The moment Liang Xiao stepped outside, it was like entering a forest of steel.
Everywhere he looked—
Skyscrapers towered one after another, their glass facades reflecting the cold light of the afternoon sun. Patrol drones buzzed through the air like metallic wasps, weaving between the buildings in precise formation.
Every few hundred meters, a Cultivator in a dark Law Enforcement uniform stood vigil, their spiritual pressure faintly visible in the air.
Compared to the quiet of the school, the outside world was a different realm entirely.
To prevent chaos from evil spirits and invasion from Yao Beasts, drones and Cultivators patrolled the city twenty-four hours a day, without pause.
Changlin City was only a county-level city. Its defensive Formation could cover just a limited range, so the authorities built upward instead of outward—
taller, denser, tighter—
squeezing life into every inch of available space.
Besides the school, Liang Xiao had never seen a building shorter than a hundred stories.
Below ground were storage vaults of food and survival materials. On the surface, people lived stacked layer upon layer, stairwells converted into markets or plazas where they could still breathe a little.
Over a million people lived within less than ten square kilometers.
The wide streets—originally designed for wartime transport—were now canyons between cliffs of steel. Yet even those streets felt narrow, suffocating under the weight of the city above.
People hurried past each other, rushing for their livelihoods.
Crowded. Oppressive. Unrelenting.
That was Changlin City.
As Liang Xiao walked among the crowd, his thoughts drifted to this world's strange history.
It was, in many ways, just like the Earth of his previous life—until everything changed two centuries ago.
Back then, Earth's technology mirrored that of the 21st century.
Then, without warning, a Cultivation World tore open a passage into this one.
The invaders—Cultivators from another realm—descended in arrogance, believing Earth to be a world of powerless Mortals. They had no concept of technology.
Within days, they were obliterated by Earth's strategic weapons.
Yet from the ruins of that battle, humanity gained something extraordinary—Cultivation Techniques.
Over the next few decades, as more rifts opened and invasions continued, Earth's civilizations united under one banner: the Earth Federation. Cultivation knowledge was made public, taught in schools, studied in laboratories.
But the truth soon emerged—not everyone could cultivate.
Talent, physique, and even luck played a part.
So new institutions arose: Alchemy schools, Cultivation universities, Military academies—training the few who could touch the power of Qi.
The world's course changed forever.
Technology advanced faster than ever, but now it coexisted with Cultivation.
And with that merging came consequences.
Spiritual Qi revived.
The land expanded.
Yao Beasts began to roam freely.
Evil spirits spread like plagues.
And demonic Cultivators—traitors who guided monsters into human lands—became humanity's greatest internal threat.
Villages and towns vanished.
Any settlement with fewer than a million people was either abandoned or destroyed.
Now, humanity lived only within fortified cities under protective Formations—tiny islands of safety in a world of terror.
It was said that in those desperate early days, humans excavated ancient tombs and relics, awakening the remnants of long-lost powers.
By chance—or fate—two Immortals were born from the chaos.
Today, those two Immortals guarded the world's passage, keeping the invaders from returning.
Without them, Earth's survival might have ended long ago.
Liang Xiao raised his head. Through the narrow gap between the skyscrapers, he could see two bright stars shining beside the sun—visible even in daylight.
Those were the Dao projections of the two Immortals.
Symbols of divine protection.
Even school textbooks praised their glory, telling children that when one surpassed the Great Ascension Realm, they could project their Dao across the heavens.
The sight filled him with both awe and yearning.
Only by becoming a Cultivator can I reach the Rich Area…
Only then can I leave this cage of steel and see the true world outside.
He had lived here for ten years and never once set foot beyond the city's Formation.
Out there, danger awaited at every step—but also freedom.
After a ten-minute walk, the crowded skyline shifted, and Peaceful Neighborhood came into view.
To outsiders, it was a slum.
To its residents, it was simply home—
a cluster of densely packed towers, each housing thousands of souls.
There were no elevators here; they were deemed unnecessary luxuries.
Electricity was rationed. Space was precious.
Liang Xiao climbed the stairs slowly but steadily. His home was on the forty-third floor.
Thanks to Foundation Establishment, his body was light, his breath steady.
The ascent barely tired him.
At last, he reached the familiar door and turned the key.
"Brother? Is that you, Brother? You're home from school?"
A bright, boyish voice came from the small living room.
A frail figure in thick glasses stumbled to his feet, groping forward with hesitant steps.
It was Liang Yuan, his eleven-year-old brother—born blind.
Their parents had died in a disaster twelve years ago. Liang Yuan had been cut from their mother's body by rescuers after the catastrophe. His underdeveloped eyes had never seen the world clearly.
"It's me." Liang Xiao rushed over, gently guiding him back to the sofa. "Don't walk around. You'll fall."
"Grandpa's not back yet?"
"Not yet," Liang Yuan replied with a small smile. "He said he's working overtime today, told us to eat the leftovers from this morning."
Even with the best glasses, the boy's world was still a blur—just light and shadow.
"Alright then. Let's eat first."
They reheated the leftovers and ate quietly together.
The food was simple—rice and a few stir-fried vegetables—but to Liang Xiao, it was warmth.
After dinner, he wiped his hands and stood. "I'm going to cultivate."
"Brother, can you play with me for a while?" Liang Yuan asked softly.
"You play by yourself," Liang Xiao said. "I need to focus. Don't disturb me unless it's important."
"But I can't see anything clearly…" Liang Yuan's tone was small, lonely.
Liang Xiao paused, then smiled faintly. "Just wait a little longer. When I become a Cultivator, I'll find the best doctor in the Rich Area. Your eyes will be cured."
"Brother…" Liang Yuan hesitated. "Your Dantian is—"
"It doesn't matter." Liang Xiao ruffled his brother's hair gently. "Believe in me. I will become a Cultivator."
Liang Yuan nodded firmly. "I believe you, Brother. You can do it!"
"Good." Liang Xiao's eyes hardened with resolve. "If Grandpa comes back, tell him not to disturb me. I'll be in seclusion for three days."
He retreated to the small bedroom—a four-square-meter space that served as his only refuge in this cramped world.
The faint light flickered as he closed the door.
He reached beneath the bed, pulling out a small wooden drawer.
Inside was a single bottle, hidden away for months.
He uncorked it carefully.
Within lay one Qi Gathering Pill—the only one he'd been able to afford after half a year of part-time work.
A single pill worth ten thousand federal credits.
For others, it was just a convenient resource.
For him, it was everything.
This pill could help the user refine its medicinal essence directly into True Qi—
but only for those who had completed Foundation Establishment.
That was why Tan Weifeng's mockery had cut so deep.
He was, by definition, "no longer human" in the Cultivators' eyes—a man who had built his foundation, yet could not hold Qi.
But Liang Xiao was done bowing to fate.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, the pill resting in his palm.
"Whether for Grandpa and Yuan… or for myself—this time, I must succeed."
He swallowed the pill, closing his eyes.
The medicinal power spread like warm fire through his meridians.
He guided it inward, to the Dantian—
that dark, hollow void that should have been the cradle of Qi, but was instead scarred and broken.
There, within the emptiness, a faint shimmer appeared—a single wisp of True Qi, fragile and flickering.
It began to dissipate almost instantly through the holes in his Dantian—
but Liang Xiao's will surged.
Under his control, the Qi twisted, condensed, and stretched—
until it became a hair-thin, translucent thread.
Stabilized by his consciousness, it no longer leaked away.
A moment later, a second wisp appeared.
Then a third.
Each he shaped into a thread of light—
fine as silk, pure as moonlight.
One by one, he began to weave.