As Li Yun approached the waterfall, he found himself lost in thought. How long would he have to stay here before he could return to normal—if such a thing was even possible anymore? His bloodline had calmed, but could he truly control it? Would it ever stop being a looming force that threatened those around him? He had worked so hard to uncover its secrets, to unlock it, but now he feared that it might bring more harm than good.
“System,” Li Yun asked, his voice laced with hesitation, “are you sure this bloodline is the right thing for me? I worked so hard for this, but… I’m scared it’s going to hurt more people than help them.”
The system, detecting the weariness and doubt in Li Yun’s voice, responded in an unusually sympathetic tone. “Host, you have struggled and suffered for this bloodline. It is not something to be feared, but something to be understood. You will not harm those you do not wish to. With training, you can overcome this burden. And perhaps, one day, you may even walk across the jianghu with a lighter heart.”
Li Yun took in those words, and while they gave him some comfort, the bitterness in his heart did not fade. He had to believe the system was right, but doubts still clung to his thoughts like shadows. Shaking his head, he pushed them aside. If he wanted control, then the only path forward was training.
Steeling himself, he settled beneath the roaring waterfall, the relentless cascade pounding against his shoulders as a fine mist soaked through his clothes. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he steadied his breathing, drawing in the rich qi of the mountain peak. The energy was different here—denser, purer. As it swirled through him, filling his dantian at a slow yet steady pace, he let himself sink into the rhythm of cultivation.
Time stretched, the outside world fading into obscurity as his focus deepened. But then—something strange. An unfamiliar presence, nestled just above his dantian. A pulse, faint yet distinct, like a slumbering ember hidden within the depths of his being. His breath hitched slightly, but he remained still, observing. What was this? It wasn’t part of his qi, nor did it belong to the chaotic energy he had struggled to contain. And yet, it existed within him, waiting, watching.
Curiosity sparked. Li Yun pushed his senses further, attempting to probe the anomaly. The moment his consciousness brushed against it, a subtle but firm resistance met him, like a creature stirring from its rest, aware of his intrusion. His brow furrowed. It wasn’t rejecting him outright, but it certainly wasn’t welcoming him either.
Intrigued, he reached out again, determined to unravel the mystery. The tiny ball of energy trembled slightly, reacting to his intent. A slow smirk played on his lips. So, it had a will of its own? Fine. He would see just how much.
Li Yun frowned. What was that?
It was unfamiliar, yet it didn’t seem dangerous. It did not disrupt his qi, nor did it cause pain. For a long while, he merely observed it, his curiosity outweighing any immediate concerns. Deciding there was no harm in experimenting, he reached out to it with his consciousness.
The moment he made contact, the energy rebounded forcefully, pushing him away as if it had a will of its own.
Li Yun blinked in surprise before grinning. “Oh? So you have a temper?”
Taking it as a challenge, he reached for it again, only to be met with the same response. He wasn’t deterred. If anything, he was more intrigued. Hours passed as he prodded and experimented, testing the limits of what the small energy ball could do. It resisted fiercely, refusing to be tamed, but it never harmed him.
As night fell and the air cooled, the world around him seemed to hold its breath. The waterfall’s roar dulled to a gentle murmur, as if retreating into the night’s embrace. The leaves on the trees barely rustled, their movements so subtle that they seemed caught in a timeless lull. Above, the stars shone in still silence, scattered like celestial watchers observing the lone figure beneath them. Hours stretched into one another, blending seamlessly into a haze of passing time. The moon arced across the sky, dipping lower on the horizon, yet Li Yun remained entirely unaware, too engrossed in his newfound game. The rhythmic passage of time became meaningless as his focus honed in on the tiny, elusive energy within him, a silent dance of curiosity and challenge unfolding in the depths of his mind.
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“What are you, little ball?” he mused aloud in the mind realm. “You haven’t killed me yet, so you must like me, right?”
The small energy sphere pulsed in response, nudging him lightly with its own energy.
Li Yun’s grin widened. “Are you… trying to talk to me?”
The ball spun rapidly, as if excited by his recognition. Faster and faster it spun, creating a tiny whirlwind of energy around it, pulling in stray strands of qi like a miniature star. Li Yun chuckled. “Imagine if you could grow into a whole solar system,” he joked absentmindedly.
The energy ball vibrated eagerly, almost bouncing in delight.
Li Yun laughed. “You’re not the sun, don’t go getting any grand ideas.”
The ball slowed its spin, almost as if it were pouting.
Unbeknownst to him, outside the mind realm, time flowed without pause. The sun had risen and fallen multiple times, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson before retreating into the deep blue embrace of night. The once gentle breeze had shifted, bringing with it the crispness of passing days. Morning dew formed and dried, leaves fell and were replaced, the steady hum of life in the secluded peak undisturbed by the lone cultivator lost in his trance. Days turned into nights and back again, yet within the depths of his consciousness, Li Yun remained utterly unaware, caught in the endless rhythm of his silent experiment.
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At the base of the mountain, his friends grew restless. Jiu Tang paced anxiously, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "It’s been too long. Li Yun should’ve been back by now."
Zheng, usually calm, frowned deeply. “The sect leader didn’t say anything. Not even our instructors know what happened.”
Rumors spread through the sect like wildfire. Some whispered that Li Yun had been expelled for injuring an instructor, while others claimed he had failed to control his bloodline and had been sealed away. No one knew the truth, and that made the unease worse.
“What happened to the top star of the Heavenly Cloud Sect?”
No one had an answer.
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Meanwhile, Li Yun was still locked in his mind realm, completely oblivious. Eventually, he decided he had spent enough time trying to understand the little ball of energy. It wasn’t his rampant qi—he could still feel that struggling within his dantian, attempting to integrate with the natural qi of the mountain. However, this little ball seemed to stabilize it, as if it were sapping the chaotic energy’s strength to keep it in line until he could purify it.
This revelation brought him some relief. At the very least, he wouldn’t be rampaging any time soon.
Returning to the real world, he opened his eyes and stretched. The night sky greeted him, filled with stars.
“System,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “Was I in the mind realm all day?”
The system’s voice was flat and unimpressed. “No, Host. You were in the mind realm for approximately 4.27 days. And for your information, your body is in dire need of sustenance. A starved body will not last long. I have no desire to search for another host.”
Li Yun paled. “F-Four days?!”
As if to confirm his plight, his stomach let out a monstrous growl.
Dragging his feet back to his wooden cabin, Li Yun could feel the weight of fatigue pressing down on him like an unshakable burden. Every step felt sluggish, his body drained not just from the prolonged mental strain but from the gnawing hunger that had been neglected for far too long. Pushing open the creaking wooden door, he stumbled inside, his vision slightly blurred. His fingers clumsily grasped at a bag of grain pills, the simple motion feeling far more difficult than it should have been.
With barely a moment's thought, he tore it open and shoved a handful into his mouth—five, then six, barely chewing as he swallowed them down. The dry texture scratched his throat, but he was too exhausted to care. The moment the pills settled in his stomach, warmth spread through his limbs, offering temporary relief from the weakness clawing at him.
Yet, his body had already reached its limit. His vision swam, his limbs trembled, and before he could so much as move toward his bed, the weight of exhaustion dragged him downward. His knees buckled, and with an unceremonious thud, he collapsed onto the wooden floorboards.
His breathing slowed, his body finally surrendering to the deep, dreamless void of sleep. The door to his cabin remained wide open, the cool night breeze slipping in, rustling the edges of his robes. Outside, the forest stirred, the rustling leaves and distant cries of nocturnal creatures carrying through the air. And yet, Li Yun remained utterly still, lost in the depths of his exhaustion, entirely unaware of the vulnerabilities he had left himself open to.
As he drifted into unconsciousness, the system let out a resigned sigh.
““Host, you absolute idiot,” the system’s voice rang out, dripping with exasperation. "At least close the door before passing out. Or do you enjoy inviting every wandering beast, insect, and stray breeze into your home? Truly, your survival instincts are astonishingly lacking.””