After parting ways, Li Chen moved for a full half-day without stopping.
Not because he was being chased—but because stopping too soon invited coincidence.
The terrain shifted constantly as he traveled. Cracked stone plains gave way to drifting earth fragments suspended in distorted gravity, which then collapsed abruptly into narrow ravines where space compressed so tightly that even breathing required careful qi control. Li Chen avoided all obvious landmarks, choosing paths that twisted unnaturally, doubled back, or ended in apparent dead ends before quietly opening into new regions.
Only when his instincts finally stopped screaming did he slow down.
"This should be far enough," he murmured.
Ahead of him lay a strange basin carved into the land like a shallow bowl. It was surrounded on all sides by jagged ridges that bent inward, forming a natural enclosure. The sky above the basin appeared… dull. The jade hue thinned here, as if the realm itself paid less attention to this place.
Li Chen's eyes narrowed.
Qi is thin. Spatial activity is low. Perception interference is high.
In other words—
Unattractive.
Unremarkable.
Ignored.
Perfect.
He circled the basin once, carefully testing the ground. Small stones thrown into the air fell normally. Qi circulated without resistance or amplification. When he released a thread of spiritual sense, it returned slightly blurred, as though filtered through mist.
"Not empty," Li Chen concluded. "But unnoticed."
At the center of the basin stood a half-collapsed stone structure—perhaps once a watchtower or shrine. Time and spatial erosion had stripped it of carvings and identity, leaving behind nothing but rough stone and shadowed corners.
Li Chen exhaled softly.
"This will do."
He did not enter immediately.
Instead, he began working.
Formation flags emerged one by one from his storage ring, each placed with careful precision. He laid down three layers of formations—not overlapping, not nested, but offset, so that any probing force would misinterpret the space repeatedly.
First: Obscuring Dust Formation — to blur presence and dampen spiritual sense.
Second: False Echo Array — to project faint, misleading qi fluctuations elsewhere.
Third: Silent Boundary Seal — not defensive, but isolating, severing cause-and-effect traces.
By the time he finished, even Li Chen himself would struggle to locate the basin from the outside.
Only then did he enter the ruined structure.
Inside was cold and dry. Broken stone littered the floor, and a narrow crack in the wall allowed dim light to filter in. No beasts. No lingering will. No inheritance.
Li Chen nodded once.
"Safe enough."
He sat down cross-legged, back to the wall, and did something rare.
He relaxed.
Not completely—but enough.
He checked his condition carefully. His qi had stabilized at peak Qi Condensation, dense and controlled, yet deliberately restrained. His meridians were calm. His sword intent remained sealed deep within him, like a blade locked in its sheath.
Good.
Too good.
Li Chen frowned.
If I stay like this for two months, someone will notice.
Cultivation, in a secret realm, was always a gamble. Break through too quickly and draw attention. Advance too slowly and waste opportunity.
He needed balance.
He reached into his storage ring and retrieved a simple jade slip—the one he had avoided using since entering the realm.
A Basic Qi Refinement Scripture.
Outdated. Inefficient. Almost laughable compared to the techniques he truly possessed.
Li Chen smiled faintly.
"Let's be ordinary."
He adjusted his posture, slowed his breathing, and began cultivating—not with ambition, not with hunger, but with restraint. His qi circulated gently, smoothing imperfections rather than expanding forcefully.
Time passed strangely.
In the Realm of Hidden Origins, there was no sun or moon—only subtle shifts in pressure and color to mark cycles. Li Chen remained still through several of them, cultivating quietly, letting his presence fade into the background of the world.
Occasionally, danger brushed past.
Once, a ripple of killing intent swept over the basin—distant, searching—before passing by without pause. Another time, the ground trembled as something massive moved far beneath the surface, its presence barely perceptible.
Li Chen did not react.
He trusted his preparations.
On the fourth cycle, he paused cultivation and opened his eyes.
"…Too stable," he muttered.
Stability invited stagnation.
He stood and made a small adjustment to the formation—introducing a minor flaw. Just enough to allow ambient qi fluctuations to seep in irregularly, forcing his body to adapt continuously.
Pain flickered through his meridians.
Li Chen nodded approvingly.
"Good."
He resumed cultivation.
This time, he layered body tempering atop qi circulation—slow, controlled micro-stress that refined flesh and bones without visible breakthrough. No surges. No phenomena. Just quiet improvement.
Days passed.
Li Chen ate sparingly, drank condensed mist-water he refined himself, and slept in short intervals. Every so often, he halted cultivation entirely, listening to the realm—learning its rhythm, its habits, its blind spots.
He was not growing stronger loudly.
He was becoming harder to kill.
At the end of the seventh cycle, Li Chen opened his eyes again.
A faint smile crossed his face.
"This place really doesn't care about me," he said softly.
Exactly as planned.
He leaned back against the stone wall, allowing himself a rare moment of satisfaction.
In a realm filled with geniuses, monsters, and destined heirs, Li Chen had found something far rarer than a treasure or inheritance—
A place where the world looked away.
And for a man who feared death more than anything else…
That was the greatest fortune of all.