Built on seven tiers of floating terraces, each layer rose higher into the clouds, connected by hanging bridges and spiraling jade stairs. Rivers of qi flowed through carved runes in the walls, and swordlight shimmered in the sky like dancing cranes.
It was beautiful.
And it reeked of pressure.
Li Fan stepped off the flying ship, Yue Xian beside him, and instantly felt the weight of thousands of gazes—disciples, elders, even spirit beasts pausing mid-flight to stare at the newcomer.
He wore no sect robes.
Carried no sword.
Had no root.
But the starlight pulse in his chest glowed steadily—slow, silent, unfathomable.
“Who’s that?”
“Is that… a mortal?”
“Wait, Elder Yue brought him herself?!”
Whispers erupted among the outer sect disciples, echoing like wind through the courtyards.
In the distance, a slender figure watched from a balcony high above—the current Pavilion Heir, Shen Lian, a prodigy already at Nascent Soul – Stage Four. His gaze was calm, but a flicker of annoyance passed through his eyes.
“He’s the one,” he murmured.
Beside him, a cloaked elder bowed. “The Starforged path will bring trouble.”
Shen Lian nodded. “And we must be ready.”
Yue Xian gave Li Fan a small stone chamber on the edge of the outer sect.
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“No talismans. No formations. Qi veins are sparse here,” she said. “You’ll have to build your path from nothing.”
Li Fan nodded. “I’m used to that.”
She handed him a scroll—not a technique, but a map of the Pavilion and its trials.
“Your cultivation is… incompatible with ours. But if you pass the Three Entrance Trials, you’ll be officially recognized. Until then, you are an outsider.”
She hesitated, then softened slightly. “But you’re not alone. Not anymore.”
Then she left.
Li Fan unrolled the map.
The trials were brutal:
- Stone Gate of Will – Resist the mental pressure of a golden immortal’s projection for one hour.
- Mirror Lake of Form – Fight a version of yourself forged from your own flaws.
- Silent Tower – Survive three days in total void without light, sound, or qi.
He took a deep breath.
“Alright,” he whispered. “Let’s begin.”
He sat cross-legged in the center of his room.
No technique.
No guidance.
Only breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Focus on the silence.
And then—like the flicker of a distant lantern—one of the stars inside him blinked.
He felt it shift, like a heartbeat in the night sky. The First Fragment pulsed, drawing in not qi, but something finer—astral essence, invisible to others. The breath of the stars.
He wasn’t cultivating into the world.
He was cultivating away from it.
His mind drifted into the black void behind closed eyes. There, constellations danced—and from them, his true power would come.
Deep beneath the Pavilion, in the Sealed Root Vaults, ancient formations began to flicker. Forgotten scripts trembled.
In a sarcophagus bound by twelve soul chains, an ancient figure stirred.
“Starforged…”
A whisper, dry and cracked, echoed through the cavern.
“It returns.”