The kindling of the Fading Flame had left Li Wei, now in his late seventies, with a fragile but enduring spark in his spirit, his qi flickering faintly as his frail body inched closer to its end. The hidden valley, with its shimmering pool, ancient tree, and dimming blossoms, pulsed with a quiet energy that seemed to cradle the warmth in his dantian—a warmth he still believed was his nascent Golden Core, nurturing a fledgling Nascent Soul, whether real or a delusion born of a lifetime's striving. Azure Dragon, his elderly and scruffy spirit beast, remained a loyal companion, curled by the stone altar, his slow breaths mirroring Li Wei's own labored rhythm. With trembling, scarred hands, Li Wei turned the scroll's worn bamboo slats, their familiar weight a comfort in his twilight years. The scroll's latest passage unveiled a reflective new challenge: "The Starlit Memory, where the cultivator gazes upon the trials of their past under the stars, weaving their essence into the Dao's eternal tapestry."
In the cultivation novels Li Wei had devoured in his Beijing days, starlit memories were sacred reflections—moments where aging cultivators revisited their past to find meaning, often as a prelude to ascension or death. The scroll's description was poetic but poignant: "Under the stars' eternal gaze, let the soul recall its trials, for their light weaves the Dao's truth. Clarity binds the memory, but regret unravels the soul." Li Wei, tempered by lightning, betrayal, and countless visions, felt a quiet resolve tinged with sorrow. His life's trials—the lightning that scorched him, the betrayals of Wang Hao and Lin Tao, the visions of phoenixes and starry paths—had shaped him, and now, as his body faltered, he sought to weave them into a final understanding of the Dao. His joints ached, his fever lingered, and the infections in his hand and arm throbbed, but the valley's mystical aura and the scroll's promise urged him to reflect once more.
Li Wei prepared with the reverence of an elder recounting a life's saga. He sat by the shimmering pool, its surface a mirror for the stars, the altar weathered by decades of use, its stones etched with star-like patterns inspired by the Starstone. He placed the scroll, jade slip, Starstone, and stolen booklet at its center, surrounded by the ancient tree's fading blossoms, their light a soft glow in the twilight. Azure Dragon watched, his clouded eyes heavy, as Li Wei sipped the valley's crystal-clear water, its coolness a brief balm against his persistent fever. The scroll called for a meditative trance under the stars, so he chose a clear night, when the valley's sky sparkled like the constellations of his visions, to begin.
As midnight cloaked the valley in starlight, Li Wei settled by the altar, the Starstone in one trembling hand, the jade slip pressed to his chest. He chanted the scroll's incantations, their rhythmic tones blending with the valley's whispers, now faint but resonant, like echoes of his past. He focused on his dantian, visualizing his Golden Core as a dimming star, his Nascent Soul a frail but glowing figure ready to recall its trials. The scroll urged him to "weave the memory," so he let his mind drift, revisiting his life—lightning searing his body, the Celestial River's flow, the phoenix's flames, Old Chen's grounded wisdom, and Mei Ling's lost smile. Each memory glimmered like a star, forming a constellation of his striving.
Hours passed, his body trembling from the strain, his fever flaring, the pain in his scarred wounds throbbing with each heartbeat. In his trance, the valley faded, replaced by a starry expanse where his Nascent Soul stood, surrounded by glowing orbs—each a trial from his life, from the Lightning Tribulation to the Eternal Dawn. A voice, soft but resonant, whispered: "What story do your stars tell?" Li Wei's heart faltered, regrets stirring—his mother's unanswered letters, Mei Ling's unfulfilled hope—but he answered, his voice frail but resolute: "My stars tell of a heart that sought the Dao, delusion or not." The orbs pulsed brighter, weaving into a tapestry, but his body collapsed, gasping by the pool, Azure Dragon whining softly and nudging his face.
The Starstone felt faintly warmer, as if touched by the memory's light, and his dantian pulsed weakly, as if his soul had woven its truth. Had he truly recalled his starlit memories, or was it another fevered vision? The scroll promised clarity but warned of regret, and Li Wei chose to believe he'd succeeded, finding peace in his life's tapestry. He scribbled in his notebook, hands trembling: "Starlit Memory glimpsed. Trials shine, body dims. Dao is woven." The valley's whispers softened, the ancient tree's blossoms glowing faintly.
During the next video call with the Order of the Jade Dawn, now led by an aging Liu Mei, with Chen Xiu's fervent mysticism and Zhao Feng's pragmatic leadership, Li Wei shared the vision, describing the constellation of trials. Zhang Wei, now a chemist, suggested herbal tonics to ease his pain, while Liu Mei, her face lined with age, urged him to seek hospice care: "Memories light the soul, but the body needs rest." Chen Xiu saw it as a step toward ascension, while Zhao Feng, softened but skeptical, called it nostalgia, their debate tempered by reverence for Li Wei's endurance. He hid his worsening fever and pain, fearing their concern might fracture their unity.
As dawn broke, Li Wei rested by the pool, the Starstone in his hands, Azure Dragon snoring softly, his breaths labored. The scroll promised that the Starlit Memory wove the soul into eternity, but hinted at the finality of his journey. The valley's energy, his sect's support, and the scroll's guidance bolstered him, even as his body weakened. With his Golden Core and Nascent Soul flickering as beacons, Li Wei felt ready to face the next challenge, his soul woven into the Dao's tapestry, one starry memory at a time toward eternity.