Inside the dome, beneath the dark canopy of the forest, the world changed in a single breath. A flood of power swept across the land like a rising tide, washing through tree, stone, and soul alike. At first, everyone thought it was spiritual energy—but it wasn't. It was: divine energy. It rolled through the dome in nine colors, painting the sky and turning the night into a living omen, a sky of flowing light that refused to fade.
People froze where they stood. Some were hiding, some hunting, some bleeding and panting behind roots and stones—but all of them felt it hit their bodies like thunder turning into rain. The restrictions that had sealed their cultivation loosened, then broke. A breath later, the weight smothering their dantian vanished—like waking from a dream that had been suffocating them. One by one, the whispers rose:
"What is happening?"
"My spiritual energy… It's back!"
"Impossible… it was sealed—how…"
"Is this a formation change?"
"What? No—wait—look above!"
The forest, once silent except for killing and footsteps, filled with the sounds of breathing, of knees lifting off the dirt, of people testing their qi with shaky hands. Nascent Souls felt their cores hum again. Foundation Establishment cultivators felt their meridians sing. A few wept silently. A few laughed in disbelief. Many looked up and wished they hadn't—because the dome wasn't normal anymore.
Above the black trees, the inside of the dome lit up with a nine-colored glow, slow and steady like the breath of a sleeping giant. At its heart floated a brown sphere—quiet, heavy, like a seed older than the world—turning slowly with an ancient dignity. Around the brown heart, the lights did not fall; they expanded, reaching outward like rivers taking the sky for a bed. The longer one stared, the more the colors felt like meanings pressed into light.
Han Chen opened his eyes.
He had been seated cross-legged, quiet and still, his breath thin and steady after days of blood and grit. When the world shook and the pressure released, he felt his qi swell back into his meridians. He stood in one smooth motion, eyes narrowed, looking upward at the strange sky. For a moment, he said nothing—just listening to the new silence, the kind that comes after a storm when the next one is already forming.
"What is happening…" he muttered, more to the air than to anyone else. From his sea of consciousness. Yue Ruo said, her voice was low and steady. "It's a celestial omen that appears when someone breaks through the Deity Transformation realm," she said. "Wang Zhen… is using the technique created by the Venerable Heaven-Desecrating Devil Immortal." The name fell between them like iron. Yue Ruo's voice trembled.
She began, softly, "My… Che—" and stopped. Whatever almost rose to her lips fell back unsaid. She closed her eyes for a breath, then opened them again. "There will definitely be a large conflict here." Around them, the forest woke. Power woke. Intent woke.
...
A trio of Foundation Establishment wanderers stood in a line, hands shaking as they tested their meridians—thin wires of light ran through their arms as they cycled qi for the first time since the dome sealed it away. One laughed, and it sounded like a cough. One swore. One said nothing, only watched the colored sky with a face like a closed door.
Near a cracked boulder, two rival men—realized their cores were active again. For three heartbeats, neither moved. Then both smiled in the same sharp way men smile when reminded who they really are. One nodded; the other didn't nod back. They parted without a word, walking in opposite directions to gather old debts left unfinished.
The divine energy did not fade. It grew—gentle and enormous, like a tide that lifts all ships and also drowns the careless. The nine colors kept spreading along the dome's sky, and the brown sphere kept turning, unhurried and sovereign, like a judge who knew the verdict long before the case began.
Small bands of cultivators whispered rumors and tried to place their hopes on a logic.
"The seal is broken—does that mean we can leave?"
"No, the barrier is still there."
"Then why free our cultivation?"
The spirit, high above, watched it all. It turned its face toward the buried heart of the dome where Wang Zhen's ordeal raged on, and what passed for a smile in its kind touched its edge. Good luck, my lord, it had whispered earlier, and now it said nothing at all. Loyalty didn't need language. Purpose didn't need noise.
...
In a quiet garden pavilion shaded by woven vines, two men sat across a round stone table, steam rising from their cups as if the tea itself were thinking. On the right sat Yan Fei—calm eyes, steady breath—one star Deity Transformation, the kind of man whose presence made the wind remember its manners. On the left sat Mo Gu—six star Deity Formation—broad-shouldered, jaw tight with recent frustration, knuckles still marked by a fight that didn't go his way.
Mo Gu set his cup down, the porcelain tapping once, crisp and clear. "Brother Yan Fei, I need the Wolf Transformation Gu of rank six," he said, voice low but direct. "I lost to Gu Yao again. My rank five Body Transformation Gu… it doesn't keep up anymore. It won't do."
Yan Fei watched him for a beat, then lifted the cup for one slow sip. "Alright," he said, tone light but not careless. "I will help refine the Wolf Transformation Gu. But you know what that means." A faint smile curved his lips. He laughed softly—easy, confident. "Hahaha."
Mo Gu didn't flinch. "A fair trade." he said.
Yan Fei leaned back, gaze drifting through the lattice of leaves to the slice of sky beyond. "Wolf Transformation isn't just a Gu. It's like a pet. You'll have to break your old rhythm, or it'll fight you when you need it most."
"I'll adapt," Mo Gu replied.
Their teacups met in a quiet clink. Leaves rustled. Time seemed to fold neatly… until the air changed.
Both men turned at once. They felt it before they fully understood it—a deep, sweeping current pushing through heaven and earth, not merely spiritual energy, but the divine energy. It rolled across the horizon in nine distinct pulses, like waves cast by a sleeping titan's breath.
Yan Fei stood, sleeve whispering against the table's edge. Mo Gu rose a heartbeat later, eyes narrowing. The distant sky bloomed with nine colors—red, yellow, green, blue, purple, and more—stretching higher and wider every moment. At the heart of that slow-moving storm hung a quiet brown glow, sovereign and steady—the sign of the divine root manifesting.
Mo Gu's voice dropped. "Brother… is it what I think it is?"
Yan Fei did not take his eyes off the omen. "Undoubtedly," he said, calm turning sharp. "Someone is breaking through Deity Transformation. The first time in eight hundred years on the Zhao Continent."
The garden's wind held still, as if listening.
"Who could it be?" Mo Gu asked, the question was calculated.
Yan Fei's smile faded—respect, not worry. "There are only a few who would dare at a time like this," he said. "And fewer who would be allowed." He glanced once toward the far lands where the dome's rumor had grown into a legend. "Let's go and take a look."
Mo Gu nodded. "If it is who we think, the balance will shift today."
"The balance always shifts," Yan Fei said softly. "We just decide whether to ride it… or be buried under it."
They didn't bother to pack the tea. Yan Fei and Mo Gu vanished.
...
Inside the dim room, Wang Zhen sat cross-legged on the marble floor, his face hidden in shadow. The air around him was thick with power. Nine-colored light rose and fell like waves near his body, and most of it flowed straight into him, sinking into his bones, blood, and organs. The part that did not enter him spilled outward and climbed the sky, feeding the celestial omen that everyone outside could see.
Before him, the brown sphere—the divine root—drifted closer, calm and steady like a heart that had never missed a beat. Five smaller spheres circled it—red, yellow, green, blue, and purple—each humming with a quiet power. Together, they slid forward and pressed into his chest, disappearing beneath the skin without a mark. A breath later, the nine-colored light followed, streaming in after them like rivers finding the sea.
Wang Zhen didn't move. He only breathed—slow, deep, controlled. Every inhale pulled divine energy deeper. Every exhale pushed out what he no longer needed. The ground under him shook slightly, and the shadows on the walls bent inward, as if the room itself was bowing.
Inside his body, the divine root projection settled behind his heart like an anchor. The five small spheres took their places along his core channels, steadying the flow of energy while the nine-colored light spread through his meridians. The pressure was heavy, but it was the kind he could bear. He had bled for this. He had killed for this. He had waited for this.
...
Meanwhile, outside the dome, Old Man Jin and Old Man Wei did not stop. Their attacks fell again and again on the barrier woven from fragments of laws. The ground was already torn to pieces around them—trees uprooted, stones split, the earth flipped and cracked—but still they pressed on. Jin's sword howled with bright arcs of power, leaving afterimages that cut the air. Wei's 44 Mountain Seal slammed down like falling peaks, shaking dust loose from the sky itself.
The cracks in the dome's barrier widened. They spread like frost across glass—slow, stubborn, real.
Each blow made the cracks tremble and stretch, but each time the barrier fought back, thick with stubborn law-power that refused to let go.
"Break!" Old Man Jin shouted through clenched teeth, sword raised high as another moonlight slash hammered the veil.
"Again!" Old Man Wei roared, bringing the seal down with both hands, muscles corded like iron cables.
The barrier rippled and groaned. Light leaked through the cracks in thin threads, then vanished as the laws stitched themselves tighter. It was holding, but only just.
...
The air behind them buckled.
A surge of energy rolled over the broken field—a clean, sharp shockwave that made the hair on their arms rise. Dust spiraled away. The wind froze for half a heartbeat, then snapped back.
Two figures stood there, side by side, as if the world had simply decided to draw them in.
Yan Fei. Calm eyes. Even calmer breath. One-star Deity Transformation. He carried no weapon in hand, but the silence around him felt like one.
Mo Gu. Broad-shouldered, steady footed. Six-star Deity Formation. His gaze weighed the field, the men, the cracks, and the sky in a single sweep.
Old Man Wei turned first, eyes narrowing. "Why are you lot here?."
Yan Fei gave a small nod, gaze flicking to the cracked barrier and then up to the nine-colored omen still growing in the heavens. "We just came to watch, ignore us," he said, voice even.
Old Man Jin's grip tightened on his sword, and gave a suspicious look. "What?"
Silence pressed down for a breath. The barrier hissed as if answering for all of them.
...
Yan Fei stepped forward a single pace, eyes on the cracking law-weave. "This will break," he said.
Old Man Wei ignored him.
Mo Gu lifted his chin toward the barrier. "Is it the Dome of the Lord of Heavenly Law? It means that the one we thought was breaking through isn't the one breaking through—it's someone else instead."
...
Old Man Jin studied them for a heartbeat longer, then faced the dome again. "Fine. Speak less. Strike more."
Wei rolled his shoulders and hoisted the 44 Mountain Seal. "Try to keep up."
Yan Fei's sleeve stirred. The air stilled, then tightened—like a string drawn straight. Mo Gu exhaled, setting his stance, power gathering at his heels.
Behind them, miles away in the shadows, countless eyes watched. Some held their breath; some prayed; some counted the spaces between the cracks as if numbers could save them. Above, the nine-colored light kept expanding, and the brown heart at its center turned slowly on, and on, and on.
Inside the dome, Wang Zhen's breath deepened. The divine root beat once—soft—but the whole room felt it. The five orbs hummed in time. The nine colors flowed like rivers through his veins.
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----