The sky slowly faded from pitch black to a pale blue.The smoke of lingering lightning drifted in the quiet windlike remnants of the heavens' anger, now scattering with restraint.The valley, though silent, felt as if it were holding its breath.The cracked earth, split stones, and fallen trees stood witnessas though the world had just punished something it did not understand.
Amid the wreckage, Heng Zhen sat still.His body had healedbut his thoughts had not.
His skin was unblemished now,his black hair falling softly to his shoulders.But his eyes—those eyes still carried the wounds of decades past.
He stared at his clean palm, unscarred,as if it did not belong to him.
"This… is not power.This is an answer," he thought.
The Yuanqi now flowing through him felt both foreign and familiar.It did not deceive like Chaosqi,nor could it be directed like a technique.It simply was—like breath, like the morning light.Silent, yet undeniable.Impossible to command—yet always present when welcomed.
Heng Zhen's dantian now felt like a clear lake,not a raging sea.Yuanqi resided there—not stored, but alive.
He raised his hand.A gentle breeze touched his fingertips,synchronizing itself with his breath.
"Is this what it means to be in harmony?But… in harmony with what?"
No voice answered.Yet in the distance,the sound of the world grew clearer—not in words,but in presence.
A bird landing.A leaf falling.A breeze moving through grass—all part of the same breath.
His youthful form was not merely an image of immortality—but a reflection of this newfound harmony.Without resistance,without ambition.Within that stillness, Yuanqi was born—and though the world had not fully accepted it,it had begun to take note.
"I did not walk toward power…but perhaps, I've stepped into something deeper than power."
Step by step, Heng Zhen rose.
The stones around him lay shattered—but beneath his feet, grass began to grow again.Not much.Not grand.
But enough—to be a sign that the world…was reconsidering.