The elders noticed it first.
Not through visions.
Not through prophecy.
Through silence.
The air in the inner sanctum no longer pulsed with Qi.
The spirit formations flickered. Meditation circles lost rhythm. Disciples reported slower breakthroughs, and even beast cores failed to charge properly.
The Heavenly Sky Sect — a place once rich with flowing spiritual energy — was starting to starve.
And in the middle of it all?
Wang Lin.
Unaware.
Or worse—
Unbothered.
Pavilion Seventeen stood on quiet stone.
Wang Lin sat in meditation, legs crossed, the Void Dragon Egg hovering before him like a second sun. His breathing was slow, eyes closed, hands pressed gently against his knees.
But the wind around him didn't move.
It froze.
And every thread of Qi in the air…
Bent inward.
Toward him.
| "Wang Lin." |
"I feel it."
| "You're not absorbing Qi anymore."
"You're drawing it in. Consuming it. Like instinct." |
His eyes opened—calm, but darker than before.
"What's causing it?"
| "Void Pulse Core Trait. It's evolving. The egg is syncing with your dantian, and your cultivation path is no longer linear." |
| "You don't draw from Qi."
"You overwrite it." |
Wang Lin exhaled slowly.
"Is it dangerous?"
| "Not to you."
"But the world around you will begin to notice. And then… reject you." |
He stood.
The grass beneath his feet didn't sway — it withered.
Qi no longer existed around him naturally. It was either inside him or fleeing.
And that's when it happened.
A knock.
Soft.
Deliberate.
Not the kind that came from fear.
He turned toward the pavilion gate and opened it.
A disciple stood there — pale, sweating, robe marked with spirit burns.
"C-Core Elder Zhao sent me," the boy stammered. "He—he wants to speak. Privately."
Wang Lin tilted his head.
"About what?"
The boy shook. "He… he said it's about your presence. The elders are saying you're draining the sect itself. That—"
Wang Lin stepped forward.
The boy fell silent.
Eyes wide.
Mouth open.
Because the moment Wang Lin moved closer, the Qi in the boy's body—
tugged.
Only slightly.
But enough to feel.
To fear.
"I'm not draining anything," Wang Lin said calmly. "It's just recognizing the stronger anchor."
*| "Your presence is now a dominant force in your region of space."
It's like gravity to Qi. The closer it comes, the more it belongs to you." |
Wang Lin stepped past the boy.
"Tell Elder Zhao I'm coming."
In the inner sect hall, ten elders sat in a ring of light, faces grim.
At the center floated a spectral diagram of the sect's Qi flow.
It spun slowly—until it reached Pavilion Seventeen.
Where it collapsed into a single spiral.
"His presence is corrupting the leyline," one muttered.
"No," another corrected. "Not corrupting. Replacing."
Elder Zhao looked up as footsteps approached.
"Speak of the void."
Wang Lin entered the chamber like wind wrapped in fire.
Not fast. But inevitable.
"I heard you wanted to talk," he said, voice flat.
The elders rose.
"You're violating the balance of this world," one snapped. "Qi belongs to all."
"No," Wang Lin said. "Qi belongs to whoever claims it."
"And you dare to claim what powers generations?!"
He stared at them.
Unblinking.
"Did generations die to bring me back?"
Silence.
No one answered.
Then Elder Zhao stepped forward. "What are you becoming, Wang Lin?"
He paused.
Then turned his head slightly.
| "Wang Lin." |
"I know."
| "Tell them the truth." |
Wang Lin looked each elder in the eye.
"I'm not becoming anything."
"I already am."
"The Void doesn't borrow. It replaces."
"And so do I."
Back outside the hall, Wang Lin stepped into the fading sunlight.
The sky above him dimmed.
And the first signs of a spiritual storm began to gather.
A backlash.
Not from heaven.
From the world.
| "They'll come for you now." |
"I'm counting on it."