The sun barely peeked over the jagged peaks of Qingyuan Gorge when Jiang Chen opened his eyes once more. The pain in his limbs had dulled to a quiet ache, and the once-frail body he now inhabited no longer felt entirely foreign. He sat cross-legged beneath the shattered altar and focused on his breathing. Each inhale was smoother, more deliberate—each exhale a release of the remnants of weakness.
For the first time since awakening in this strange new world, Jiang Chen truly felt alive.
Qi Condensation, First Layer.
The words echoed proudly in his mind. Just yesterday, this body was trash, discarded by the Jiang Clan. But now, with the help of the Endless Star Sutra, he had taken his first step onto the path of cultivation.
Still, he knew better than to celebrate prematurely. He had much to reclaim. Much to avenge.
He stood and examined the loose stones at the altar's edge. His fingers brushed across ancient carvings—worn, but still pulsing with dormant energy. A symbol resembling a spiral galaxy shimmered faintly beneath his touch.
"Why here?" he murmured. "Why was this body left to die in a place like this?"
As if answering, a gust of wind swept through the gorge, revealing a small path winding down toward a forested valley. Jiang Chen's eyes narrowed. His instincts—honed from both scientific training and newly awakening intuition—told him that this place had been more than just a dumping ground. It was a burial site of secrets.
But there was no time to explore them now.
He had unfinished business with the Jiang Clan.
It took him half a day to reach the outer walls of Qingyuan City. The city, built into a massive cliffside, was a mixture of ancient architecture and spiritual formation arrays humming faintly along the roads. Cultivators of all levels passed through massive bronze gates etched with talismans.
Jiang Chen kept his head down, his torn robe hooded, blending into the wandering beggars and servant workers. He had no Qi signature strong enough to attract attention, but he couldn't afford risk—not yet.
The Jiang Clan manor stood proudly in the central district, a massive estate surrounded by azure walls and guarded by disciples in silver-blue robes.
As Jiang Chen crouched behind a market stall across the road, he clenched his fists.
Jiang Feilong.
The name burned in his mind like a scar. His cousin. The one who had crippled him. The one who took everything that belonged to the original Jiang Chen—his cultivation resources, his honor, his position as heir.
Now Jiang Feilong stood as the rising star of the clan.
"Not for long," Jiang Chen whispered.
He knew he couldn't confront the clan directly. Not without strength. Not without allies. But there was one place he could begin.
Nightfall arrived with a chill in the wind. Jiang Chen moved silently through the alleyways until he reached a modest compound on the outskirts of the city—a former training hall, now abandoned.
Inside, old weapons and cultivation dummies lay scattered beneath dust and cobwebs.
Jiang Chen pulled the door shut and dropped to his knees in the center of the room.
Accessing Astral Sutra...
Initiating star-pulse refinement…
New Technique Available: "Starseed Breathing Method"
The room dimmed. Above him, a faint illusion of the night sky shimmered into view. Starlight streamed through the cracked roof, converging at his chest.
With every breath, he drew in the power of distant constellations. His spiritual sea rippled, the once-tiny starseed now spinning with increasing momentum.
Sweat beaded on his brow. His muscles quivered, but he pushed forward.
Pain followed. Cultivation was not without cost. But pain was something Jiang Chen understood intimately. It was his companion now. His weapon.
Hours passed.
Then—
Qi Condensation: Second Layer attained.
He collapsed backward, chest heaving, a smile tugging at his lips.
The next morning, at the inner courtyard of the Jiang Clan, Jiang Feilong sat on a jade bench, sipping tea while disciples fawned over his latest success in the Pill Trials.
A servant approached, bowing. "Young Master Feilong, news from the city gate. There are rumors… the disgrace of the clan, Jiang Chen, was seen alive."
Jiang Feilong's smile faded.
"Impossible," he said coldly.
But in his heart, something twisted.
Far beyond the manor walls, in the forgotten training hall, Jiang Chen stared into the rising sun.
He would return. Not as a beggar.
Not as a disgrace.
But as the one who would tear down every false pillar of pride the Jiang Clan had built upon his ruin.