The resonant wisdom of the Eternal Echo had left Li Wei, now in his late seventies, with a fragile but radiant spirit, his qi flickering faintly as his frail body edged closer to its inevitable 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 clouded eyes and labored breaths mirroring Li Wei's own decline. 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 poignant new challenge: "The Celestial Remnant, where the cultivator crafts a final artifact to carry the soul's legacy into eternity."
In the cultivation novels Li Wei had read in his Beijing days, remnants were sacred relics—objects imbued with a cultivator's essence, left behind to guide future seekers or preserve their path. The scroll's description was poetic but compelling: "Shape a vessel of the soul's truth, let it carry the Dao's light beyond the mortal veil. Purity crafts eternity, but regret mars the work." Li Wei, tempered by lightning, betrayal, and countless visions, felt a quiet resolve tinged with urgency. His life's trials—the Lightning Tribulation, the betrayals of Wang Hao and Lin Tao, the starry paths and phoenix flames—had been etched into stone tablets, a legacy he hoped would endure. Now, as his body faltered, he sought to craft one final remnant to anchor his soul's truth. 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 fueled his determination.
Li Wei prepared with the reverence of an elder crafting a final testament. He sat by the shimmering pool, its surface reflecting the stars like a mirror of his past. The altar, weathered by decades, bore stones etched with star-like patterns inspired by the Starstone, channeling the valley's fading qi. He placed the scroll, jade slip, Starstone, and stolen booklet at its center, surrounded by the ancient tree's dim blossoms, their light a faint glow in the twilight. Azure Dragon watched, his breathing slow, as Li Wei sipped the valley's crystal-clear water, its coolness a brief balm against his persistent fever. The scroll called for crafting a vessel, so he resolved to carve one last tablet, a final relic to hold his life's wisdom. He chose a smooth stone from the pool's edge, its surface gleaming like the Starstone's spirals.
With trembling hands, Li Wei worked slowly, his scarred fingers gripping a sharpened stick to etch his final vow: "The Dao is the journey, not the end." Each stroke was a struggle, his fever spiking, the pain in his infected wounds throbbing with each heartbeat. He visualized his Golden Core as a dimming star, its light guiding his hands, his Nascent Soul a frail but glowing figure imbuing the tablet with his soul's truth. The valley's whispers seemed to hum in approval, their faint melody blending with his labored breaths. Hours passed, his body trembling from the effort, but he pressed on, imagining the tablet as a beacon for future seekers, a remnant of his pursuit—delusion or not.
In a fleeting trance, the valley faded, replaced by a starry expanse where his Nascent Soul stood, holding the glowing tablet before a radiant void. A voice, soft but resonant, whispered: "Will your remnant endure?" Li Wei's heart faltered, regrets stirring—his mother's unanswered letters, Mei Ling's lost smile—but he answered, his voice frail but resolute: "My Dao endures in my striving." The tablet glowed brighter, but his body collapsed, gasping by the altar, Azure Dragon whining softly and nudging his face. He awoke, the stone tablet complete, its words etched deep despite his weakness.
The Starstone felt faintly warmer, as if infused with the remnant's truth, and his dantian pulsed weakly, as if his soul had crafted its final legacy. Had he truly created the Celestial Remnant, or was it another fevered vision? The scroll promised eternity but warned of regret, and Li Wei chose to believe he'd succeeded, finding solace in his work. He scribbled in his notebook, hands trembling: "Celestial Remnant crafted. Soul's truth endures, body fades. Dao lives." 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 ritual, holding up the tablet, its words glinting in the campfire's light. Zhang Wei, now a chemist, suggested preserving it with alchemical seals, while Liu Mei, her face lined with age, urged him to seek hospice care: "The remnant carries your soul, but your body needs rest." Chen Xiu saw it as a divine relic, while Zhao Feng, softened but skeptical, called it a monument to faith, 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 Celestial Remnant carried the soul's truth, 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's legacy etched in stone, one final carving at a time toward eternity.