The Spirit Realm unfurled like a dream carved from divine light—an ocean of floating continents suspended in a sky that shimmered between day and night. Rivers of luminescent qi flowed in reverse, spiraling upward into crystalline waterfalls that defied gravity. Mountains drifted lazily through clouds of starlight, their peaks capped with radiant frost. And in that timeless expanse, he stood.
Tiān Lán.
The Mountain Phantom.
His azure robe fluttered soundlessly in the shimmering wind, the faint silver etchings across its hem resonating with the ambient qi. Behind him, the Guardian Artifact floated—a halo of translucent light, its energy rippling like a living consciousness. Every pulse of the realm seemed to bend toward him in reverence or fear.
The air was still, yet charged with tension. Countless cultivators dotted the floating islands around him—disciples, geniuses, heirs of ancient sects—each exuding power strong enough to crush mountains. But none dared approach too quickly. The legend of his return had already spread like wildfire across the continent.
Yao Xiangyi and Lán Xi stood beside him, their forms half-illuminated by the cascading rivers of qi. The light framed Tiān Lán in divine contrast—calm amidst chaos, radiant yet cold, his eyes reflecting the mirrored heavens above.
From the higher sky-isles, energy began to tremble.
A sudden burst of lightning cracked through the serene air.
A figure descended from above, his robes scorched with power, his aura sharp enough to slice the wind itself. The ground beneath him fractured as he landed on a floating island opposite Tiān Lán. His name was Lei Wutian, heir of the Thundercrux Sect—a cultivator famed for both talent and arrogance.
His eyes gleamed with challenge. "Mountain Phantom," he said, his voice carrying across the realm like thunder. "You've made waves across every sect. Let's see if your name holds weight beyond rumors."
He struck first.
Lightning roared to life, turning the sky white. Thousands of crackling bolts spiraled toward Tiān Lán, every thread laced with divine force—each one strong enough to obliterate a Nascent Soul cultivator.
But Tiān Lán did not move.
The Guardian flared, and the lightning bent.
Bolts that should have destroyed mountains flowed harmlessly around him, twisting like rivers obeying a silent command. His aura did not surge—it swayed, graceful and precise, every ripple of qi redirecting the storm. The display was not power; it was mastery.
Yao Xiangyi watched, heart pounding. "He's not even exerting pressure…" she whispered. "He's guiding the lightning like wind through reeds."
The rival's expression twisted. "How—!"
Before the word could finish, Tiān Lán's hand rose slightly, and a thread of his own energy—a tranquil azure beam—extended forward. It met the lightning midair, and the world fell silent.
Then—
Boom.
The sky split open, a shockwave rolling across the Spirit Realm like an ancient dragon's roar. Floating islands trembled, energy rivers flared brighter. When the light faded, Lei Wutian was on one knee, his thunder qi fractured, his arms trembling from the backlash.
"You've reached Nascent Soul," Tiān Lán said softly, his voice calm as moonlight. "But your heart is loud. Until it quiets, the lightning will always control you."
He flicked his sleeve.
The lightning dispersed into harmless motes, falling like silver rain.
Lei Wutian gasped, the arrogance drained from his face. For a moment, only awe remained. He bowed low, fists trembling. "Your control… is beyond mortal measure."
From the surrounding islands, cultivators who had gathered to watch murmured among themselves. Their voices carried like the whispers of ghosts.
"Did you see? He redirected Thundercrux lightning without resistance…"
"He's moving as if the Spirit Realm itself bends around him."
"This is no longer a contest. It's… art."
But Tiān Lán's gaze was already elsewhere.
Behind the fading thunderstorm, he sensed something deeper—an echo in the qi currents, faint yet deliberate.
He turned slightly. His eyes narrowed. "That battle was a lure," he murmured. "Something… ancient is watching us."
Yao Xiangyi frowned. "A trap?"
"Not a trap," Tiān Lán replied, voice low. "A test."
The Guardian pulsed in response. Across the horizon, a distant formation began to glow—circles of light emerging on a cluster of hidden islands, half-shrouded in fog. Each ring emitted pulses of energy that harmonized with Tiān Lán's artifact.
"The resonance…" Lán Xi whispered. "It's calling to you."
Tiān Lán's expression did not change, but a flicker of intrigue crossed his eyes. "Follow me. What lies beneath those islands is older than any sect."
The trio stepped off the platform, walking on air as qi condensed beneath their feet. The world blurred into streaks of blue and white, and within seconds, they landed before the hidden cluster.
The islands here were different. The air was heavy, almost reverent. Each tree glowed faintly with internal light, and in the distance, waterfalls of qi cascaded upward, vanishing into the sky.
But at the center stood something truly ancient—
a monolith, carved from transparent crystal, its surface engraved with runes that pulsed like heartbeats. Beneath it, a faint humanoid silhouette shimmered, bound in layers of light.
"The Spirit Realm's Core Guardian," Tiān Lán whispered. "A consciousness left behind by the realm's first creator."
As he approached, the Guardian Artifact beside him vibrated wildly, harmonizing with the core. Streams of light connected both artifacts, forming a web of glowing patterns across the floating terrain.
The bound figure stirred. Its voice was like wind and thunder combined.
"You… bear the Frostveil Seal. The inheritance of Yè Tíanshuāng."
Yao Xiangyi's eyes widened. "It knows your past name."
The entire realm trembled. Mountains drifted further apart, energy storms spiraled above. Cultivators in distant regions turned their heads skyward, sensing the shift.
Tiān Lán's voice remained calm, but his eyes were sharp. "Then this realm recognizes me."
"Recognition demands worth," the voice rumbled. "Prove that you command not just power, but balance."
At once, the qi currents reversed. The realm darkened.
A storm of light surged toward Tiān Lán—fire, water, wind, lightning, earth—all elements rebelling at once. His allies shouted, but he raised a hand.
"Do not interfere," he said.
His aura expanded, slow and vast, until the air itself hummed. Each element approached him like a raging beast—and with every gesture, he calmed them. Fire bowed. Water slowed. Wind became still.
Within moments, the chaos quieted.
The Spirit Realm pulsed once. Then, in a voice that shook the heavens, it declared:
"Balance achieved. The Path of Heaven acknowledges the name Yè Tíanshuāng reborn."
A pillar of divine light erupted, illuminating every corner of the floating continents. Rivals far away shielded their eyes, trembling as they felt the pressure descend upon them.
In that light stood Tiān Lán—robes fluttering, eyes calm, the Guardian spinning behind him like a halo.
He looked less like a cultivator and more like a celestial sovereign returned to his throne.
Yao Xiangyi fell to one knee instinctively. "Master Tiān Lán… what are you now?"
He turned slightly, his voice low and unwavering.
"Nothing more than what I always was," he said.
"Someone who walks ahead—so that others may follow."
As the light faded, a new island appeared ahead—larger, older, radiating timeless power.
It was the Heart of the Spirit Realm, where the greatest test awaited.
Tiān Lán's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Come. The storm has only just begun."
And as he stepped forward, the Spirit Realm itself seemed to breathe—its winds whispering a single truth across the skies:
> The Mountain Phantom has returned—and the heavens tremble once more.