On the Four-Star Continent, cultivating spirit power meant absorbing the energy of heaven and earth into one’s dantian—storing it deep within until the moment of battle, when it could be unleashed in devastating force.

From that system of spirit energy arose a strict hierarchy:

The path of Spirit began with the Thirteen Innate Stages, followed by ranks such as Spirit Master, Great Spirit Master, and finally Seven-Star Spirit Master.

To become even a Spirit Master was to command storms of blood and power across the land. Empires themselves waged war to claim such talent.

Within the Windmoon Pavilion, Qingge closed the ancient tome she had been studying. Stretching lazily, she stepped into the courtyard, crossed her legs, and began to cultivate.

Ordinary people were born with their dantian centered low in the abdomen.

But Qingge’s was different—crafted artificially, resting slightly to the left, near her heart. Threads of ambient energy streamed toward her from every direction, seeping through her pores, gathering in that small, burning core.

Where most had an oval spirit pool, hers had become twin flames—one violet, one crimson—dancing in harmony.

After half a day, three of her minor meridians had opened. Her dantian brimmed with pure spirit energy, a wave of relief and exhilaration flooding her veins.

Her eyes snapped open—clear, cold, lightning bright.

Wind roared through the courtyard. The air crackled. Clouds churned, rivers trembled.

“Innate Third Stage. Not bad,” came a lazy voice.

Ji Yue padded over, fur glossy, mismatched eyes gleaming with pride.

Qingge scooped him up before he could resist, ignoring his indignant squirming as she stroked his head.

“Night Qingqing is also Innate Third Stage,” she said with a smile. “Calls herself a prodigy. Ye Xue, the fourth young lady, has reached the fifth stage. The young prince, too, stands at the peak of fifth—ready to step into the sixth at any moment.”

She listed their powers one by one, her tone calm, almost amused.

“Your foundation isn’t weaker than theirs,” Ji Yue muttered, finally giving up his struggle. “Train seriously, and surpassing them won’t be difficult.”

Qingge laughed softly. “Surpassing them? That’s hardly worth boasting about.”

Ji Yue flicked his tail. “Exactly. In my world, even a Great Spirit Master would be the lowest rung. The Thirteen Innate Stages are merely your first steps.”

Her eyes widened slightly. On this continent, Great Spirit Masters were legends—revered as near-divine. Yet in his world, they were nothing.

For the first time, Qingge truly felt how vast this universe was—how endless the heavens and realms beyond her sight might be.

“Hey,” Ji Yue said.

“Hm?”

“Want to see something fun?” His lips curled in a sly smile. “Qin Lan’s spirit beast died. She’s throwing a fit. Even Night Zhengxiong’s face looks grim.”

Qingge’s eyes lit up. “A show? Of course I’m coming.”

She hugged the little fox tighter, her figure flickering like a shadow as she sped through the Night estate toward Qin Lan’s residence.

The woman lived in a grand, antique-style tower. Beside it stood a smaller obsidian house—the enclosure for her precious Sanji Spirit Beast, the one-eyed green wolf.

Spirit beasts were rare enough; a Sanji beast even more so.

So when Qin Lan discovered it dead, her face turned paper-white, and she nearly fainted.

By the time Night Zhengxiong returned, he found her whipping the maid who had cleaned the dishes—the poor girl already bloodied and broken.

“What’s going on here?” he snapped.

He had suffered the Emperor’s temper earlier at court. Now even his home was filled with chaos. Would he never know peace?