"When no path exists, the first to take a step becomes the one who creates the Dao."
"No one bestows it. No one teaches it. No one validates it.
Then become the proof yourself."
After the Thoughtborn Embryo (Niệm Nguyên Thai) was formed, Lâm Mạc's aura began to shift in a strange, unfathomable way.
It was no longer just blood energy.
Nor did it resemble any form of magic or Dao force.
It was a kind of wave—a frequency—like an ancient will fumbling to carve its way through the vessel of his flesh and soul.
Above, the Heavens showed no sign.
No phenomenon. No thunder. No divine recognition.
Because this path… was not acknowledged by the heavens.
And what the heavens do not recognize—they cannot respond to.
"No spiritual root.
No core.
No Heavenly Law to anchor me."
"Then I must ask myself—how does one cultivate when there is nothing to rely on?"
In that very moment—from deep within the Thoughtborn Embryo lodged in his soul,
a minuscule speck, no larger than a grain of sand, began to stir.
It did not shine.
It did not glow.
It released no Spiritual Energy.
And yet… it was alive.
The first spark of a Dao never seen before.
It was called: the Dao Seed (Đạo Chủng).
"This Dao Seed… does not grow by cultivation techniques."
"It grows by how I live."
"By the choices I make.
By the obsessions I refuse to let go."
"It grows from within me—not from the heavens."
"And because of that… there is no limit anyone can place upon it."
Lâm Mạc sat in meditation for three days.
He absorbed no Spiritual Energy.
He channeled no Qi.
He invoked no technique.
He simply… lived.
Fully. Completely.
Every breath, every thought, in total presence.
And during those three days, the Dao Seed began to develop its own inner structure—
a network called: Niệm Đạo Văn (Inscription of Will and Dao).
The Niệm Đạo Văn did not follow meridians.
It was not based on Qi flow or cultivation scripture.
It was a thread of Dao—woven by action, intent, and defiance.
Each time he recalled the moments he nearly gave up,
the Dao Inscription etched another stroke.
Each time he rose again after pain,
another layer was carved.
On the third day, the first Niệm Đạo Văn was completed.
Upon the left side of Lâm Mạc's chest,
a strange sigil appeared—like a net of pulsing vibrations.
It was not beautiful.
It was asymmetrical.
But it emanated a life force unlike anything known in the cultivation world.
And at that exact moment,
the space around him trembled.
A fracture tore across the edge of the horizon.
It was not a rift in space,
but a crack in the timeline of existence—a place where forgotten truths once lived.
A voice—or perhaps something even older—echoed from the void:
"You have touched the edge of a system that has never been named."
"Then give it a name… of your own choosing."
Lâm Mạc clenched his fist.
"Primordial—a time with no beginning, no end, no order."
"Genesis of Dao—not birthed by others, but birthed by me alone."
"Then its name shall be...
Primordial Genesis Dao (Thái Sơ Sinh Đạo)—the Path that Needs No Heaven's Permission."
"From this day forward…
I am the first to step upon a road that has never existed in the cosmos."
"Not walking the Dao—
but creating one."