Luo Yao stood motionless on the edge of the cliff, the wind brushing through her dark hair as she gazed down at the sacred forest below. The dense trees, the misted air, the distant hum of power — all were echoes of the Heavenless Temple. A place built on secrets and age-old doctrines. But now, in her hands, a new secret had unfolded — one that could shape the future.
As the granddaughter of Elder Luo Shi, one of the Temple's highest-ranking figures, Luo Yao had long grown used to pressure. Yet today, the weight on her shoulders pressed heavier than any before. The discovery of Chen Yun — and the terrifying speed at which his power grew — couldn't be ignored.
She clenched her fists, then unhooked a small jade token from her belt — a communication artifact. As her fingers brushed its surface, a deep voice echoed in her mind.
"Luo Yao. Report."
Calm, but edged with the iron authority she knew too well.
It was her grandfather.
She hesitated a moment. Then:
"Grandfather, I have observed the one known as Chen Yun."
There was a pause. Longer than usual.
"And?"
Luo Yao's eyes drifted toward the horizon, her voice low.
"He's a mystery. His martial techniques… they don't match any sect. He manipulates void-space — bends it. I saw a sword mark on a tree shift after it was struck. He wasn't testing speed. He was testing space."
"Void manipulation?" Elder Luo Shi repeated, slowly. "And his strength?"
Luo Yao looked at her open palm, remembering how he had moved — like lightning wrapped in brittle flesh.
"He's powerful… but not whole. Broken, still fragile. But the potential — it's… immense."
Her grandfather's voice darkened.
"Monitor him. Do not engage. Report regularly. If he becomes unstable, we cannot allow another rogue to rise. He is too dangerous."
"Understood, Grandfather."
The jade token dimmed.
Silence returned to the cliffside, but her mind was anything but still.
Chen Yun was no ordinary cultivator. There was something untamed in him — something primal, yet precise. Her grandfather's orders were clear: observe, report, do not interfere.
But as Luo Yao lowered the jade token, a quiet question lingered.
Was she a tool of the Temple… or had she been sent to witness something that defied their control?
Back in the forest clearing, Chen Yun was already at work.
The sun hung high, but the canopy above cast the ground in a cool, filtered shadow. Sweat ran down his back as he crouched, palms pressed against the earth. Every step, every movement, was calculated — down to breath and bone.
The Spatial Flux Stage had awakened something new inside him. Something beyond muscle or speed. Now, the next phase demanded focus — absolute control.
He began where he always did: with breath.
Sitting cross-legged, he closed his eyes, sinking into a meditative state. His body, once just a vessel, was now a system of shattered channels, delicate bridges of Qi that needed aligning before he could even begin.
He inhaled — slow, full — drawing energy inward.He exhaled — steady, cleansing — pushing out stagnant Qi.
There was no forcing anymore. He didn't shove Qi through broken meridians. He invited it. Coaxed it. Like a craftsman shaping glass with firelight fingers.
Only once his pathways were in balance did he rise.
He walked in a slow spiral. Every step called to space itself. His limbs moved in patterns designed to compress pockets of air — distort light — fold distance. Ripples shimmered behind him, faint waves bending the world's shape.
He practiced dodging invisible strikes, moving as if shadowboxed by fate itself.
"The void doesn't move with me," he whispered, sweat trailing down his temple."It moves through me."
The real challenge came when he reached for greater distances.
Stretching out his arms, he flicked his wrist — and his body snapped sideways in a blink. The space had folded — not moved. But the strain on his body was immense. Each jump left phantom pain screaming through his nerves.
Still, he pushed.
Again. And again.
With time, his motions grew fluid — like water flowing around stone. The void no longer resisted him. It yielded, bent, and breathed with him.
When he could no longer hold the pressure, he picked up his sword — the same worn wooden blade he'd always used. Its edges were chipped. The grip, splintered.
But now, the weapon danced through space.
Each swing wasn't just a cut — it was a displacement. Air tore as his strikes compressed space into waves. His blade shimmered at times, as if flickering between realms.
He visualized enemies.
He delivered phantom strikes.
Each thrust folded a moment of reality — a silent rupture in the fabric of now.
By nightfall, he stood alone beneath the stars, chest rising and falling like the tide.
His meridians still ached. The Qi flow within him remained fragile.
But the path was clearer than ever.
In the quiet, the voice of his old master echoed in his mind:
"True cultivation lies not in strength — but in how you move through the world without being caught by it."
Chen Yun's gaze sharpened.
Each day ahead would test his endurance, his pain, and his mind.
But he would rise.
He would master the void.
And when he did — no one would bind him again.