chapter 5 : spiritual realm

Then came the opening of the spiritual meridians, allowing qi to move freely. This realm was divided into four parts — early, middle, late, and peak — and was often where true geniuses began to shine.

The foundation realm followed. Here, one built their spiritual base, firm and unshakable. Any weakness here would haunt them forever. This too had four stages. Failing this realm meant never climbing higher.

After that came core formation. The spiritual energy was compressed into a shining core within the dantian, increasing the cultivator’s strength a hundredfold. Four stages again — early, middle, late, and peak.

Then the soul awakened — the nascent soul realm. A small spirit formed in the core, housing the cultivator’s will and intent. From here, spiritual consciousness developed. Most elders of major clans existed here. Again, four sublevels.

With the soul came transformation. The cultivator’s perception expanded beyond the physical. They could extend their spirit, sense danger, manipulate energy from afar. Four steps here as well, each one filled with danger.

After that, few ever dared to dream. But the realm of void step came next — a cultivator could move through space, vanish into the wind, or even walk across the sky. Four stages. Each one broke the laws of nature.

Then came the tribulations. Heaven would test the cultivator with lightning and wrath. Survival meant ascension. The stronger the foundation, the more vicious the storm. Some perished, some broke through. Four stages, each harder than the last.

If one survived, they entered the realm of saints — those who could crush mountains with a gesture or calm storms with a word. Mortal Saint. Sky Saint. Spirit Saint. Only a handful existed in the entire kingdom.

Beyond that was the origin of divinity. The divine origin realm. Here, one’s soul fused with the world. These cultivators created sects, raised cities from rivers, or sealed beasts within mountains. Three known stages.

And then the final gate — the ethereal monarch. A legend. A whisper. A realm where time bent, fate listened, and reality could be rewritten. Only one man had ever reached that height, and he vanished before the first emperor was born.

Feng Wu took a slow breath.

Twelve realms. Over forty sublevels.

Each step bathed in blood and ambition.

And she, the so-called trash of the Feng Clan, had not even touched the first.

A hollow dantian. No root. No qi.

But something stirred now. A quiet tremor in her core. A presence that had not been there before. It was faint — like embers buried beneath ash — but it was hers.

Her soul had crossed two lives. Her will had endured betrayal, bullets, and fire. Compared to that... how hard could cultivation be?

She didn’t sense time passing.

The sun dipped low, painting the sky in a wash of crimson and gold. Plum petals drifted through the air, some settling in her hair, others carried away by the wind. Lost in thought, Feng Wu barely noticed the cold seeping through the stone beneath her.

“Wu Wu,” a soft voice called gently, tugging her from her silence. “It’s getting late… come eat something.”

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