Mist, pale and cold, spiraled from Lu Fan’s lips with every slow exhale. Deep within his chest, a violent ocean of spiritual energy churned. It did not form a golden core, nor did it shape itself into a nascent soul. Instead, it remained raw, unrefined, yet impossibly dense Qi. Nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-nine years had passed since he first opened his eyes in this realm. Most cultivators spent a few decades in the Qi Refining stage before breaking through to Foundation Establishment. Some geniuses did it in months. Lu Fan, however, had spent nearly ten millennia climbing a staircase that seemed to have no top. Every century, his cultivation level rose. With each passing century, his breakthrough simply added another layer to his Qi Refining realm, stacking power upon power until the foundation of his soul groaned under the weight. Right now, he sat at Qi Refining Level 99,999. Sweat beaded on his forehead, glistening under the dim light of the glowing spirit stones embedded in the stone walls. His muscles locked. A sudden, sharp ache flared in his dantian, a sensation like a swollen river threatening to burst its banks. Slowly, he guided the raging torrent of energy back into his meridians. They were no longer thin pathways. Centuries of relentless pressure had widened his meridians until they resembled vast subterranean caverns, capable of channeling oceans of spiritual force. Yet, he dared not stop. Fear, cold and persistent, gnawed at his vitals every time he closed his eyes. What if he stopped refining and the energy turned volatile? Did a sudden breakthrough to Foundation Establishment trigger a heavenly tribulation so massive it wiped him from existence? To survive, he had to keep compressing, keep refining, and keep his existence absolutely hidden from the rest of the Nine Heavens. --- When he had first transmigrated, a digital blue screen had flashed before his eyes, promising him a legendary path of ascension. Robotic voices had whispered in a cold, metallic tone, promising him ultimate greatness. That was the last time the system ever spoke. A glitched line of code had frozen his progress bar, locking the boundary of his realm but leaving the ceiling of his power completely uncapped. For the first few decades, he had panicked, seeking every pill, every manual, and every forbidden ritual to force a breakthrough. Nothing worked. He remained a Qi Refiner, while his peers grew old, became Sect Masters, ascended to higher realms, or crumbled into dust. Eventually, he accepted his fate. He stopped trying to break through and focused entirely on survival, refining his Qi over and over until its density defied the laws of nature. A single strand of his Qi, if unleashed, could shatter the sword of a Golden Core grandmaster. But he kept that power buried deep, hidden beneath layers of sealing techniques that he spent centuries perfecting. --- Outside his secluded cave on the Azure Peak, the Cloud Peak Sect went about its daily routines. Disciples practiced sword forms, elders debated philosophy, and grandmasters prepared for their ascension. None of them knew that a monster resided in the humble, weed-choked courtyard at the back of the mountain. They assumed he was merely a useless, aging outer disciple who had somehow cheated death through minor longevity pills. He preferred it that way. Safety lay in obscurity. If the grand sects of the Middle Heavens learned of a man with ninety-nine thousand layers of Qi Refining, they would dissect him to learn his secrets. He exhaled again, watching the white vapor dissipate into the damp air of the cave. His fingers twitched. Gently, he placed his hands on his knees, aligning his posture to begin the next cycle of the Cosmic Origin Method. --- Silence reigned in the chamber, broken only by the rhythmic, heavy thud of his heart. Each beat vibrated through the stone floor, a subtle pulse that kept the local wildlife from ever approaching the peak. He closed his eyes, sinking back into the endless void of his inner world. Inside, a brilliant, silver sun of condensed Qi spun slowly. It was too dense to be called gas, yet it refused to solidify into the liquid state required for the next realm. This was a paradox. A monument to his eternal stagnation. Suddenly, a sharp spasm jolted his spine. His eyes snapped open. Air rushed into his lungs, burning like liquid fire. Physical movement was not what disturbed him. Earthquakes were common in the mountain ranges, easily absorbed by the defensive arrays he had painstakingly carved into the bedrock over three thousand years. This was different. A vibration, deep and unnatural, rippled through the very fabric of the spiritual realm. To his sensitive mind, it felt like a giant finger scraping against the outer edge of a fragile glass bowl. In his chest, the massive silver sun of Qi wobbled. For the first time in five thousand years, his 99,999th layer of Qi Refining felt unstable. Like a thin sheet of ice suspended over an abyss, his massive power structure threatened to fracture. Cold dread, a familiar and hated companion, wrapped its icy fingers around his throat. He gasped, gripping his knees so hard his fingernails dug into his skin, drawing tiny beads of crimson. "What was that?" he whispered, his voice cracking in the empty room. No answer came. Only the agonizing silence of the cave stretched out around him. He closed his eyes again, desperately searching his spiritual perception. His consciousness shot outward, bypassing the stone walls, bypassing the mountain, expanding into the sky. Normally, his perception could cover the entire continent without raising a single alarm. Tonight, however, the spiritual atmosphere felt thick, greasy, and heavy with a sickening rot. A foul poison seemed to have been breathed into the very source of the world's natural energy. Spiritual Qi of the mountain was souring. He withdrew his senses instantly, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. A cold sweat soaked his robes, sticking the coarse fabric to his back. This was not a natural disaster. An ancient, hungry presence was stirring in the deep dark of the Nine Heavens. --- Standing up slowly, Lu Fan paced the small confines of his stone chamber. His legs felt heavy, as if the gravity of the room had suddenly doubled. He walked toward the western wall, where a complex network of glowing runes was etched into the dark granite. These runes were his lifeline. Over centuries, he had combined defensive formations from seven different ancient sects, creating a warding system that could withstand a direct strike from a Tribulation Transcendence expert. Right now, those runes were flickering. Not violently, but with a slow, sickening pulse, like a dying heartbeat. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as his fingers hovered over the central node of the array. A faint, stinging sensation pricked his fingertips. Corruption. Though faint and almost imperceptible, to someone who had spent ten thousand years purifying his own energy, it was as loud as a thunderclap. Something was eating away at the spiritual laws of the realm. If the laws decayed, his infinite staircase of Qi Refining would collapse. Such a thought sent a jolt of sheer terror through his mind. If his cultivation collapsed, the sheer volume of his accumulated Qi would detonate, obliterating the Cloud Peak Sect, the surrounding empire, and perhaps the entire southern continent. He was a walking continent-killer, held together only by the fragile balance of his own control. "I need to stay calm," he muttered, pressing his forehead against the cold stone wall. Taking deep, measured breaths, he forced his racing pulse to slow down. Panic would solve nothing. Having survived the collapse of three major dynasties by remaining invisible, he knew he could survive this too. But the gnawing fear remained. For the first time, his absolute isolation felt less like a shield and more like a tomb. If the world outside crumbled, there would be nowhere left to hide. He walked over to a wooden cabinet in the corner of the room, his footsteps silent on the stone. Opening the drawer, he pulled out a small, jade bottle containing a single, low-grade qi-gathering pill. Though a useless trinket to someone of his power, the familiar scent of refined herbs helped ground his chaotic thoughts. He rolled the pill between his thumb and forefinger, feeling its rough texture. For a moment, he considered popping it to see if he could push his cultivation to the round number of 100,000. He quickly abandoned the idea. Doing so right now, when the spiritual laws were fluctuating, would be suicidal. Instead, he placed the bottle back and shut the drawer with a soft click. Such a chill made no sense. His chamber was sealed deep within the mountain, protected by solid stone and layers of active barrier arrays. No wind should have been able to penetrate this deep. Yet, the air grew freezing cold, turning his exhaled breath into thick plumes of white mist once more. He spun around, his hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of the broken iron sword resting against his meditation mat. His eyes scanned the shadows of the room. Nothing seemed out of place. His small stone bed, the wooden table, the glowing spirit stones—everything was exactly as he had left it. Then, he heard it. A soft, scraping sound, like dry autumn leaves dragging across a stone path. Sound emerged from the direction of the sealed window. This window was not made of glass; it was a solid slab of spiritual steel, carved with heavy physical and spiritual locking mechanisms. Slowly, he approached it, his boots making no sound on the dusty floor. His heart hammered against his ribs like a war drum. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready to unleash a tide of pure Qi that could shatter mountains if anything threatened him. As he drew closer, he noticed a faint, dark smudge on the edge of the steel frame. Darkness clung to the steel like a physical mold. A stain of pure, absolute blackness that seemed to swallow the light around it. Solid metal of the window frame was slowly dissolving, turning into a fine, black ash that drifted silently to the floor. A chill ran down his spine. This was the Void Blight. He had read about it in ancient, rotting scrolls salvaged from forgotten ruins. This legendary plague of entropy, a force that consumed spiritual essence and rotted the very foundation of existence, was real. But why was it here? Why now, after ten thousand years of peace? He stared at the dissolving steel, unable to move, unable to speak. Thoughts raced through a thousand different scenarios, each one ending in his exposure or his death. If the sect fell, his peaceful days were over. If he fought, his secret would be out. He was trapped between his fear of change and his fear of destruction. A soft breeze whistled through the newly formed gap in the window. Rotten earth and ancient graves filled his nostrils, choking the clean scent of the mountain. He held his breath, raising his hand to shield his eyes from a sudden, dim glare. A single, obsidian-black feather, pulsing with a necrotic aura, drifts through the sealed window of his chamber, landing silently on his open palm.

Chapter 1: The Infinite Staircase