“Can it send me to another world?” The question formed in his mind, a silent query to the gate. In response, a stream of information flowed directly into his consciousness, a brief but profound spiritual contact. The information confirmed his suspicion. He could, if he wished, pass through the gate in his mind and enter another world. It wouldn't be a physical journey, but a translocation of his True Spirit, his very consciousness—a process not unlike the legends of transmigration. “The Wanjie Zhi Men…” Wei Boda murmured, his expression contemplative. The name came from a line of text that shimmered at the bottom of his vision, identifying the luminous gate and designating him as its Holder. “Should I use it now?” The thought consumed him. While the Wanjie Zhi Men could send his consciousness to another world, its power was not limitless. Each journey required a lengthy 'recharging' period. Based on the orbital cycle of his home, Feiyun Star, that meant a wait of eight months to a year between trips. His mind was made up. In a few days, the conscription officers would arrive. He, like all the other recruits, would be placed under constant, comprehensive surveillance. He had no idea if a traversal of his True Spirit would leave any detectable traces on his physical body, any anomaly the state's monitors might flag. But it was a gamble he was unwilling to take. The Wanjie Zhi Men was an extraordinary, world-altering treasure. If discovered, the consequences would be far worse than mere conscription. He knew the old saying well: possessing a treasure is a crime in itself. The best time, the only time, to travel was now. For the moment, he was free from any surveillance. If the process caused any strange side effects, he might have a chance to conceal them. Besides, the very existence of the Door suggested a path to power. It was his best hope of becoming an evolved being—the one sure way to avoid conscription. With his decision made, Wei Boda focused his will. The gate of light in his mind began to vibrate, and he felt his consciousness being pulled from his body, surging uncontrollably toward the shimmering portal. The Great Chan Temple. As a renowned sanctuary of the Buddha Gate, its heritage was deep and its power unfathomable. It boasted no fewer than fifty Martial Monks who had reached the Xiantian Realm, and was even home to a holy monk of the legendary Zongshi Realm. In the courts of the powerful and the halls of the martial sects alike, an Xiantian Martial Artist was considered a regional master. A Zongshi, however, was a figure of legend, one of a handful in the entire world. With such a pillar presiding over it, the Great Chan Temple stood firmly among the land's top factions. Within the walls of the Martial Monk Institute, hundreds of bare-chested monks trained under the sun, their bodies slick with sweat as they practiced Arhat Fist. While not a profound martial art, Arhat Fist was an excellent technique for building a foundation, and the monks of the Great Chan Temple practiced its forms daily to temper their bodies and circulate their qi and blood. As the powerful shouts and rhythmic strikes of the monks filled the courtyard, a cluster of small heads poked out from behind a nearby wall. They were a group of three- and four-year-old novices in simple gray robes, their round eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and awe. This was the temple's newest batch of disciples, most of them orphans taken in by the monks, with nowhere else to go. Among the dozen young novices, a flicker of profound awareness suddenly ignited in the eyes of the smallest boy. This was Wei Boda, his consciousness newly arrived in this world. Wei Boda’s new face became thoughtful. The mind of the young novice, though small, held fragments of understanding about his world. It was a place reminiscent of ancient Earth, but here, Dashi of the Wudao were said to be capable of defying armies single-handedly. He sifted through the boy’s memories, finding one of an old monk from the Great Chan Temple striking a wall from dozens of meters away. The wall had crumbled to dust from the force of that single, distant palm strike. Such power, back on Feiyun Star, would have undoubtedly placed him among the ranks of the 'superhuman'—the evolved. In the lower-left corner of his vision, a line of ethereal text shimmered into existence. [Identity: Holder of the Wanjie Zhi Men] [Bound Talent: Ni Tian Wuxing] [Current Status: Consciousness Descended] [Residence Time: Twenty years] “I can only stay for twenty years?” Wei Boda mused, his mind racing. The time limit was easy enough to grasp, but the mention of a ‘Bound Talent’ puzzled him. “Ni Tian Wuxing…” He took a moment to assess his new state. The most immediate change was that his senses were far sharper, almost unnaturally clear, but he could feel no other abnormalities. He looked up, tracking a sparrow as it soared overhead. His new, heightened senses took in every detail with impossible clarity: the texture of each feather, the subtle flex of its wings, the precise angle of its pinions. A moment passed, and then new text bloomed in his vision. [You possess Ni Tian Wuxing. By observing the sparrow’s flight, you have comprehended the martial art: Divine Sparrow Sky-Crossing Skill.] Wei Boda’s eyes widened in astonishment. A torrent of insight flooded his mind, a complete understanding of the Divine Sparrow Sky-Crossing Skill. The technique would allow him to leap and briefly hover in midair. While it wasn't true flight, the ability to defy gravity, even for a moment, was nothing short of miraculous. “So this is Ni Tian Wuxing,” Wei Boda breathed, his heart pounding. To comprehend a rare movement skill simply by watching a bird… the name was no exaggeration. It was an ability that truly defied the heavens. He immediately shifted his gaze, focusing on an earthworm wriggling out of the damp soil nearby. As he watched its sinuous movement, the text appeared again. [You possess Ni Tian Wuxing. By observing the earthworm burrowing, you have comprehended the martial art: Earth Dragon Rolling Skill.] Another rush of knowledge filled him, this time a complete mastery of tunneling and moving through the earth. With the Earth Dragon Rolling Skill, he could burrow through the ground with astonishing speed, creating a network of tunnels like a master sapper. “This is… monstrous,” Wei Boda thought, a sense of profound shock settling over him. He tore his attention away from the worm, his gaze now fixed on a far more promising subject: the martial monks in the courtyard, their fists blurring as they practiced. He watched them, his mind absorbing the rhythm and flow of their movements. This time, the process was slower, more deliberate. Nearly half an incense stick had burned before the familiar text appeared. [You possess Ni Tian Wuxing. By observing the martial monks practicing Arhat Fist, you have comprehended the superior martial art: Great Arhat Buddha Fist.] “Great Arhat Buddha Fist?” A far deeper, more complex understanding bloomed in his mind. Without conscious thought, his small body began to move, fluidly tracing the initial forms of the new technique. Under the shade of an ancient, towering tree in the Martial Monk Institute, Abbot Huiwen paused his stroll, his gaze sweeping over the practicing monks. “The path of the Wudao has no shortcuts,” he mused. “Only through decades of relentless effort can one hope to achieve mastery.” He nodded slightly, a look of approval on his face. The monks were diligent; not a single one was slacking, each focused entirely on their form. “Those little rascals…” His gaze drifted to the side, where he spotted the group of novices peeking from their hiding spot. He smiled faintly. Though the Great Chan Temple was a holy site of the Buddha Gate, it was also a renowned martial sect. It was only natural for the new disciples to be captivated by the Wudao. “They can barely walk, yet they’re already trying to run,” Abbot Huiwen sighed, shaking his head as he saw a half-dozen of the boys clumsily imitating the martial monks, their postures more theatrical than practical. While Arhat Fist was a foundational technique, it was still a secret art of the Great Chan Temple. It took a grown man seven or eight years of dedicated practice under expert guidance to even approach proficiency. For these novices, whose bodies had not yet developed, mastering the form was simply impossible. “Utter nonsense,” Abbot Huiwen frowned. Martial practice was no game. Forcing the body into forms it wasn't ready for was not just fruitless, it was dangerous. He was about to step forward and shoo the children away when his gaze fell upon the smallest novice in the group. This boy, like the others, was practicing the fist forms. But as Abbot Huiwen watched, his mild exasperation melted away, replaced by a wave of utter disbelief that crashed through him, leaving his heart pounding in his chest.

Chapter 3: Journey of the True Spirit