The dragon’s chest visibly expanded, and the scales shifted. It let out a deep hrrrhhhfff, and immediately, hot air curled around him.
“Yes, human. You are dying.”
Chen Ren felt its voice inside his soul, reverberating until the reality of what it had just said carved into his mind.
“Do you truly think your star space breaking is like catching a cold? That it can be patched with some herbal paste and a handful of pills? It is part of your dantian—the core of your being. Its collapse means you have pushed yourself too far, driven your existence past its limits until it has begun to crack. Not just your cultivation, but your body, your mind, your soul. There is no alignment. No balance between them. And so, your star space breaks. Every time you exhaust yourself and leap between realms like a fool, it will worsen.”
The weight of the dragon’s presence bore down on him until his knees felt ready to give way. Chen Ren knew it wasn’t intentional; the being before him was simply too powerful. Even speaking with it was like standing beneath a storm trying to tear the sky in half.
But he forced himself to focus on the meaning behind its words.
And deep down, he could not deny it. He had felt it himself, ever since the battle with the frost spirits, there had been something wrong. His star space was fracturing, yes, but his body seemed to be following suit, fraying at the edges in ways he couldn’t quite name.
There was a reason he had been desperate to speak with the dragon. And now that it was here… he wasn’t sure if it would help him at all.
“I didn’t know it would happen,” he said quietly.
“Huh? Is that true?” The dragon’s golden eyes narrowed. “No one told you? Not even that cat?”
“She told me to make sure my foundation was correct,” Chen Ren replied, his voice edged with frustration. “But I don’t think she realized this would happen.”
The dragon’s gaze shifted, the golden light in its eyes dimming just enough to give the impression of… disappointment. It didn’t need to sigh for Chen Ren to feel the weight of that expression pressing against him.
“Of course she didn’t,” the dragon said and flicked its tail. “What could a mere meridian expansion realm cat possibly know about someone being the Originator of a Dao? That kind of knowledge has long been lost to your world.”
Chen Ren blinked. “Originator?”
The dragon’s eyes narrowed, but instead of answering, it turned its head slightly, as if dismissing the question entirely. “You don’t need to concern yourself with that now, human. You have far greater problems clawing at you.”
Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, forcing a nod. “You told me the problem. Do you have a solution?”
The dragon’s gaze sharpened to a squint, its voice curling with accusation. “You didn’t throw yourself into this mess after asking me for guidance, did you? A true cultivator solves his own problems. If you do not know that, then, I’m uncertain what you’re doing here… in front of me—”
“You know,” Chen Ren’s brows knit together. “Despite you saying that, you could’ve easily helped me by telling me what to do, and what not to do. But you didn’t. You can’t put all the blame on me.”
Golden light flared faintly along the dragon’s horns, and its voice deepened, carrying a note of restrained impatience. “I saved your life. The only reason I am—and remain—in hibernation is because of that. I have barely the strength to be here now, and only to ensure you don’t throw your life away again.”
“But I only know someone who can teach me soul cultivation,” Chen Ren said, brows drawing together. “Where will I learn the other two?”
“Body cultivation,” the dragon rumbled, “is something you should already have access to. The knowledge is around you. You simply have not looked closely. As for the mind… that is more complex. Still, you possess a sturdy mind. If you focus on strengthening the other two, you should be able to maintain enough balance to progress. And if I am correct, you will soon have an opportunity to obtain manuals for mind cultivation.”
Chen Ren tilted his head. “What does that mean?”
The dragon’s eyes curved in what could almost be called a smile. “Everything I say carries many meanings, Chen Ren. But in this case… it means danger will soon surround you, more than ever before. And where there is danger, there is also opportunity. Adequate opportunity to gain what you lack. Someone like you will know how to seize it.”
A frown tightened Chen Ren’s face. This just kept getting more and more complicated. He was already shook by the fact that he was dying… but more dangers?
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He knew danger was never far, but the way the dragon spoke made it sound inevitable, imminent, even. “What type of danger? There’s so much I haven’t asked you. About the medallion. The Gate of Immortals. The Devourers. I know you know what’s going on. I don’t like being a pawn in all this.”
The dragon was silent for a long moment, its golden gaze weighing him as though deciding the worth of his demand. Then, without warning, it moved.
Its massive body slid forward in a single, smooth motion, the sheer presence of it displacing the air in heavy, soundless waves. Chen Ren’s muscles locked as the beast stopped just behind him.
He didn’t know how or why, but the instant the dragon’s gaze fell on him, the urge hit—sharp and instinctive. To bow. To lower himself entirely. To acknowledge not just power, but divinity. His mind screamed that it was a beast, yet every fibre of his being whispered otherwise: this was not something to stand against.
This was something to worship. And he should bow—
Chen Ren shook the thoughts from his mind, forcing his spine to straighten.
The dragon’s smirk was faint but unmistakable. “See? What did I tell you? Your mind is already far stronger than your body and soul if you can shake off my heavenly dominance.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Chen Ren stated as a matter of fact.
“I know.” The dragon’s tone was maddeningly calm. “You will know everything in due time. For now, I have little time left, and even if I didn’t, burdening you with more than you can carry would be pointless. One man can only hold so much. It is not yet the right time.”
Chen Ren’s teeth ground together. “Bullshit. Don’t start playing the Xianxia sage who knows everything but won’t say anything because of ‘plot convenience.’ I hate that.”
The dragon’s laugh rolled through the star space like the crack of a breaking mountain. “You use strange words, boy. But trust me soon, I’ll be able to tell you everything. For now, reach foundation establishment and correct your balance. And if you want any advice—” its eyes gleamed like twin suns “—collect every medallion piece you can find.”
Chen Ren opened his mouth to press further, but already the dragon was withdrawing. The stars that had shaped its body began to drift apart, sliding back into their usual positions. In moments, the colossal form dissolved into scattered golden lights, leaving only the cold vastness of his fractured star space.
Silence swallowed him whole.
For a heartbeat, he considered calling out again—ask about everything he needed answers for—but the instinct told him it would be useless. Instead, he replayed every word of the conversation in his mind, fixing them in place before letting himself drift back toward waking.
The next blink brought the cramped interior of the carriage into focus. Yalan and Wang Jun were both watching him, their expressions caught between curiosity and restraint.
“So?” Wang Jun asked. “Did you manage to get anything?”
Chen Ren licked his lips, not answering right away. He couldn’t. The dragon’s words still echoed in his ears. The way it had said it. Then, he finally spoke. “Yes.” He paused, glancing at the head opposite him. “I need you to teach me soul cultivation.”
Wang Jun’s brows knit, his face twisting as if he’d just bitten into something sour. “What the heck are you even talking about?”
“Let me explain,” Chen Ren said.
***
The rest of the carriage ride back to Meadow Village was spent with Chen Ren recounting everything—how the dragon had appeared, what it had said, and how deliberately cryptic it had been. Yalan listened without interruption, while Wang Jun occasionally muttered something under his breath, his face a mixture of interest and skepticism.
According to Wang Jun, heavenly beasts were always like that. In his words, anything they involved themselves in could tip the balance of the world’s fate, so they measured every syllable they spoke.
Chen Ren would have been less irritated if he believed that was true. But to him, it was just one of those comforting myths cultivators repeated until it became a ‘truth.’ No one had ever proven it.
Still, for all the unanswered questions—about the Gate of Immortals, the medallion, the Devourers—he had at least walked away with a path to fix his breaking star space.
Unfortunately, that path required him to prostrate himself before an arrogant talking head who looked as if he had been waiting for this exact moment. The head didn’t move his mouth unless he got something in return; his greed was a constant, gnawing presence and needed to be fed at every possible moment.
Most of the ride was spent in slow, needling negotiation. Chen Ren probing for what the man would take to teach him soul cultivation, the head deflecting or raising the price with each exchange.
Chen Ren suspected the hesitation might have something to do with soul cultivation being a legacy from the man’s former sect… but he didn’t truly believe it. Hundreds of years had passed since the head had entered hibernation, and in all that time they had shared, Chen Ren had never heard him speak of the sect with even a shred of loyalty. If anything, it felt as if the sect had been something he created simply because it was the natural extension of his position of strength.
Fortunately, the head agreed in the end, though not without his usual air of reluctant generosity. He warned Chen Ren that soul cultivation took decades to master, even for the most diligent. But Chen Ren wasn’t aiming for master, just enough progress to restore the balance within himself.
Of course, soul cultivation alone wouldn’t solve everything. The dragon had made that much clear. So, before the journey was over, the talk shifted to body cultivation.
The dragon had hinted he could learn it, and of the three paths it had named, this seemed the most common. Yalan explained that a few tribes beyond the Empire’s borders still practiced it, and that even some sects kept manuals on the subject. Wang Jun, for his part, knew a bit himself, though he didn’t have a manual to offer.
Unlike qi cultivation, which worked inward, body cultivation forged the outer shell—tempering flesh, bone, and muscle until the body itself became a weapon, capable of withstanding devastating blows. Many cultivators with poor or few spirit roots took this path, but Yalan’s tone turned grim when she spoke of its nature. The training was brutally painful, enough to kill the unprepared. Even among those who survived, stories of people dying from the sheer agony were common.
None of this made Chen Ren eager to try it. But given the dragon’s warning, he doubted he had a choice. The beast had no reason to lie to him, and both Yalan and Wang Jun agreed the logic was sound.
By the time the carriage wheels rattled into Meadow Village, Chen Ren had already decided. He would look for a body cultivation manual as soon as possible.
What he hadn’t expected was to find another problem waiting for him there, coiled and ready like a snake in the grass.
Just as the dragon had said, he already had too many problems to be worrying about more.
The old beast surely knew more than he did.
***
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