Wang Lin awoke before dawn. Not from a nightmare, nor the usual pull of cultivation.
He simply opened his eyes, as if a voice had whispered to him in a dreamless dark:
"They're watching."
He sat upright in the meditation chamber. The egg pulsed once on the stone platform beside him, a gentle blue glow blinking across its shell. Still dormant. Still unreadable. But no longer silent.
And Wang Lin knew he couldn't leave it unguarded.
"Long Shan."
"Already working on it."
"Good. I want options."
"I've begun unlocking spatial capability."
"Inventory?"
"Not just any. One that's veiled from detection. A personal dimension tied directly to your bloodline thread."
"Undetectable?"
"Unless someone rips your soul out and tears it apart, yes. And even then…"
"They'd be too late."
"Exactly."
A soft blue ripple passed over his wrist. A thin ring of light spun outward from the back of his hand, disappearing an instant later.
"Spatial Inventory unlocked."
"Connected to Celestial Dragon Core."
"Max Capacity: Tier-1 — Ten Items."
• Concealment: Absolute
• Access Time: Instantaneous
• Detection Resistance: 100% (Tier-1 and below)
Wang Lin reached toward the egg.
It pulsed once in response.
And with a thought, it vanished.
Gone from the physical world, now sealed behind a spiritual veil bound to his own soul.
Weightless.
Silent.
Safe.
He stood.
The risk had changed.
So had the game.
Elsewhere, atop the Sky Vault Hall — the tallest tower in the entire sect — an old man opened one eye.
He sat in absolute stillness, robes layered with dust, long white beard untouched by time, his fingers resting on a crystal lotus that hadn't bloomed in two centuries.
The air around him shimmered faintly.
He had been watching the boy for three days.
Ever since the egg pulse disturbed the formation web buried beneath the mountain.
He hadn't seen the egg itself.
He hadn't even seen the pulse's source.
But he felt the bloodline. That unmistakable pressure — ancient, impossible, incomplete.
"The Celestial Thread stirs," he whispered.
He tapped one finger against the lotus.
A ripple passed through the sect.
Far below, hidden in the shadow of Pavilion Seventeen, a small, eyeless creature opened its mouth and slithered silently into the earth.
Wang Lin stepped into the courtyard as morning mist drifted through the trees. The inner sect felt heavier today — not in danger, but in presence.
More disciples in the open.
More glances.
More rumors.
He ignored them all.
His goal today wasn't training.
It was understanding.
There was only one person in the sect bold enough to know more than they spoke, and shameless enough to admit it.
Elder Qing.
Keeper of scrolls. Master of contradictions. Whisperer of forgotten tales. And above all — nosy.
Wang Lin walked the path past the archive halls, past the elemental pavilions, and up a winding trail that led to the abandoned observatory dome tucked behind the east cliffs.
He knocked once.
The wooden door creaked open — not by touch, but by invitation.
Elder Qing sat upside down on a hanging vine chair, sipping cold tea and squinting at him.
"You again?" he said, voice thin and dry. "Weren't you supposed to die last month?"
"I got bored," Wang Lin replied.
Qing chuckled, flipping over gracefully and landing barefoot on the ground. "You never visited me before. That must mean you're looking for something dangerous."
Wang Lin didn't speak.
He simply met the old man's gaze.
"Ah," Qing murmured. "You found something. Or it found you."
"What do you know of bloodline resonance events?" Wang Lin asked.
The elder's smile faded.
"That's a very old question," he said softly. "And very dangerous to answer."
"I don't need everything."
"Then what do you want?"
Wang Lin hesitated for only a breath.
"Tell me what else is buried beneath this sect."
Elder Qing laughed once, then twice, then sat on a crooked wooden stool that somehow didn't break.
"You know what I like about you, Wang Lin?"
"What?"
"You ask like you already know the answer."
"I know something is watching me," Wang Lin said. "And it doesn't feel like you."
"Not me," the elder agreed. "Not yet. But something's stirring. Something... coiled in the roots of this place."
He reached under the table and slid out a dusty black scroll, tossing it toward Wang Lin.
"Read that. Quietly. And when it burns your fingertips — don't say I didn't warn you."
Wang Lin caught it.
The scroll was warm.
Almost hot.
Alive.
He turned to leave.
"Boy," Qing called. "Whatever it is you're carrying…"
"I'm not carrying it," Wang Lin said over his shoulder. "I'm raising it."
Back in Pavilion Seventeen, Wang Lin unsealed the scroll and sat alone at the platform under moonlight.
As he opened it, symbols swirled across the page like oil on water — shifting, resisting comprehension.
Then one word revealed itself.
"Devourer."
And below it:
"When the egg of ruin hatches, the sky will close."
Wang Lin's hand trembled.
Just slightly.
"Long Shan."
"I saw it."
"Do you believe it?"
"I don't have to. You will."
Wang Lin looked up at the stars.
And for the first time since rebirth… he wondered who else might be watching the sky.