Gu Jun pedaled steadily down the narrow road that wound through the countryside, leaving Temple Hill behind. He wasn't in a rush, but he couldn't afford to waste time. He had to reach home, grab his things, and head for Tianhai.
The bike creaked beneath him as it rolled downhill, tires humming softly over sunlit patches of gravel and grass. On either side, fields stretched in silence, tall stalks swaying in the still air like quiet observers. A few birds called out from the trees, and leaves whispered above—but none of it touched him. His mind was elsewhere.
It had been two years since his father died. The thought lingered. Gu Jun let out a long breath. It came slow and thick, as though it carried more than just air, like it had been trapped in his chest for far too long.
Six years. That's how long the mantle had rested on him. The Wild Universe. A legacy older than memory—heavy, silent, star-wide. It wasn't something you wore; it was something that settled on you, buried you, forced you to stand tall anyway.
He wasn't building an empire of flags and crowns. Not a throne of gold or steel. No—his was an empire of influence. Of silence. Of control that moved beneath the surface like a current no one saw until it swept them away.
Truth be told, he also wanted to control everything openly—but that wasn't possible right now. Too much was at stake, and too many threats lay beyond his control.
His thoughts flicked to scale. To the size of the world he intended to shape.
Earth now holds more than ten billion people. And from that sea, three great forces had risen:
Country X: his homeland. The furnace was where his vision took shape. The foundation.
Country M: a machine disguised as a state—layers of logic, networks of code, humming with invisible power.
Country B: forged in blood and sharpened by war, it clenched half the globe in its grip.
He knew better than to take them all on at once. The board was too large.
So he started at home, Country X. That was where the first real test would be.
Half of his total strength and resources were now concentrated in Country X.
Already, his hidden empire flowed through the nation's veins—wealth, intelligence, energy, cultivation—channeled with quiet precision.
Nator, the capital, held twenty percent. Tianhai—his current seat—took ten. It wasn't the biggest, but it mattered most. The rest of the twenty Spread across ten other provinces. Quiet operations. Deep roots.
The other fifty percent spread through the rest of the world.
Tianhai was the hinge. A coastal province flanked by trade routes, shielded by mountains, laced with ley lines, the old texts still whispered about. This was where the next act would begin.
And Gu Jun knew the burden of it would fall entirely on him. No one else could bear it. No one else would even understand it.
He was preparing something ancient. Something vast. The Heaven-Encompassing Array.
Not a simple formation. Not a barrier or beacon. This would wrap the entire province in a net of qi, geometry, spirit, and sacrifice. And once it was activated—
The skies would murmur his name. The rivers would echo it. Even the breath of the living would bend, ever so slightly, toward his will.
No secrets. No escape.
Only one problem remained. One piece refused to fit:
The Xiao family.
They ran Tianhai like it belonged to them. Money, muscle, backroom power—they had fingers in everything. From law enforcement to merchant guilds, from old temples to the latest telecom networks. And the irony? The Gu Empire had put them there.
Eighteen years ago, when Gu Jun was born, this plan was started. Back then, the Xiaos were a middling clan—ambitious, but limited. He gave them scrolls. Gave them tools. Watched them climb.
First came loyalty. Then pride. Then arrogance.
Now they stood tall. Too tall. They'd forgotten who fed them.
They thought they could push back against the very hand that carved their path.
A mistake.
The Gu Empire had always worked in the shadows. It didn't conquer—it curated. Quiet influence across countless domains. It tested, watched, and waited. And when people failed those tests, the consequences were already in place.
The Xiaos? They thought their independence was a sign of strength. That rising on their own meant they'd outgrown their lord.
Fools.
Sure, they had strength. Their old patriarch was no slouch—mid-Innate, solid foundation. They had control over the underworld and the government. They'd clawed their way into commerce and the military, too. They had a huge influence not only on Tianhai but also on the whole country.
But Gu Jun had moved beyond all that. His metrics were different now. Deeper.
Once the Heaven-Encompassing Array was online, even high-stage cultivators would feel it. Their souls would quiver under its net. And even now, without it, he could break the Xiao family if he wanted to. Tianhai was his ground.
They would yield. Or they would fall.
And they weren't the only ones drifting from the path. There were governors. Generals. Corporate giants. People who'd once received his hand and were now slowly pulling away from it.
That, too, had been expected.
Let them fall away. Let them show their colors before the final move. For every one that strayed, there were dozens waiting in the wings—hungrier, more loyal, more capable.
The Wild Universe had no use for pride dressed up as freedom.
And once Tianhai was secured—once the Xiao were reduced or removed—the path would stretch forward.
Toward Nator.
The capital. The place where empires had risen and collapsed for centuries.The throat of the country. The center of everything. Soon, it would no longer be the crown of the old world. It would be the stepping stone for the next one.
And when it fell, it wouldn't be the end of his plan.
It would be the second checkpoint.
The Imperial sword had just begun to rise.