As time passed, the storm within Tao's body began to quiet. The chaos that once raged through his veins slowly gave way to order. The corruption that had gnawed at his bones and twisted his meridians — the silent corrosion of darkness — now healed under the golden light's steady guidance.
Within the vast inner world of his body, it was as though night and day had finally found a fragile truce. The black energy that had once spread like a shadowed tide was no longer consuming his essence. The golden radiance — pure, calm, unyielding — now coursed through him like the will of the heavens themselves, mending what was broken and purifying what had been tainted.
His organs, once scarred by years of internal strain, now pulsed with quiet strength. The flow of energy through his meridians no longer flickered or faltered; it was smooth and harmonious, like a river returning to its natural course after a long storm. His bones glowed faintly beneath the skin, tempered and strengthened, and the faint hum of life resounded from within him.
Yet, not all had been erased.
At the center of his chest, just beside the heart, a faint mark of darkness remained — small, dense, and deep as a black hole. It no longer spread or devoured, but its presence could still be felt, like a silent eye watching from the abyss. The golden energy surrounded it constantly, wrapping it in a radiant seal, suppressing its hunger and keeping it contained. The balance between light and dark had been restored, but it was a fragile peace — a harmony maintained by will and vigilance.
The red and white energies, those mysterious forces once connected to his parents, had completely faded from his body. Their purpose, it seemed, had been fulfilled — they had safeguarded his transformation and departed without a trace. Now, within Tao, only two powers remained: the Golden and the Dark — opposites bound by fate, neither wholly destroying the other, existing in perpetual balance.
But the greatest change lay in his blood.
The flow of his lifeblood was no longer chaotic or unstable as before. It had changed — not divine, not mortal, but something between. His blood shimmered faintly with a golden hue, yet beneath it pulsed the depth of night. When Tao focused, he could feel it — every drop moving under his will, alive and aware, flowing like a calm river guided by thought alone.
This new "mortal blood," as it appeared outwardly, carried no visible power — yet within it lingered a mysterious rhythm, something that transcended human limits. Each pulse echoed with both vitality and silence, as though heaven and earth breathed within his veins.
He often found himself still, eyes closed, simply listening to the current that coursed through him. The sensation was unlike before — no longer wild or foreign. His blood now obeyed him completely, moving where his will directed it, circulating in harmony with his breath. The violent storms that once plagued him had given way to quiet clarity, and for the first time, his body felt truly his own.
Months drifted by in quiet discipline. Every few days, Tao sat cross-legged within the courtyard, his mind sinking inward, carefully inspecting every thread of energy, every movement of his blood, every flicker of his heart.
The results were the same each time — his body had recovered beyond mortal perfection. His meridians flowed clearly, his breath was deep and even, his spirit was bright. Only one anomaly remained: the left side of his heart, where the black essence slumbered.
It did not stir. It did not spread.
But it did not vanish either.
Whenever Tao entered deep meditation, he could sense its presence — silent, immense, like a slumbering beast coiled within his chest. The golden light around it shimmered faintly, ensuring its control, and Tao could feel that the two forces were locked in a delicate equilibrium.
He understood now that this darkness was not merely poison — it was part of him. A sealed inheritance of something ancient and terrifying, something he must one day face, not erase.
And so, each passing month became a quiet cycle of refinement and self-awareness. His control grew sharper, his senses keener, and his understanding of his own body deepened beyond mortal comprehension.
What once was chaos was now order.
What once was burden had become purpose.
Though the mystery of his heart remained, Tao no longer feared it. For the first time since his awakening, he felt peace — not because the danger had passed, but because he had finally learned to live with it.
As the months slipped quietly by, Tao's recovery reached its limit. His body had returned to balance, his blood was steady, and the golden energy within him shone brighter with each breath. Yet the faint darkness near his heart still pulsed like a sleeping storm — silent, but never gone.
At first, it seemed harmless, sealed perfectly under the golden radiance. But as the days grew longer, Tao began to notice small changes — faint, subtle, but undeniable. His blood, once calm as a river under moonlight, would sometimes ripple with strange agitation. His breath would briefly lose rhythm, and the warmth in his chest would flicker cold.
The corruption had not been destroyed. It was only waiting.
One night, while the moon hung pale over the mountain ridge, Tao sat in deep meditation. His senses extended inward — into the labyrinth of his meridians, the depths of his dantian, the beating rhythm of his heart. And there, he felt it: the black power was stirring again. It twisted faintly within his heart, corroding the edges of the golden seal like ink seeping into water.
When he opened his eyes, their depths carried the calm of decision. He finally understood.
If he continued to suppress it, the darkness would only grow stronger, feeding on his life force and returning each time he reached a new level of strength. To delay was to die slowly.
The only way forward… was to face it.
The next morning, he called Luo Father and Luo Mother to the courtyard. The wind was sharp and cold, carrying the scent of pine and earth. The three stood beneath the old maple tree — the same place where Tao had once trained to control his blood energy.
Tao bowed deeply, his tone steady but resolute.
"Uncle, Aunt… I have made my decision."
Luo Mother's expression tensed, though her eyes were already filled with the understanding only a parent could have.
"You mean… to awaken the heavenly tribulation again?" she asked softly.
Tao nodded. "Yes. The darkness is stirring once more. I can feel it gnawing at my blood, creeping toward my veins. If I let it continue, it will spread again — and next time, not even the golden energy will suppress it. There's no other solution left. Only the heavenly thunder can cleanse what human power cannot."
Luo Father's brow furrowed deeply, the old calm in his eyes shifting into quiet tension. "You're choosing a path where one mistake means death. Do you truly believe the heavens will spare you twice?"
"I don't seek mercy from the heavens," Tao said quietly. "I only seek judgment. If I am to carry this curse, I must also bear the consequence. If I survive, I will be reborn. If I fail, then let it end here. Either way, the darkness will no longer decide my fate."
For a long while, neither elder spoke. The silence between them carried the weight of love, fear, and inevitability. Finally, Luo Father exhaled slowly.
"…Then so be it. Since this is your will, we will not stop you. But we will be here — watching, guarding. If anything goes wrong, we'll act immediately, even if it means breaking the heavens' balance."
Luo Mother stepped closer, her eyes glimmering with a faint sheen of sorrow but also quiet resolve.
"Tao," she said softly, "you must not rush. Give us a day or two — we'll prepare everything properly. Even if we cannot interfere with the heavenly will, we can at least ensure your safety to some extent. How about it?"
Tao's heart stirred at her words. The faint warmth in her tone, so full of care and unspoken worry, reminded him once again that even in a world ruled by power and destiny, there were still bonds that could not be measured by cultivation. He lowered his head slightly, his voice calm and warm.
"…Alright," he said. "I'll wait."
Luo Father gave a small nod, his expression steady yet shadowed by tension. "Good. We'll make the necessary preparations. This attempt won't be like before. Once the tribulation begins, even a flicker of imbalance could lead to complete annihilation — of body, soul, and spirit. So until we finish the arrangements, keep your mind and breath steady. No distractions."
Tao inclined his head silently, then turned toward the courtyard.
Luo Mother stepped closer, her eyes glimmering with a faint sheen of sorrow but also quiet resolve.
"Tao," she said softly, "you must not rush. Give us a day or two — we'll prepare everything properly. Even if we cannot interfere with the heavenly will, we can at least ensure your safety to some extent. How about it?"
Tao's heart stirred at her words. The faint warmth in her tone, so full of care and unspoken worry, reminded him once again that even in a world ruled by power and destiny, there were still bonds that could not be measured by cultivation. He lowered his head slightly, his voice calm and warm.
"…Alright," he said. "I'll wait."
Luo Father gave a small nod, his expression steady yet shadowed by tension. "Good. We'll make the necessary preparations. This attempt won't be like before. Once the tribulation begins, even a flicker of imbalance could lead to complete annihilation — of body, soul, and spirit. So until we finish the arrangements, keep your mind and breath steady. No distractions."
Tao inclined his head silently, then turned toward the courtyard.
That night, the Luo couple gathered the elders and a few trusted members of the village. Quietly, they began preparing for what might be the most dangerous event their land had ever witnessed. Ancient talismans and barrier seals were drawn across the mountain grounds, spiritual stones were placed to stabilize the earth's flow of qi, and hidden formations were activated one by one — each designed not to interfere with the tribulation itself, but to contain its destructive aftermath.
The elders, aware of Tao's terrifying potential and the divine wrath he would soon summon, worked with silent reverence. They knew this wasn't merely a test of cultivation — it was a battle between mortal will and heaven's decree.
Luo Father personally carved several protection sigils into the surrounding ground, each one pulsing faintly with golden light. Luo Mother spent the night refining spiritual incense and life-preserving seals, weaving her essence into each thread of energy. Their faces remained calm, but the sleeplessness in their eyes told of the weight they carried.
Meanwhile, Tao remained in seclusion, meditating quietly within the courtyard. The moonlight filtered through the bamboo leaves, falling gently upon his still form. His breathing was slow and deep, each inhalation drawing the essence of the world inward, each exhalation steadying the golden current within him.
He could feel the faint vibration of the dark energy inside his heart — restless, whispering, waiting. But he did not fear it. The golden power around it pulsed softly, suppressing its hunger. This time, he wasn't trying to resist or ignore it. He was simply… preparing.
Two days passed in absolute silence.
The mountain winds grew heavier, the sky often clouded, as though nature itself sensed the coming storm.
On the third morning, when dawn broke through a curtain of mist, Luo Father and Luo Mother finally entered Tao's courtyard. Both were dressed in ceremonial robes marked with protection seals, their expressions calm but firm.
Luo Father spoke first, his tone steady as stone.
"All formations are in place. The protective barrier around the mountain has been completed. Once the tribulation begins, we will not approach, but we will monitor the spiritual flow. If the balance tips too far, we'll act immediately."
Luo Mother nodded beside him, her hands clasped together. "We've done all we can, Tao. From this point on, it's up to you. Remember — this isn't a battle of power, but of will. Do not resist the thunder; let it enter you, let it burn away what should not exist."
Tao rose slowly from his meditation posture. His aura was calm, yet the golden light flickered faintly around his body, reflecting both power and serenity. His gaze turned toward the sky — vast, clear, waiting.
He bowed deeply to the Luo couple.
"Thank you, Uncle. Aunt. For everything. No matter the result, I will face it with my full heart."
Luo Father gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. "Then go. The heavens are already watching. Today… let your fate be written by your own hand."
With that, he lifted his hand and released a small seal into the air. The protective formations around the mountain flared to life, golden light flowing through the ground like rivers of divine essence.
A faint rumble rolled across the sky.
The air thickened, charged with a sacred, oppressive stillness. Clouds began to gather on the horizon, swirling in slow, deliberate motion.
It was the signal.
The time had come.
Luo Father met Tao's gaze one final time and said quietly,
"You may begin."