The next morning, Luo Chen woke with a pounding headache that felt as though his skull was being squeezed by invisible hands. The pain was intense enough to make him nauseous, but it faded gradually over the course of an hour, leaving only a dull throb.
More importantly, he remembered every detail of the previous night with perfect clarity. The warmth, the eye, the symbols on his skin—none of it had faded like a dream. It remained vivid and present, as real as any memory could be.
During his chores in the orphanage's courtyard, he found himself distracted, barely paying attention to the work. Old Widow Liu scolded him twice for his lack of focus. Master Wang assigned him extra labor as punishment, which suited Luo Chen fine—it gave him an excuse to stay in the courtyard longer.
It was while sweeping beneath the old willow tree at the edge of the grounds that his broom struck something hard buried in the earth.
Luo Chen's heart leaped. It was too much of a coincidence. Whatever this was, he was certain it was connected to last night's event.
He looked around to ensure that no one was watching, then carefully began to excavate the spot. The earth was hard and compacted, making the work difficult. He used his bare hands rather than any tool that might break, scraping away dirt carefully to avoid damaging whatever lay beneath.
After several minutes of careful excavation, his fingers brushed against something smooth and cool.
He pulled gently, and a cloth-wrapped object emerged from the earth. It was small enough to fit in his palm, perhaps the size of a large coin. The cloth that wrapped it was ancient, tattered, and disintegrating at the slightest touch.
Carefully, reverently, Luo Chen unwrapped it.
Inside lay a jade disk, no larger than the width of his hand, inscribed with countless intricate patterns. The jade was a peculiar color—neither purely white nor transparent, but something in between, as if it existed partially in another dimension. When Luo Chen held it up to the sunlight, light seemed to pass through it in ways that violated the laws of physics, creating rainbow refractions that made his eyes hurt to watch.
The moment his skin touched the disk, the mysterious warmth from the previous night returned, flooding through his body.
And with it came the visions.
Images flooded his mind in a dizzying rush, more numerous and more intense than any dream. He witnessed a vast cosmos divided into infinite layers, each separated by invisible barriers of power. He saw cultivators soaring through the sky, their forms wreathed in celestial light so bright it was nearly blinding. He witnessed the birth and death of worlds—galaxies forming in the cosmic void, burning brightly for eons, then collapsing into dust and disappearing as if they had never existed.
But most significantly, he witnessed two great laws—the foundation of creation itself.
The first law was Space. He perceived it as a vast, infinite canvas stretching in all directions. Space was the medium through which distance existed. It could be warped and bent, folded and manipulated, compressed and expanded. By understanding space, a cultivator could walk between distant locations as if distance itself was an illusion. They could slice through reality with precision, or tear rifts that connected one place to another.
The second law was Time. He perceived it as a river flowing from past to future, from cause to effect. Time was the dimension through which causality existed. It could be accelerated or decelerated, reversed in small ways or manipulated to see possible futures. By understanding time, a cultivator could age their opponents rapidly, or extend their own lifespan indefinitely, or even glimpse the outcomes of their actions before taking them.
These two laws seemed to exist in opposition to each other. Space expanded while Time contracted. Space was vast while Time was fleeting. And yet, in the visions, Luo Chen saw something extraordinary—he saw a cultivator who had managed to harmonize the two laws, wielding them in perfect synchronization.
This cultivator was wreathed in power that transcended comprehension. Space and Time danced around them like complementary aspects of a single truth. With a gesture, they could fold reality itself. With a thought, they could manipulate the flow of causality. They were unstoppable, invincible, a force of nature that the universe itself seemed to bow before.
Then came an image of that cultivator surrounded by enemies of incomprehensible power. Celestial beings of light and shadow descended upon them like a plague of locusts. The cultivator fought with everything they had, wielding space and time like weapons, but eventually, they were overwhelmed. A light brighter than the sun erupted, annihilating everything in a vast radius.
When the light faded, the cultivator was gone.
Finally, a command filled his mind, spoken in a voice that resonated from the very fabric of existence itself. The voice was ancient, wise, and filled with resignation and hope in equal measure:
"Cultivate the Space Law and Time Law together. Break the rules that bind the universe. Become what none have dared to become. The path is cruel, but the destination is freedom. You have been chosen. Honor that choice."
The vision ended abruptly, leaving Luo Chen gasping and sobbing on the ground beneath the willow tree. His entire body was soaked in sweat, and his hands were shaking so badly he nearly dropped the jade disk.
What was this disk? Who had left it for him, and why? And what did the voice mean by "you have been chosen"?
"Luo Chen! Stop slacking off!"
Old Widow Liu's voice cut through his spiral of questions. Luo Chen quickly wrapped the disk back in its cloth and shoved it into his robes, then returned to his sweeping with redoubled effort.
As he worked, his mind raced. He now possessed something of immense power and significance. He had been chosen for something extraordinary. And he was beginning to understand that his entire life—his time at the orphanage, his solitary observations of the stars, his desperate belief in cultivation—had all been leading to this moment.
That night, safely in his small room shared with three other boys, Luo Chen studied the disk in secret, shielding it beneath his blanket. As he examined the patterns inscribed on its surface, the knowledge began to transfer into his mind—not through words or images, but through direct understanding. The patterns were not mere decorations; they were a language written in the fundamental structure of reality itself.
The disk was a repository of ancient knowledge. It contained meditation techniques, cultivation methods, and most importantly, the secrets of how to harmonize the Space Law and Time Law.
By dawn, Luo Chen understood enough to attempt his first real cultivation technique.