At the stroke of midnight beneath an overpass in Lanning City, Mi Jun abruptly awoke from a hazy trance.

  "Where... is this?"

  Mi Jun, the sole Immortal Emperor to ever ascend to the pinnacle of the Immortal Dao within the Ziwei Celestial Domain, wielded a cultivation that defied the ages, revered by gods and mortals alike.

  On that fateful day, in pursuit of a higher realm, he dared to pierce the firmament—but was ambushed by an unknown force and perished, his path severed.

  "Why am I not dead? What is this place?"

  He rose to his feet, attempting to survey his surroundings, but his body faltered, nearly toppling over.

  "My limbs... stiff, unresponsive—as if they no longer obey my will."

  He murmured to himself, eyes drawn to the distant lights of the city. An inexplicable familiarity stirred in his heart.

  Then, memories surged back, furrowing his brows.

  "Earth? Have I returned?"

  Over countless years of cultivation, Mi Jun had forged many enmities and endured tribulations beyond imagining—time and again cast into the depths of despair.

  Five centuries ago, he was besieged by enemies. In a desperate bid to escape, he unleashed a plane-breaking talisman unearthed from ancient ruins, forcefully tearing open a rift—only to be flung to Earth.

  Earth, a realm bereft of spiritual energy, where mortals thrived through science rather than cultivation. Though wounded, none here could pose a threat to him. Thus, he remained to heal in peace.

  Three years later, he uncovered a path to the stars and left Earth behind. After decades of arduous travel, he returned to the Ziwei Celestial Domain.

  For a hundred years, he delved into secluded cultivation, ultimately reigning supreme, annihilating his foes until none dared stand against him.

  Yet fate, in its irony, had brought him back once more.

  "It seems this Earth and I are destined to meet."

  A wry smile tugged at his lips. This return, it seemed, was far more dire than the last. Regaining his peak might take considerable time.

  "Perhaps this too is a sign... that my Dao was never perfect. This time, I shall forge a path beyond perfection."

  His gaze grew resolute, unwavering as ever.

  "My Dao bows to no gods, yields to no heavens, heeds no fate, enters no cycle of rebirth, and binds to no karma."

  Though Immortal Emperor was the ultimate cultivation in the Ziwei Realm, Mi Jun had still fallen to that enigmatic power—proof that he had yet to attain true transcendence.

  He was... incomplete.

  And that which is flawed need not be mourned when lost.

  Given another chance—and armed with the wisdom of his past—he would ascend beyond all limitations.

  All he needed... was time.

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  ...

  Mi Jun calmed his breath, settling cross-legged beneath the overpass. He cast off all worldly thoughts, focusing inward.

  The attack had ravaged his soul, reducing it to a mere fraction of its former glory. Yet even now, he remained far beyond ordinary men.

  More importantly, he had once reigned as Immortal Emperor. Though his cultivation was gone, his memories remained. His experience remained. His Dao heart remained.

  He closed his eyes and began to recuperate.

  Countless cultivation techniques unfurled across his mind like cascading reels of light—each one potent enough to drive the world mad with desire.

  Yet he glanced over them idly, discarding them like worn-out shoes.

  At last, his mind settled on a modest yet fitting technique.

  “Soul-Nourishing Qi Art.”

  ...

  In the deep hours of the night, heavy rain poured across Lanning City, but under the shelter of the bridge, it was of no concern to Mi Jun.

  As its name suggested, the Soul-Nourishing Qi Art cultivated qi through the tempering of the soul—a practice deemed unorthodox, even heretical, for it demanded immense soul strength.

  But for Mi Jun in his current state, it was perfect.

  Three days passed.

  After two days of relentless rain, the skies finally cleared. The sun shone bright, and the streets bustled with life once more.

  At that moment, a man in a suit slowly ascended the overpass, supporting an elderly man with white hair.

  “Dad, we’ve been walking all morning. Maybe we should head back?”

  “No rush. Something seems to be happening up ahead—let’s go have a look.”

  As they approached, they found several people leaning over the railing, gesturing and whispering about something below.

  Curious, the elder looked down.

  Beneath the bridge flowed a wide lake, now swollen and turbulent from days of rain. Amid the single dry patch stood a youth of seventeen or eighteen, seated cross-legged, utterly still—as though the world around him did not exist.

  The elder realized they were speaking about this youth.

  “What’s going on with that boy?” he asked.

  A middle-aged woman glanced at him and replied, “He’s been sitting there for three whole days and nights—no food, no water, hasn’t moved a muscle.”

  “Is that so?” The old man’s brow furrowed.

  Ordinary folk could go seven days without food, but three days without water was lethal. Yet the youth looked unharmed—strange indeed.

  “Poor child,” someone murmured.

  “He doesn’t look like a beggar. Maybe he’s run into trouble. Should we help him?”

  Just then, a square-jawed man interjected, “Don’t be fooled. I saw that kid last night—he was practicing martial arts down there, full of energy. Doesn’t look starved at all.”

  The elder turned. “You saw him last night? Practicing?”

  “There was a streetlamp nearby. Light wasn’t great, but I could still see clearly. His moves were impressive.”

  Upon hearing this, a few bystanders grew indignant, regretting their misplaced sympathy.

  “So he’s not starving—he’s just playing around!”

  “Let’s go. Another wannabe internet star trying to grab attention.”

  “Exactly! I once saw one livestream himself eating dung. The world’s gone mad!”

  With that, the crowd dispersed in disdain.

  “Dad, let’s go too?” the suited man asked indifferently.

  But the old man paused, then said, “Qingsong, let’s go down and take a look.”

  “Huh?” Huo Qing was startled. “You mean... under the bridge?”

  “Yes. I want to see the boy.”

  “No way! The water’s rough. What if something happens—”

  “You’re a grown man. Stop fretting. Stay here if you want—I’ll go alone.”

  With that, the old man walked off in a huff.

  Helpless, Huo Qing followed.

  Soon, the two arrived beneath the bridge.

  Just as they did, Mi Jun slowly opened his eyes from his meditative state.

  “Whew... that’s enough for today.”

  The elder, noticing he had awoken, stepped forward. “Young man, are you alright?”

  Mi Jun glanced up, puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Er...”

  The elder was briefly at a loss for words.

  Figuring they had already come this far, Huo Qing decided to ask anyway.

  “Young man, are you in trouble? Tell us—we can help.”

  Mi Jun found the question odd and shook his head. “I’m fine. Please—don’t meddle in things that don’t concern you.”

  Huo Qing bristled at the rudeness.

  The elder stepped closer. “If you’re fine, why sit here for three days?”

  “I had my reasons.”

  Mi Jun clearly had no desire to elaborate.

  He rose, stretching his limbs. The Soul-Nourishing Qi Art had begun to take effect. Qi now flowed through his body, bringing a sense of rejuvenation—as though he had been reborn.

  But soon, hunger gnawed at him.

  “In meditation I felt no hunger, but now... it’s unbearable. After all, this is still a mortal body—I haven’t reached the stage of fasting yet.”

  With a sigh, an idea came to him.

  He looked at the two men.

  “You say you want to help me? Then... how about buying me a meal?”

  The elder blinked, then smiled kindly. “Of course. It’s nearly lunchtime anyway.”

  Huo Qing, however, muttered under his breath, “Knew it—just another freeloader looking for a free meal.”