The final two years of Jian Feng's seclusion passed in a blur of accelerated progress. The 'Origin Qi Array', which he had since refined three more times, worked tirelessly, filling his chambers with a dense, pure mist that he could draw from at will. The single greatest bottleneck to his progress—the painstaking task of filtering Qi—had been eliminated. Now, he could focus solely on absorption, comprehension, and perfection.
He did not rush. While another cultivator might have used this boon to greedily surge through the Qi Gathering Realm, Jian Feng treated each of the Nine Layers as its own distinct discipline, a new foundation to be laid perfectly upon the last.
For Layers One through Three, he focused on Purity, compressing his 108 strands of Origin Qi into a single, flawless, liquid-like drop in the center of his dantian. For Layers Four through Six, he entered the stage of Infusion. He guided this drop of pure energy to circulate through his entire body, meticulously reforging him on a cellular level. His bones took on the luster of celestial jade, his organs pulsed with a vitality that defied logic, and his blood flowed with a faint, silvery light.
For the final three layers, Seven through Nine, he pursued Resonance. He sought to create a perfect, harmonious trinity between his spirit, his body, and his Qi. His every breath, every heartbeat, every thought, became perfectly attuned to the flow of energy within him.
On the eve of his sixteenth birthday, as the sun set behind the majestic jade peaks, Jian Feng sat in meditation. A profound, unshakable aura of completion settled over him. His dantian was not a raging sea of Qi like other cultivators at his level. It was a tranquil void, at the center of which rested a single, pearl-like sphere of condensed Origin Qi, containing more power than any of them could imagine. He had finally reached the Peak of the 9th Layer of the Qi Gathering Realm—a state of theoretical "Foundational Perfection" that the world had likely forgotten was even possible.
His father, Jian Tianlong, found him not in his chambers, but on the highest lookout point of the sealed peak, his figure silhouetted against the vibrant tapestry of the sunset.
"You are ready," the Patriarch stated. It was not a question. He could feel the terrifying, self-contained perfection emanating from his son.
"My foundation is complete," Jian Feng confirmed, his voice now a calm, smooth baritone.
"A foundation is meant to support a structure. A fortress is useless if its master does not know how to fight," Jian Tianlong said, his eyes sharp. "For two years, you have mastered formations and alchemy. But you have never held a sword. You have never learned a single combat technique from our clan's archives. What will you do when an enemy stands before you?"
Jian Feng turned to face him. "Why would I learn to wield a sword, which can only express the Dao of the Sword? Or a spear, which knows only the Dao of Piercing? My path is one of infinite adaptability. My Origin Qi can express any Dao I wish. Why limit myself to a crude piece of metal?"
His father's expression hardened. "An audacious philosophy. Show me."
Without another word, Jian Tianlong attacked. He did not use his overwhelming Sovereign-level power, but instead suppressed his cultivation to the peak of Qi Gathering, the same as Jian Feng. A whip formed from the Dao of Water manifested in his hand, lashing out with a speed that could split the air.
Jian Feng did not move to dodge. His Star-Chart was already analyzing the attack, seeing the threads of Dao that bound the water into the shape of a whip. He simply raised a hand, and a wisp of his Origin Qi shot forward. It didn't meet the whip with force. Instead, it precisely severed the single, core thread that gave the whip its form. The watery weapon instantly lost its cohesion, dissolving into a harmless spray of mist that washed over Jian Feng's robes.
Jian Tianlong grunted, his hands weaving signs. A wall of earth rose before him, and from it, a dozen sharp spikes shot towards Jian Feng. It was a classic pincer attack of the Earth Dao.
Again, Jian Feng remained calm. His hyper-dense Spiritual Sense swept over the spikes, perceiving their internal structure with impossible clarity. He didn't erect a barrier. He simply flicked his fingers, sending out twelve minuscule, almost invisible needles of Origin Qi. Each needle struck a spike not at its strongest point, but at its precise center of balance, its point of greatest structural tension. The dozen deadly projectiles instantly crumbled into dust in mid-air.
The Patriarch's eyes burned with a mixture of pride and utter disbelief. His son didn't fight like a warrior. He fought like a scholar dissecting a text. He didn't counter his opponent's moves; he invalidated them. It was a terrifyingly efficient and energy-conserving form of combat.
As their spar concluded, Su Liena joined them on the peak, her gentle presence a balm after the intensity of the fight. The family stood together, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear.
"Tomorrow, the seal will be lifted," Jian Tianlong said. "The world believes the Azure Dragon Clan's prodigy faded into obscurity after a brief flash of talent. Let them continue to believe it. It is the perfect camouflage."
"Your realm will be masked," Su Liena added, her voice soft but firm. "You will appear as an average cultivator, perhaps at the 4th or 5th layer. Do not draw unnecessary attention. Promise me, Feng'er."
"I promise, Mother," Jian Feng said. His gaze was on the world below, a world he had not set foot in for ten years.
Su Liena stepped forward and placed a simple, unadorned silver ring on his finger. "This is not a powerful artifact. It is a communication device linked only to your father and me. And it will allow us to know that your heart is still beating. It is a mother's selfish request."
Jian Feng closed his fingers around the ring, feeling its familiar warmth. He looked at his father, who placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"I have taught you about Qi, Formations, and the Daos," the Patriarch said, his voice heavy. "But I cannot teach you about the world you are about to enter. Remember my words, son. The world is not a formation to be deconstructed. Be wary of the hearts of men; they are more chaotic and unpredictable than any Dao."
As night fell, the great protective formation that had enveloped the central peak for a decade began to shimmer and fade, its light dissolving into the starry sky. Jian Feng stood at the precipice, a sixteen-year-old with the mind of a strategist and the foundation of a god, ready to descend.