In the shadow of the Lotus Veil, where mist draped the jagged peaks like the breath of a dormant dragon spirit, the hamlet of Yunping nestled in fragile harmony. The valley's air shimmered with faint traces of spiritual essence, a lingering echo of rites performed by cultivators of the 7th Cycle. The hamlet's thatched roofs, weathered by centuries and adorned with bamboo talismans, glistened with dew under the first light of the Twin Moons' ascent.
Beyond the village, the Lotus Veil stretched toward the horizon. Its mountains rose like silent sentinels, their slopes cloaked in clouds that never parted. For Yunping's people, this was a humble refuge, touched by whispers of a vast cultivation world they could only dream of.
Within a modest dwelling on the hamlet's western edge, Lin Hao knelt before a weathered shrine. His calloused hands trembled as he struck a flint to ignite a stick of sandalwood incense. The rich scent filled the air, blending with the earthy dampness of the room.
The shrine, a simple frame carved with lotus motifs, held two jade plaques. These bore the names of his parents—Lin Yu and Mei Ling—inscribed in fading script from the 9th Cycle. A decade had passed since their deaths, their loss a heavy stone upon his soul.
They fell to a shadowfang serpent during a failed hunt, leaving Lin Hao an orphan at seven. He had survived on Yunping's fringes since, scavenging roots and enduring neighbors' pitying stares. His resilience grew with each hardship.
At seventeen, Lin Hao carried the marks of his struggles. His jet-black hair, tied in a loose braid, was dusted with soil from morning chores. His robes, a patchwork of faded gray silk mended with rough thread, hung loosely on his lean frame.
His hands, hardened by hauling water and tending meager fields, contrasted with the fire in his dark eyes. Those eyes held a defiant spark, rejecting the fate that bound him to mortality. The villagers dubbed him "Hollow Hao," a taunt for his lack of a spiritual vein.
In a world where cultivators ascended through ethereal gates, Lin Hao was an outcast. He lacked the innate channel to harness heaven's energy, a gift marking the worthy. His dreams burned brighter than his reality.
"Honored ancestors," he murmured, bowing until his forehead met the cold floor. "Guide me to the realms' path. Let me rise where you fell." His voice, a soft plea, drifted with the wind through the open window.
The shrine was his sole link to the past, a silent witness to his solitary prayers. He had no kin, only hope in elders' tales of lost relics and forbidden arts. These stories promised a chance to awaken a dormant spirit, fueling his ambition.
Lin Hao clung to those legends like a lifeline. He yearned to join cultivators soaring above the mortal plane in the 12th Cycle. The village elder, Master Zhang Wei, often sought to temper his fervor.
A stooped figure with a silver beard to his chest, Zhang Wei was Yunping's bridge to cultivation. Once a Verdant Lotus Sect disciple in the 10th Cycle, a failed trial left him weakened. Now, he guarded the hamlet, offering wisdom and settling disputes.
"The realms—mortal, ethereal, celestial, divine—are gates for those with spiritual veins," Zhang Wei had said one dusk. His voice rasped with age, eyes distant. "Without one, you're earthbound, child. Find peace in your lot." But Lin Hao refused.
The thought of a life trapped in Yunping gnawed at him. He imagined dying unnoticed beneath mountains that claimed his parents. He vowed to forge his own ascent, no matter the cost.
That morning, as the Twin Moons crested the eastern peaks, the ground trembled. The vibration began as a low hum, startling Yunping's dogs into barks. Chickens scattered as Lin Hao stumbled, the incense stick falling to smolder.
He rushed outside, joining villagers flooding the square. Alarms rose as the tremor intensified, shaking the earth like a giant's tread. Children clung to mothers, men gripping tools in fear.
At the square's center, where the communal well stood, a strange sight unfolded. A violet rift tore the sky, its edges crackling with energy like celestial lightning. The rift pulsed, spilling an otherworldly light as a crimson-cloaked figure stepped forth.
His face hid beneath a mask of dragon scales, eyes hollow and menacing. The air grew heavy, pressing down on the villagers with an unseen force. Lin Hao felt it too, resisting the weight with gritted teeth.
"I am Rong Shen, Keeper of the Ethereal Gate," the figure intoned. His growl echoed through the square, deep and commanding. "A relic stirs in Yunping. Yield it, or this hamlet will burn."
The mask turned, surveying the crowd. Villagers shrank back, murmurs rising like a tide. Master Zhang Wei stepped forward, staff trembling in his gnarled hands.
"We harbor no relic, Keeper," he said, voice steady despite fear. "Yunping knows only soil and prayer. We threaten no realms." Rong Shen's head tilted, a deliberate motion.
"Deception," he hissed, raising a hand wreathed in violet flame. The force drove villagers to their knees, women weeping. Children wailed as Lin Hao fought the pressure, a warmth igniting in his chest.
It felt like a dormant spark awakening within him. Before Rong Shen struck, a golden glow erupted from the ancestral grove. The light pierced the mist, drawing all eyes.
A lotus-shaped amulet hovered at the grove's heart, no larger than a palm. Its surface bore glowing runes, pulsing with ancient energy. The amulet cast a radiant halo, illuminating gnarled trees.
Gasps filled the air, Zhang Wei's staff clattering down. "The Lotus Soul Amulet," he whispered, voice trembling. "A legend of the 3rd Cycle reborn." The relic was a tale of old, said to grant veins to the veinless.
It promised a bridge to ethereal realms for the unworthy. Villagers had deemed it myth, a comfort for the hopeless. Yet it shone before them, a beacon and a peril.
Rong Shen's laughter cut the silence, cold and sharp. "The Lotus Soul Amulet awakens," he said, triumph lacing his tone. He raised both hands, violet flames surging like serpents.
The ground cracked, the rift widening with light. Lin Hao's heart raced, sensing his chance. The warmth in his chest flared, urging action.
He broke from the crowd, sprinting toward the grove. Villagers shouted, voices a blend of warning and despair. Rong Shen turned, a lash of violet energy streaking forth.
Lin Hao dove, rolling as the blast scorched the earth. "Foolish mortal!" Rong Shen roared, unleashing another strike. Lin Hao weaved through trees, breath ragged, desperation driving him.
The amulet glowed brighter, runes flaring as if recognizing him. He leaped, hands outstretched. His fingers brushed the relic, and power surged through him.
Visions flooded his mind: pagodas piercing ethereal mists. Phoenixes soared through celestial fires, a voice intoning, "Prove your soul, mortal." The energy ignited a faint spiritual vein, raw but present.
The light faded, leaving Lin Hao clutching the amulet. Its warmth seeped into his palms, senses sharpening to nature's sounds. Villagers stared, hope and terror in their eyes.
Rong Shen's gaze hardened, flames flaring. "A hollow dares seize it?" he snarled. "Your death is near, boy." Lin Hao met his stare, fear yielding to resolve.
"If realms are gates, I'll force them open," he said, voice steady. He gripped the amulet tighter, warmth guiding him. He knew not its power, but he'd defy fate.
Rong Shen summoned a storm of violet flames. The heat warped the air, ground trembling. Lin Hao raised the amulet, a golden shield flaring.
The effort drained him, knees buckling. He held firm as Rong Shen's laughter rang out. "You have it, but power eludes you," the keeper taunted.
"This is your first trial's step," Rong Shen added. He stepped into the rift, which sealed with a thunderous crack. The hamlet fell silent, stunned.
Lin Hao sank to his knees, amulet glowing. The vein pulsed, a fragile promise of strength. Zhang Wei approached, voice heavy.
"You've roused the heavens, child," the elder warned. "Danger lies ahead." Lin Hao nodded, eyes on the mountains.
The Lotus Veil loomed, a gateway to his dreams. His first step with the amulet could forge a legend. As the Twin Moons climbed, his journey through the realms began.