On the wedding day, the capital wakes beneath banners of red and gold.
During the day, rin stands beside Yu Diexin and participates in the rites of this world’s wedding ceremony, his posture steady, his expression composed, every movent precise and without error.
Incense burns.
Vows are exchanged.
He feels the weight of countless gazes settle on them, asuring, judging, reassessing the balance of power the mont the final ritual concludes.
Yu Diexin’s hand is warm in his, her grip calm but firm, as if anchoring herself as much as presenting unity to the world.
When the sun finally sets, the atmosphere changes.
Lanterns bloom like constellations brought down to earth, music fills the estate, and rin steps into the role of host.
He entertains guests, exchanges cups of wine, and accepts congratulations from nobles, ministers, and clan heads, his smile practised and unhurried.
Yet unease creeps in.
He notices it first as pressure.
Then, as a glance held too long.
Then, as naked hostility.
The Seventh Prince watches him across the crowd, eyes sharp, jaw tight.
When the prince approaches, he does not bother with pleasantries.
He leans close, voice low, teeth clenched.
“Take care of Wenji,” the prince says.
“Otherwise…”
The threat is left unfinished.
The prince turns and walks away without waiting for a response.
rin remains still, wine cup halfway raised, bewildernt flickering briefly across his face before it is smoothed away.
He watches the prince’s retreating, puzzled rather than angered.
After a mont, he exhales softly and resus mingling as if nothing occurred.
As the evening deepens, Ye Wen steps half a pace behind him and murmurs, “Lord, the man near the east pavilion—he calls himself Chu Feng, a nobleman from Mian Province.”
rin’s gaze shifts.
He sees him imdiately.
Chu Feng stands apart from the densest clusters, posture relaxed, expression mild, wine glass held loosely in one hand.
mory stirs.
The first eting, years ago, when rin cleared a slaver den.
Chu Feng had introduced himself then as an ordinary citizen.
Even at the ti, rin had noted sothing off—his etiquette too refined, his composure too asured for a civilian.
rin had not cared.
Then Ye Wen speaks again, quieter this ti.
“Lord, Chu Feng is also a friend of the Lady.”
rin’s thoughts snap into alignnt.
Cangzhou Mountains.
That second eting.
Chu Feng had not been alone then.
A woman wrapped tightly in a cloak, no skin exposed, presence hidden.
rin’s eyes narrow slightly.
“That woman,” he thinks, “was Yu Diexin.”
As if sensing his attention, Chu Feng turns.
Their gazes et.
Chu Feng lifts his wine cup and walks toward him.
“Congratulations, Lord Duan,” Chu Feng says, inclining his head politely.
“Thank you,” rin replies.
“Chu Feng, I hear you are a friend of my wife.”
Chu Feng’s expression remains composed, but beneath it rin senses turbulence—emotion tightly restrained, compressed like coiled wire.
Calmly, Chu Feng answers, “Dongji Province lies near my holand. For the past two years, I was responsible for procuring spiritual materials from there.”
“By chance, I t Yueqing and Wenji, and we beca friends.”
rin nods once.
“I am not interrogating you,” he says evenly.
“You needn’t explain in such detail.”
Then, after a brief pause, he adds, “I am glad my wife has friends who roam the world to maintain justice for the people.”
Chu Feng smiles, a touch awkward.
“Lord Duan, I ca to give you an invitation.”
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He produces a sealed envelope.
rin accepts it, raising an eyebrow as he glances briefly at the seal.
“My family is returning to the capital,” Chu Feng explains.
“It is an invitation to our party.”
“Please co to support .”
“I will,” rin says without hesitation.
Chu Feng bows lightly and withdraws into the crowd.
The night continues.
rin speaks with ministers, clan heads, and one by one, the king’s sons.
Each prince asures him differently—so with curiosity, so with caution, so with undisguised ambition.
As the celebration winds down and guests begin to depart, a commotion stirs near the entrance.
Voices hush.
Bodies shift.
rin turns and sees Prince Yuan, the king’s brother, arriving late.
rin walks to greet him.
Prince Yuan congratulates him formally, his tone appropriate, but rin notices the solemn weight beneath his words.
As they speak, rin senses it clearly.
The prince cannot perceive his true cultivation.
To Prince Yuan’s senses, rin appears only at the minor stage of Inner Refining.
Yet despite that, unease flickers in the prince’s eyes.
Instinctive.
Primal.
As if his body warns him of sothing his perception cannot grasp.
rin keeps his aura suppressed, his golden-tinged white skin hidden beneath layered robes, his presence carefully contained.
Still, he feels it.
Prince Yuan senses danger.
He masks it well, but the instinct does not lie.
After offering his congratulations, he departs without lingering, his steps asured, his expression calm, yet his presence leaves behind a faint pressure, like the echo of a drawn blade.
rin watches him go.
He understands.
No important guests will be coming tonight.
The ones who matter have already seen enough.
rin turns, finds his younger brother, and places a hand on Duan Lin’s shoulder.
“You handle the remaining guests,” he says quietly.
Duan Lin nods, eyes bright with a mix of pride and excitent, and imdiately steps into the role.
rin leaves the banquet hall and returns to his room.
—
The next day, rin wakes at noon.
Sunlight spills across the floor in a pale sheet, filtered through layered curtains.
Yu Diexin lies beside him, her breathing steady, her body relaxed in a way that speaks of complete exhaustion.
They have made a habit of it since the wedding.
Last night, however, she had been unusually relentless.
rin had not refused.
He had helped her burn through her energy until dawn claid them both.
Now, with practised care, he disentangles himself and rises, dressing quietly so as not to wake her.
Within minutes, he leaves the room and enters his office.
The space is orderly, familiar.
On the desk, placed neatly at the very top, lies an invitation letter.
rin picks it up.
Qionghua Salon.
Three days later.
The invitation is addressed to both him and Diexin.
Chu Feng’s seal rests at the corner.
rin sets the letter aside without comnt and turns his attention to the family docunts stacked beside it.
Reports.
Accounts.
Territorial matters.
Clan correspondence.
He reads with calm focus, his mind moving faster than his eyes.
Since speaking with Ye Weiran, the concept of faith has taken root in his plans.
Not vaguely.
Not abstractly.
Precisely.
In a few months, he will request a transfer order from Commander Di.
Not east.
Not south.
But west—northwest.
Wein Province.
The borderland near the Magoon Mountains.
In the Song Kingdom, and even across the neighbouring realms, faith is weak.
People rely on law, lineage, and power, not gods.
Even if he advances to Saint, belief would not spread easily here.
But the mountain tribes are different.
They already worship.
Totems.
Spirits.
Ancestors.
All he needs to do is replace the totem.
Not erase belief.
Redirect it.
The Magoon Mountains are perfect.
Remote.
Fragnted.
Faith-rich.
By the ti he advances to Saint, the foundation must already be laid.
Satisfied with the outline of his plan, rin continues reviewing docunts until nothing urgent remains.
He leans back slightly and closes his eyes.
Introspection.
His consciousness sinks inward.
Within his dantian, a vast Sea of Qi churns gently, crimson tinged with gold, deep and heavy with power.
Swimming through it is the Dream Gu.
It moves freely now.
Not restrained.
Not resisting.
Like a fish in water.
The Dream Gu is still in its first form.
Most natal spiritual items can evolve.
A Gu, being alive, can evolve even further.
rin’s control over it is absolute.
The Gu is no longer rely an external tool.
It is closer to a clone.
An extension.
rin opens his consciousness to it.
Instantly, perception shifts.
The world fractures into overlapping layers—dream, reality, mory, fear.
Threads stretch outward from the Gu, invisible yet present, mapping emotional imprints across space.
rin observes calmly.
He does not act.
Not yet.
His consciousness settles deeper, syncing with the Dream Gu as if slipping into a second pulse. He feels its body—not as flesh, but as instinct, hunger, potential—and begins circulating his Qi with careful intent. This ti, he does not feed it blindly. He guides it.
An evolution direction takes shape.
In his mind, an image forms with absolute clarity.
A purple Gu, its surface scattered with star-like golden points, each one pulsing faintly like distant constellations. Its body grows larger, longer, and more defined. Hundreds of legs unfold beneath it, layered and jointed, built for stability and grip across dream and reality alike. Its teeth harden, becoming serrated, crystalline, and capable of tearing through ntal defences. Its skin thickens, gaining a tallic sheen—not rigid, but adaptive, like living armour.
When the image completes, the Gu responds.
Threads spill from its mouth.
Not silk.
Not web.
But sothing closer to dream-substance, half-real, half-illusory.
The threads wrap around its own body, layer by layer, spinning inward until the Gu seals itself within a cocoon. The cocoon pulses once—then begins to breathe.
Each breath draws in rin’s Qi.
Not violently.
Not greedily.
But steadily, rhythmically, as if the Gu has learned restraint.
rin opens his eyes briefly, noting the faint tug within his dantian, then closes them again.
He lets it continue.
—
By the ti dinner arrives, the cocoon remains intact, its surface faintly glowing with alternating purple and gold light.
rin does not interrupt it.
Instead, he turns his focus to Ye Weiran’s scripture.
The words are dense, layered with implication rather than instruction. Cause and effect intertwine with fear, puppetry folds into transformation, and each concept overlaps like strands of a web viewed from different angles. rin does not try to morise it. He dissects it.
He strips away Ye Weiran’s intent.
Keeps only the structure.
At dawn, he wakes without opening his eyes.
Cultivation resus.
Spiritual energy flows into him through breath, through pores, through the subtle resonance between his body and the world. His Sea of Qi responds imdiately. Crimson rain falls from the thinning Qi cloud above, each droplet striking the sea below and vanishing into it.
The sea expands.
One millitre.
Then another.
Each second, another fraction is added.
Slow.
Relentless.
asured.
He knows the threshold.
When his Sea of Qi reaches one kilotre in breadth within his dantian, he can break through to the next realm.
The Origin Seal Realm.
Also called the Origin Core Realm.
But he has no intention of breaking through imdiately.
As with the Inner Refining Realm, the outer realm is not defined solely by reaching the minimum requirent. The Qi can be refined further.
Bronze Sea of Qi.
Silver Sea of Qi.
Gold Sea of Qi.
Each stage compresses, purifies, and sharpens the Sea of Qi, increasing both density and quality. The reward is imnse. Breaking through with a Bronze Sea pushes the Origin Core directly to the third stage. Silver reaches the fifth. Gold—seventh.
The power difference is not linear.
It is crushing.
But the cost is just as clear.
Heavenly tribulation.
The more refined the Qi, the more violent the thunder.
Many warriors do not even refine to Bronze.
They fear the lightning.
rin does not.
He plans further.
If he refines his Sea of Qi to Gold before breaking through, then survives the thunder tribulation, the next obstacle will not be heaven.
It will be humanity.
Human tribulation.
Interference.
He wants it all at once.
He wants to break through directly into the ninth stage of the Origin Core Realm—
And from there, step into Soul Awakening without pause.
rin continues refining.
The cocoon within his dantian breathes in sync with his Qi.
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