The void stretched in every direction—an endless sky without sun or moon, where light bled from nowhere and everywhere at once. Stars shimmered faintly in that vast emptiness, cold and impossibly distant, like the last shards of broken worlds.

  Suspended in the stillness were two figures: a youth and a small, wolfish pup. Neither cast a shadow. Yet the faint ripple of their presence disturbed the perfect calm.

  The boy hung limply, eyes closed, his face tight with strain. Every twitch of his brow betrayed the battle behind his eyelids. The pup drifted a short distance away, fur rippling as if caught in a wind that didn’t exist. Its eyes—cool, ancient, far too knowing—regarded him with the indifference one might grant a tool already cracked beyond use.

  Xiao Lei’s jaw clenched until his teeth ached. He held the raw, tearing pressure inside as long as he could. The formless sky pressed inward, grinding against the edges of his mind. He refused to yield.

  Yet the pain broke through.

  It hit like a blade driven between his eyes. Breath tore from his lungs as he sucked in the thin, scentless air, desperate to anchor himself. His vision swam, every heartbeat throbbing against the inside of his skull.

  And then—something else.

  Not words. Not images. Patterns. Intent. Shapes older than thought carved themselves into him with the precision of a blade cutting stone. Each breath deepened the grooves, as though the void itself was etching its will onto his soul.

  The pup’s ears twitched. Its gaze narrowed. Unexpected.

  It had not believed this fragile human capable of more than fumbling at the edges. Yet here he was—surviving, shaping what he’d been given into something almost coherent.

  Even in this diminished state, stripped to a sliver of its former power, the knowledge it carried was never meant for mortal minds. The skill—though diluted beyond recognition—was still a remnant of an art that could shape worlds and unmake them.

  It should have been impossible to learn this quickly.

  And yet…

  The pup’s tail stilled. Its gaze lingered—not in approval, not even in curiosity, but in quiet recalculation, as if the measure of this human had shifted… ever so slightly… from useless toward something it could no longer entirely dismiss.

  ?? — ? — ??

  When Xiao Lei’s eyes opened, the world beyond the cave mouth had already sunk into darkness.

  He was not lying where he remembered. The rough stone beneath him was colder here, the air less touched by the faint night wind. He was a few steps deeper into the cave, and between him and the entrance lay the girl, curled on her side. Her breathing was slow, almost soundless. Dirt streaked her cheeks, and faint tear-tracks cut through the grime, glinting faintly in the dim light spilling in from outside.

  Xiao Lei pushed himself up with a low hiss, pain flaring sharp along his ribs. His hand brushed grit from the cave floor as he steadied himself. The movement pulled at half-healed wounds—though “healed” was generous.

  They still ached, but something cool seeped through the bandages, sinking past skin and bone like moonlight into still water. The faint scent was not the crude bitterness of common salves—it carried a sharp, resinous edge, chased by the ghost of crushed frost-leaves and night-bloom pollen. A paste of uncommon make. She had tended to him.

  His gaze flicked to the side. His pouch rested near the wall. Fingers tense, he snatched it up, loosening the cord. Relief settled over him only when his fingers closed around the smooth curve of the Moonveil Orchid. Its petals were still intact, soft and faintly luminous in the dimness.

  A portion of his herbs was gone—used for the paste, no doubt—but the orchid remained untouched. That alone loosened the coil of anger curling tight in his chest. Had she dared squander it, he would have seen her safely to her father, honouring the debt in full… and only then, without hesitation, ended her life with his own hands.

  Breathing out slowly, he forced the thought aside. The orchid was more than rare—it was the key to his next step. If used well, he could break through to the fourth stage of Qi Awakening. The idea steadied him.

  The blossom’s glow pulsed faintly, as if in time with his heartbeat, its cool, clean scent cutting through the cave’s damp and stone.

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  Then a voice, smooth and laced with scorn, curled through his mind.

  “Shouldn’t you be thanking me?”

  The darkness of the cave dissolved in his vision, replaced by the endless star-lit void. Suspended there, the black-haired puppy floated lazily, tail flicking with idle arrogance. Its eyes held a gleam that was almost human in its disdain.

  Xiao Lei’s own voice was flat. “For what?”

  “For the technique I gave you,” it said, every word slow, deliberate—like claws tracing the rim of a glass. “A gift mortals would kill their kin to glimpse, let alone wield.

  “Hmph.” His lips twisted faintly. “You expect me to believe you gave it out of kindness? Or pity?” He let the silence stretch, his gaze unflinching. “We both know the truth—you’re looking after yourself. If I die, you vanish too. Don’t try to make me owe you.”

  The pup’s mouth curled into something that might have been a smirk. “Not as stupid as I thought… Good. Stupid people die faster—and take their keepers with them.”

  Xiao Lei didn’t bother to respond. The vision of the void shimmered and fell away, leaving him once more in the cave’s quiet. Closing his eyes, he drew his thoughts inward, toward the strange and dangerous knowledge the creature had placed in his mind.

  The Devouring Art.

  Its name alone seemed to hum with promise—and peril.

  It was unlike anything Xiao Lei had ever known—not a cultivation art, nor sword or spear technique, nor even a defensive method.

  Its purpose was singular, almost obscene in its clarity—

  —to seize the cultivation of another and make it his own.

  The pup had not given him the complete method. You wouldn’t survive it, it had said, its voice like a shadow curling in the mind. His cultivation was far too low to wield the true form. What he had received instead was a fragment—the Fang Imprint.

  It could only be used on prey whose realm was not far above his own and whose body and spirit were already weakened. The kind of weakness that came after a hard fight, when blood was still warm on the ground and breath came in shallow gasps.

  Only then, when the target’s will faltered, could the imprint take hold. Once branded, their cultivation would be drawn away, thread by thread, into him.

  In its current form, it would grant him a mere sliver—five percent of the opponent’s cultivated qi. But the pup had hinted that mastery could raise this to fifteen percent or more. And this… this was only the first stage of something far greater.

  But there were dangers as well. The qi taken was not immediately his—it would churn within, raw and alien, until tempered and refined. To use the Fang Imprint again before that would be courting disaster. And if the prey’s will burned strong enough, they could turn the technique back upon him, delivering a backlash sharp enough to cripple… or kill.

  Still, he felt no hesitation. There was nothing in the world without its flaws. Even heaven-defying arts demanded their price. And this… this was worth it.

  Xiao Lei’s thoughts strayed despite his calm nature. ‘If this is the beginning… what will the second stage look like? The complete art?’

  His pulse quickened at the possibilities. Yet in cultivation, desire was a blade with two edges. He forced his breathing to steady.

  A faint wind entered the cave, carrying the scent of wet bark and something faintly metallic. Xiao Lei let the forest quiet settle over him, grounding himself. The Fang Imprint was a weapon, yes—but only a support. Power taken from others was never as pure as power earned by one’s own hand.

  His gaze lowered to the orchid cradled in his palms. Everything else—the devouring art, the whispers of possibility—was secondary. His own power was the true prize.

  He drew a slow breath, the excitement ebbing into cold focus. The Fang Imprint could wait. The orchid could not. And Xiao Lei intended to see both used to their fullest, in time.

  ?? — ? — ??

  The forest was still, its ceiling of interlocked branches turning the morning into a dim, green twilight. Shafts of light broke through only in narrow, trembling threads, falling across the leaf-strewn ground like scattered silk.

  A lone, single-horned deer nosed through the undergrowth, lips tugging at fallen leaves. For all its strength—a rank two spirit beast—it was gentle, quick to startle, and prey for lesser predators. Yet their kind endured through sheer numbers and swiftness.

  The faint twang of a bowstring cut the stillness.

  An arrow hissed through the air and struck the deer’s head, glancing off bone before sinking in. The beast jerked violently, stumbling forward in a desperate bid to flee. Its breath came in ragged bursts, hooves scraping for purchase on the soft earth.

  The second shot came fast—a whisper of steel through leaves—burying itself beside the first. The deer’s legs folded beneath it, the weight of its fall muffled by damp soil. Its chest still heaved; its wide, dark eyes rolled in panic.

  From between the trees stepped a youth. Xiao Lei’s expression was unreadable as he knelt, one hand gripping the deer’s neck. The beast thrashed weakly, but his hold did not loosen. One by one, he drew the arrows free, crimson welling around each shaft. The light faded from its gaze, leaving the glassy sheen of death.

  He hoisted the carcass in a single motion. Against his lean frame, the weight seemed almost comical—yet his steps were steady as he turned toward the cave.

  Power hummed faintly beneath his skin. After using the herb, his cultivation had surged— past the fourth stage, brushing the mid-fifth of Qi Awakening. The Moonveil Orchid’s effects had exceeded his hopes.

  The cave mouth appeared ahead, its shadow cool against his eyes. Lian was awake now, small figure crouched near the entrance.

  Earlier, while tracking game, a question had tugged at him—why had no beasts approached while he lay unconscious? The answer revealed itself in the forest’s scents: the sharp, musky stench of rank-three predators, clinging to droppings scattered in a rough circle around the cave. The smell alone would have kept most creatures at bay.

  When Lian’s gaze found him, her face lit faintly.

  “Big brother—”

  “Where’s the rest of what you scattered?” His tone was flat, giving nothing away.

  Obediently, she held out a small pouch. It sagged nearly empty.

  His gaze dropped to the pouch in her hands, brow tightening. Even a pinch would have sufficed to ward the area. She had thrown it all.

  Before the words of rebuke could leave him, another voice brushed the edges of his mind—the pup’s, low and curious.

  Hmm… Myriad Cauldron Physique?

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.