herbs, rare ores, and contraband. Gas lamps and shifting Qi signs blazed after dark, advertising pills, weapons, and entertainment. Secret deals were struck in shadowed alleys. Imperial guards patrolled with Qi-scanners in hand. The air smelled of salt, medicine, and machine oil.
Midway up the mountain stood the family manors. Houses Voss, Forti, and Bello had erected grand, walled estates. In their yards, spirit trees swayed in the wind, and training circles hummed with suppressed power. At the very peak lay the governor's palace and the halls of the major sects. The governor was a high-ranking cultivator who answered only to the emperor. He collected Qi taxes and selected talented youths for the imperial army.
But the most fascinating place of all was the Twilight Abyss Observatory.
It perched on the edge of a high cliff, overlooking the sea.
Elders claimed it had been built by ancient immortals. In truth, it was born from secret scientific experiments roughly nine hundred years ago. A massive crystal formation was embedded in the rock. On special moonlit nights or during eclipses, it blazed to life, projecting a glowing map of the empire's Qi veins across the sky. One could see hidden paths, ancient buried ruins, and sometimes strange, shadowy shapes from beyond the world.
Staying too long could drive one's Qi wild. It might draw in hidden shadows or show fractured visions of the future. The empire forbade unauthorized entry. Only once a year, during the Starfall Festival, were elite cultivators and chosen children permitted to activate it.
Stories whispered of those who snuck in at night, bribing guards. They returned mad, raving that they had seen the truth of the "ancient device" — it was not left by immortals, but built by a forgotten group of scientists long ago. Those researchers had been erased. Their names, their papers, their very existence had vanished. Only the official story remained:
"This is the way of heaven, not the work of men."
Today, the observatory mirrored Dusk Port itself: wondrous and dangerous, brimming with secrets that tempted even the obedient to break the rules.
Dusk Port was a microcosm of the empire's edge. Great wealth from the Qi trade stood beside the bitter poverty of common folk. New Qi-tech entertainment was everywhere, yet ancient traditions and ironclad imperial laws still watched over all. It was where the land ended and the unknown sea began. A single talent test could change an entire family's future.
Kyle sat beneath the ancient tree, hands resting on his knees. The night wind brushed his hair.
Qi had existed since the dawn of the universe. It was the fundamental energy that flowed through all things — an invisible, underlying power that nourished mountains, rivers, plants, and all living beings. Everything held a trace of Qi: rocks vibrated faintly, wind left lingering trails, even empty space hummed softly.
Less than a thousand years ago, humans could not sense or wield Qi. Then the so-called Primordial Ancient Device appeared. It opened a connection between human consciousness and the energy of the world. For the first time, Qi flowed into mortal bodies. That marked the beginning of an explosive leap in civilization.
Gas lamps, healing pods, Qi armor, intelligent formations, Qi-net screens — all emerged rapidly. Qi became something measurable, controllable, like a machine.
Official records claimed the device was left by ancient immortals, buried deep within the earth for tens of thousands of years, awakening only when the time was right. But secret manuscripts told a different story: it had been built by scientists roughly nine hundred years ago. They had conducted a grand experiment, detected Qi waves, and constructed the device to usher in a new era of energy and enhanced humanity.
After its success, the rulers quickly seized control. They labeled it "primordial," destroyed the true records, and erased the scientists' names. Those researchers held no power, no formidable Qi of their own. Their revolutionary idea became a tool for sects and emperors.
The authorities declared: "This is heaven's plan, not mortal work." Speaking of its true origins was forbidden.
Hidden Shadows were the dark side. In areas overflowing with Qi, black, wavy lines twisted in the air. They corrupted mind and body. Technicians called it "overload collapse," and repaired it with specialized equipment. Traditional scholars called it a disruption of natural balance, a violent backlash of unregulated energy.
Kyle slowly stood up.
The wind strengthened, carrying the crisp mountain air, distant hum of formations, and faint cheers from the harbor theater.
Tomorrow, the test scanners would activate.
They would measure his Qi volume, purity, and resonance.
At his fingertip, a thin golden thread of Qi trembled once. It felt denser, more powerful than a normal child's — as if it had already altered itself, even before the awakening light.
No one saw it.
But something ancient, something from another time, stirred quietly deep within his Qi, waiting for the moment it would be discovered.
The Qi a person awakened shifted slightly depending on the tool used. Some relied on ancient family crystals; others used imperial-approved scanners; a few turned to black-market devices. The results appeared nearly identical — Qi flooded the body, everyone felt the warm surge. The people themselves were similar too: same age, same effort, same dreams.