Li Feng sensed it before he saw it—a strange disturbance in the Qi around him, as if the very air had begun to tremble. It was faint, a subtle shift, but enough to send a shiver down his spine. The mountain forests of the Endless Sky Sect had never felt so… alive. He paused, gripping the sack of herbs tighter as he looked around, but saw nothing amiss. Just mist weaving through the trees, as it always did.

“Is this all I’ll ever be?” The thought gnawed at him like a parasite. Here he was, on yet another mundane errand for the Medicine Hall, his progress in cultivation stagnant at the third level of Qi Condensation. No one remembered the names of disciples who failed to rise. No one.

He cast a quick glance toward the distant peaks of the sect, where inner disciples trained in towering halls of grandeur. Their laughter echoed faintly, like a mockery of his own insignificance. They would ascend to greatness, and he would remain in their shadows. He’d been fighting for years to break through, yet his fate seemed sealed—mediocrity

With a sigh, he continued down the trail, the weight of the herbs on his back mirroring the burden of his unfulfilled potential. But just as he rounded a bend, something shifted in the air again—a gust of wind, unnatural and cold, carrying with it a faint, eerie tolling sound, like a bell ringing in the distance.

Li Feng froze.

The mist thickened around him, swirling unnaturally as the trees seemed to bend and twist under an unseen force. The path ahead disappeared into the fog. His heart pounded, an instinctual dread creeping into his bones.

Then the ground beneath him trembled. A deep, low rumble that grew louder with every second. He stumbled back as the earth split open before him, a jagged crack tearing through the trail. The air was thick with the scent of damp soil and something… older. Rotten.

Before he could react, the tolling bell reached a deafening pitch, and a shadowy figure emerged from the mist.

The figure moved like a shadow, his limbs bending at odd angles, too smooth, too fast, like he wasn’t bound by the laws of this world. His robes were tattered, fraying into nothingness at the edges, and his face was obscured by a deep hood. Every part of Li Feng screamed at him to run, but his legs felt like they were submerged in thick mud.

The figure glided forward, carrying something in his hands—an object covered in a strange, dark cloth. As he drew closer, the cloth unraveled on its own, revealing an obsidian mirror. Its surface rippled like liquid, reflecting not just the surroundings but something deeper—worlds, dimensions, realms that defied understanding.

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“The time has come…” the figure whispered. The voice didn’t come from his mouth but seemed to echo in Li Feng’s own mind, cold and hollow. He extended the mirror toward Li Feng. “Take it. The Veil must be lifted.”

Li Feng took a step back, panic rising in his chest. He had no idea who this man was, or what he wanted, but he knew one thing—nothing about this was natural. The crack in the earth, the bell, this figure—none of it belonged to the world he knew.

Who… who are you?” Li Feng managed to stammer, though his voice sounded small in the thick, suffocating air.

The figure gave no answer. Instead, he opened his hands, and the mirror dropped to the ground at Li Feng’s feet. It hit the earth with a soundless thud, sending a deep, resonating hum through the air. The very Qi around it seemed to warp, bending reality itself. Li Feng’s heart raced as he stared at the mirror, its surface now still, dark, and foreboding.

Trembling, he reached out. The moment his fingers brushed the cold surface, the world around him twisted violently. The mist, the trees, the distant sect—all dissolved into a void of endless darkness.

He was no longer on the mountain.

Suspended in the air before him was the mirror, now glowing with a pale, ethereal light. Stars flickered faintly in the void around him, and from the depths of the mirror, voices whispered. Too quiet to make out, but loud enough to stir the deepest corners of his mind.

Then the mirror rippled again, and Li Feng’s breath caught in his throat. Reflected in the glass was his own face—but distorted, twisted. His eyes were cold, lifeless, filled with a malice that made his blood run cold.

“The path ahead is filled with danger,” the reflection whispered, its voice a dark echo of his own, “but power beyond imagination awaits.”

Li Feng’s hand trembled as he reached for the mirror again, but before he could touch it, a violent force yanked him back into reality. The forest reappeared around him, the crack in the earth sealed as if it had never been there. The mist was clearing, the world returning to normal.

But the mirror remained, lying on the ground where the figure had left it.

His pulse raced. Whatever this artifact was, it was not of this world. Its power hummed through the very air around him, far beyond the comprehension of an ordinary Qi Condensation disciple like himself. But it had chosen him.

He knelt, carefully wrapping the mirror in his cloak, hiding it from view. His mind buzzed with questions, but one thing was clear—this was no ordinary encounter. Something, or someone, had marked him. The mirror had shown him visions of realms and beings that should not exist, and yet they did. Somewhere.

Li Feng stood, his hands shaking slightly as he tucked the mirror into his satchel. He needed answers. And he needed to survive. Whatever had given him this artifact was far more dangerous than anything he had ever faced.

As he turned and began his trek back up the mountain, a new feeling settled over him—a strange mix of dread and excitement. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t just another nameless disciple. He had something that no one else did.

The Veil of Myriad Realms had chosen him. And now, his journey had truly begun.