After one and a half years of blood, silence, and relentless growth, the cave that had been both prison and sanctuary finally emptied.
Lin Yun stood on the deck of the repaired flying boat, the last array pattern glowing beneath his feet. The Mysterious Land—now a true Blessed Land—hummed quietly within him, its vitality a steady pulse against his heart. Spirit stones, rare herbs, crystal fragments—all carefully transplanted inside.
He looked back one last time at the endless forest that had nearly killed him a hundred times over.
Golden eyes reflected the fading sunlight.
You tried to break me. Instead, you forged me.
He placed the final spirit stone into the central formation.
Runes ignited one by one, like stars waking up.
The boat trembled. Rose slowly. Broke free from the treetops.
Wind whipped his long hair. Clouds drifted beneath his feet like soft white rivers.
He exhaled—long, slow, almost reverent.
"So this is what leaving hell feels like…"
The ground shrank. The planet that had been his entire world became a green-blue jewel, then a distant marble, then nothing.
Only void remained.
A laugh bubbled up from deep in his chest—raw, proud, a little disbelieving.
"Haha… cultivation truly defies the heavens. A mere spaceship could never give me this view."
From the old man's stolen memories, fragments surfaced: the frantic escape across starfields, the blood-soaked chase by enemies far stronger, the desperate landing on that forgotten planet called Tianyuan—a quiet corner of the Middle Thousand Realms' outer fringe.
A perfect place to hide.
A terrible place to be trapped.
Now the spirit stones were nearly spent. Qi Refining Fourth Layer was the bare minimum needed to guide the boat this far.
Days passed in lonely silence.
Lin Yun sat cross-legged at the center, palms pressed to the array, channeling his own qi when the stones ran dry. His face grew pale. Robes clung wet with sweat. Each breath felt heavier.
Just a little farther… don't stop now.
Then—a soft glow pierced the black.
A blue-green world, haloed in faint spiritual light.
His pulse spiked.
"Tianyuan."
Hope surged like fire in his veins.
He guided the boat downward.
The moment they brushed the atmosphere—
BOOM!
An invisible wall smashed into the hull.
The boat spun violently. Protective runes flickered and dimmed.
"A barrier?!" Lin Yun's pupils contracted. "He never mentioned this!"
Qi reserves scraped the bottom. If the formation failed now, the void would tear him apart in seconds.
Cold sweat rolled down his spine.
Calm. Think.
He plunged into the old man's memories—frantic, scattered images.
There: a faint, unstable rift. A hairline crack in the barrier, barely wide enough for a small vessel.
There.
He wrenched the controls. The boat screamed toward the tear.
The barrier howled in resistance. Hull plates buckled. Cracks spiderwebbed across the deck.
"No—not after everything!"
With the last dregs of qi, he rammed through.
Reality inverted.
The boat shattered mid-descent—fragments burning like falling stars.
Lin Yun fell.
Wind roared. Ground rushed up.
Not like this. Not after surviving that serpent, that loneliness, that hell.
Immortal Cells ignited—legs, right arm, forehead. Sky-blue light flared violently.
He twisted in mid-air and slammed his fist downward.
BOOM!
The earth cratered. Trees exploded outward. Shockwave flattened grass in a wide ring.
He struck the ground, rolled, skidded. Bones snapped. Flesh tore. Right hand reduced to bloody ruin.
He lay there, gasping, staring at a sky too wide, too blue.
"Haha…" A weak, ragged laugh. "Still breathing. Damn… it still hurts like hell."
Vitality poured from the Blessed Land. Torn muscle knit. Shattered bone realigned. Pain receded to a dull throb.
He pushed himself up, swaying.
Forest. Clean air. Real gravity.
"Human world," he whispered. "I finally made it."
But confusion followed quickly.
Where exactly am I?
Hunger and exhaustion dragged at his limbs. He walked until dusk, legs heavy, until voices drifted through the trees.
A village.
Wooden houses with curved tiled roofs. Lanterns flickering to life. Smoke curling from chimneys. The scent of cooking rice, stew, and fresh noodles.
His chest tightened.
Like the ancient China from old pictures… but alive.
He glanced at his torn, blood-stained robes.
"I look like something dragged from a grave."
He spotted a lone woodcutter heading home, axe over shoulder.
Hesitation. Then necessity.
A swift, precise strike to the neck—unconscious, not dead.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, quickly changing into the clean tunic and pants. "I just need to survive a little longer."
The village square hummed with evening life.
Children laughed and chased each other. Merchants called final sales. The aroma of noodles pulled him forward like an invisible thread.
A small stall glowed under hanging lanterns. A woman with long black hair and a thin scar across her cheek stirred a steaming pot, sleeves rolled high.
Lin Yun stepped forward. Bowed slightly.
"Miss… I have no money. But I can wash dishes, carry water, chop wood—anything. Could I trouble you for a single bowl?"
She looked up. Studied his hollow cheeks, the too-gentle eyes that didn't quite match the scarred knuckles.
A soft, tired laugh escaped her.
"You're polite for someone who looks like he fought a war and lost."
She asked his name.
"Lin Yun."
Parents?
He looked away, voice low.
"They died when I was born. I never knew them."
The lie tasted like old ash—closer to truth than any comfort he could offer.
Pity softened her expression.
She ladled noodles into a bowl, added an extra piece of braised meat without comment.
"Eat. Don't choke."
Steam rose, carrying salt, warmth, and the memory of something he had almost forgotten.
Lin Yun stared at the bowl for a heartbeat—afraid it might vanish if he blinked.
Then he ate.
Fast. Desperate. Like a man who had spent years starving.
Broth dripped down his chin. He didn't care.
The woman watched quietly, wiping her hands on her apron.
This child has carried too much for too long.
When the bowl was empty, she spoke.
"If you're willing to work hard and cause no trouble… you can stay. Wash dishes, sweep the yard, help with deliveries. There's a small room in the back. Food every day. That's all I can give."
Lin Yun froze.
Work. Shelter. Food. A place among people.
He bowed deeply—forehead nearly touching the ground.
"Thank you."
She waved a hand, flustered.
"Enough of that. Go wash up. You smell like a beast's den."
Under the dim lantern light, in the back of a humble noodle shop, Lin Yun finally felt something he thought he had lost forever.
Warmth.
Not the fire of Immortal Cells. Not the cold rush of spiritual energy.
Just… human warmth.
And in the vast world of Tianyuan, far from the gaze of sects and immortals, the legend of Lin Yun took its first quiet, fragile breath.