He was floating within a vast, endless space. There was no ground beneath him, no sky above him—only an infinite expanse filled with a faint golden glow that pulsed softly, like a distant heartbeat.
He looked at his hands, then at his surroundings, trying to understand what had happened.
Before him rose a colossal pillar of golden light.
It stretched beyond sight, both upward and downward, its presence dominating the space without effort. Streams of energy flowed along its surface like currents within a river, steady and continuous.
Around it, massive structures drifted.
Vaults.
Each one immense, shaped like sealed chambers, their surfaces carved with intricate symbols that pulsed faintly with meaning he could not grasp. They moved slowly in orbit around the pillar, connected to it by strands of glowing light that resembled living threads.
Lu Mao stared, his mind steady despite the scale of what he was witnessing.
This was his inner world.
But not the one he had been taught to expect.
His gaze shifted, counting instinctively as he observed the drifting structures.
There were many.
More than there should have been.
Ninety-nine.
Each one connected.
Each one sealed.
Each one waiting.
A subtle pull formed within him, drawing his attention toward one of them. It did not look different from the others, yet something about it felt closer, more immediate, as if it had already chosen him.
He did not resist.
He moved—or perhaps the space moved for him.
In an instant, he stood before it.
The vault loomed above him, its surface shimmering faintly beneath the golden light. The symbols across it flickered in patterns too complex to understand, carrying a sense of depth that went beyond mere markings.
There was no visible opening.
No seam.
Yet it did not feel closed.
It felt sealed.
Lu Mao raised his hand slowly, his gaze fixed on the surface before him.
There was no fear in the motion.
Only curiosity.
The moment his fingers touched it—
A violent surge of force erupted outward.
⸻
He woke with a sharp breath, his body jolting forward as if something had pushed him out from within.
For a brief instant, the vast golden world still lingered in his sight—the towering pillar, the drifting vaults, the overwhelming presence of something far beyond his understanding. Then it shattered, dissolving like mist under sunlight.
The cave returned.
The dim glow of the fire flickered against rough stone walls, shadows swaying gently as if nothing had happened at all.
But his body told a different story.
Sweat clung to his skin, soaking through his vest and trailing down his back in cold lines. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath slightly heavier than it should have been, as though he had just run a great distance instead of sitting still.
Lu Mao didn't move immediately.
He remained where he was, one hand pressed lightly against the ground, the other resting over his chest. His heartbeat was fast—too fast—and there was still a faint trembling in his fingers that refused to settle.
It wasn't fear.
It was… aftermath.
The kind that came after touching something he wasn't meant to understand yet.
He closed his eyes briefly and focused on his breathing, guiding it the same way he guided his Qi—slow, steady, controlled. Inhale. Exhale. Again. And again.
Gradually, the rhythm returned.
The tightness in his chest loosened. The trembling faded. His senses grounded themselves back into the quiet reality of the cave—the faint crackle of burning wood, the subtle shift of night air, the distant whisper of wind brushing past the entrance.
Only then did he open his eyes again.
They were clearer now.
But deeper.
He leaned back slightly, resting against the cool stone wall as his gaze drifted toward the fire. The flames had burned lower, their glow softer now, casting a subdued warmth rather than a strong light.
For a while, he simply watched them.
And remembered.
Not just the vision—but every detail within it.
The golden pillar.
The ninety-nine vaults.
The symbols.
The force that had pushed him away the moment he reached out.
It hadn't felt like an illusion.
It had felt real.
Too structured.
Too… deliberate.
Lu Mao exhaled slowly, his brows knitting just slightly as his thoughts turned inward. He had read about inner worlds before—every cultivator had. Some described vast seas of Qi, others spoke of flowing rivers or condensed cores.
But nothing like that.
Nothing even close.
"…What was that…" he murmured under his breath, more to himself than anything else.
There was no answer.
Only silence.
After a moment, he let out a quiet breath and reached for his bag. His movements were slower now, more thoughtful, as if part of his mind was still lingering in that golden space.
He unwrapped a rice ball and took a bite.
The simple taste grounded him immediately—plain, familiar, real. He chewed slowly, staring at the fire as warmth spread through his body, easing the last remnants of tension.
"Well… that was something," he muttered, his tone carrying a faint trace of disbelief.
But even as he said it, he knew.
This wasn't something small.
It wasn't something he could brush aside and forget.
The memory remained.
Clear.
Unfaded.
As if it had carved itself into him.
Lu Mao took another bite, quieter this time, his gaze lowering slightly as his thoughts settled into something more focused.
Whatever that place was…
Whatever those vaults were…
It was connected to him.
And one day—
He would go back.
Not by accident.
But by choice.
⸻
Morning did not arrive all at once—it unfolded slowly, like a veil lifting from the world.
A pale light filtered through the forest canopy, slipping between leaves and stone until it reached the mouth of the cave. The lingering chill of night retreated inch by inch, replaced by a gentle warmth that settled over the land. Inside, Lu Mao stirred, his breath steady now, his body no longer tense from the night before.
When he stepped out, the air felt different.
Fresh. Alive.
He stretched lightly, rolling his shoulders as the stiffness left his muscles, then drew in a deep breath that filled his chest completely. The scent of damp earth and flowing water lingered in the air, grounding him in the present, pulling him away from the strange and overwhelming experience of the night.
For a brief moment, he simply stood there.
Ahead of him, far beyond the descending slopes and layered ridges, the outline of the city stood once more—distant, unmoving, yet undeniably present. It no longer felt like a vague destination whispered in stories. It was real now, waiting at the end of his path.
"My destination is waiting," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else.
There was no hesitation in his voice.
He began his descent soon after, his body moving with quiet familiarity as he navigated the uneven terrain. His steps were light but precise, shifting naturally from stone to soil, from slope to ledge. Where the path steepened, he adjusted his weight and pace; where it opened, he allowed himself brief bursts of speed. The mountain no longer felt like an obstacle—it felt like something to move through.
Halfway down, the sound of water reached him before the river came into view.
It curved gently along the base of the slope, its surface catching the morning light in broken reflections. Without overthinking, Lu Mao stepped toward it, kneeling briefly as he splashed cool water against his face and arms. The chill ran through him instantly, clearing the last traces of fatigue. After a short pause, he stepped into the river fully, washing away dust and sweat before climbing out and putting his clothes back on.
By the time he returned to the path, the world had begun to stir.
What had once been a quiet route now carried movement.
At first, it was only a few figures—distant silhouettes making their way up and down the carved stone steps that wound along the mountain. But as Lu Mao moved forward, those scattered figures grew into a steady flow.
Merchants.
Warriors.
Disciples.
The closer he came, the more varied they became. Some walked alone, their pace measured and focused, while others moved in groups, voices low but purposeful. Weapons hung at their sides, robes marked with insignias, each person carrying a different presence shaped by their path.
Then came the carts.
Large wooden structures reinforced with metal, loaded with goods that ranged from bundled fabrics to sealed containers that faintly pulsed with Qi. They were not pushed by hand.
They were pulled.
The beasts caught Lu Mao's attention immediately.
They resembled panthers in form, but far larger, their bodies built with dense muscle that shifted beneath thick, dark hide. From their heads curved a pair of horns, smooth and sharp, framing eyes that carried a quiet, animal awareness. Their steps were steady despite the weight they carried, and around them shimmered a faint aura—subtle, but unmistakable.
Qi.
Not wild.
Not uncontrolled.
But guided.
The carts they pulled did not drag heavily against the ground. Instead, they seemed lighter than they should have been, as though the beasts were not just pulling them, but lifting part of their burden through their own energy.
Lu Mao slowed slightly, observing.
So even beasts could use Qi like this.
The thought lingered for a moment before he moved on.
As the path widened, the crowd thickened. Voices rose, footsteps overlapped, and the quiet solitude of the mountain gave way to something far more alive. Every step forward brought more movement, more sound, more presence. The world was no longer distant—it pressed in from all sides.
And then—
He reached the upper steps.
The final stretch.
The climb here was shorter, but steeper, the stone worn smooth by the countless feet that had passed over it. Lu Mao moved without stopping, his breathing steady, his gaze fixed ahead.
When he reached the top—
He saw it fully.
Golden Sparrow City.
The gates rose before him, tall and imposing, carved from heavy stone that bore the marks of both craftsmanship and time. Across their surface, large golden characters gleamed under the morning light, their edges sharp and commanding, as if declaring the city's presence to all who approached.
Above the gates, a flag moved steadily in the wind.
The insignia of the Golden Sparrow Guild was woven into it, its golden threads catching the sunlight with each shift, giving it a quiet but undeniable authority.
Beyond the gates—
The city stretched wide.
Not flat. Not simple.
Layered.
Buildings rose in tiers, some standing alone while others connected through bridges and elevated paths. The architecture carried both elegance and strength, designed not just to house people, but to endure. Movement filled every visible space—figures crossing streets, entering halls, gathering in open areas. The scale of it all pressed against the senses, vast and intricate at once.
And further within—
Towering above the rest—
Spired structures rose into the sky, clustered and commanding, partially hidden by the layers of the city but impossible to ignore. Even from this distance, Lu Mao could tell they were not ordinary buildings.
They were the heart of it.
The center of power.
He stopped just short of the gates.
Not because he had to.
But because something within him told him to.
His hand moved unconsciously, brushing lightly against the token he carried. The small, familiar weight grounded him, reminding him of where he had come from and why he had come at all.
For a moment, he said nothing.
He simply looked.
At the gates.
At the city.
At the path ahead that no longer belonged to imagination, but to reality.
A faint smile formed on his lips—
Then, without hesitation, he stepped forward.