There was a reason the Qingyuan Minor Immortal Realm strictly controlled cultivation.
The realm's spiritual energy was growing thinner by the year. Strip cultivation down to its essence, and it was nothing more than absorbing the world's spiritual energy for oneself—storing it within the body until one's entire being underwent transcendence, shedding mortality and becoming immortal.
In this world where Dao techniques manifested openly, the cultivation methods had long since been perfected. Deviations and qi backlash were nearly unheard of. Follow the system step by step, and immortality came as naturally as water flowing downhill. Even heavenly tribulations were rare.
In the end, cultivation required resources.
And resources were precisely what Qingyuan lacked the most.
From Teacher Kong, Mo Xuan had learned that more than ten thousand years ago, Qingyuan had once been only a remote corner of a far greater Immortal Realm. After developing for hundreds of thousands of years, that greater realm had finally reached the required magnitude to ascend to a higher spacetime tier.
But something had gone wrong during ascension.
Stuck between levels, the greater realm made a ruthless decision. It drained most of the energy from several peripheral regions—using them as disposable "booster shells"—and cast them off to lighten the load and accelerate upward.
Qingyuan was one of those discarded fragments.
It failed to ascend—and instead plummeted downward into a lower-tier spacetime: the Endless Void.
A barren wasteland.
One word described it perfectly: poor.
Ascension and descent were not literal up and down, but shifts in cosmic magnitude. The higher the tier, the richer the energy, the easier cultivation became, and the stronger immortals grew. The lower the tier, the harsher the scarcity.
Naturally, every minor realm yearned to rise.
Just as humans require food, a realm required energy to sustain itself.
Earth functioned as a closed ecosystem, self-sufficient. A minor immortal realm could not—because it contained immortals.
Immortals absorbed enormous amounts of energy and stored it within themselves. Energy flowed inward, rarely outward. From the perspective of the realm's balance, immortals were almost like parasites.
To restore Qingyuan's lost status and climb back to a higher tier, its total magnitude had to increase. Thus, the Three Dao Lords imposed strict cultivation quotas. Yet immortals were indispensable—as both defenders and laborers.
So the Dao Lords dispatched immortals into the Void.
They harvested asteroids. Retrieved drifting land fragments. Collected anything that still contained energy. Those resources were brought back and refined by the realm. With sufficient replenishment, new islands formed. Continents expanded. The realm slowly stabilized and grew.
The title was painfully accurate:
Void Scavengers.
Immortals reduced to cosmic junk collectors.
Fortunately, Qingyuan was still in its prime phase. Its digestion capacity remained strong. There was still hope.
After more than two hundred generations of effort, the realm finally stopped falling. After three hundred more, it began to rise—slowly.
But ten thousand years of harvesting had stripped the nearby Void nearly clean. To gather more, immortals had to travel farther and farther, for less and less return.
As the realm's ascent slowed, cultivation quotas shrank—from one thousand per commandery in the past to only three today.
If energy intake dropped further, cultivation might be forbidden entirely.
Meanwhile, the Void itself was dangerous. Many immortals sent to scavenge never returned.
The future of Qingyuan was increasingly uncertain.
Mo Xuan sometimes fantasized:
Meditate twelve hours a day. Break through realms like launching rockets. Hunt monsters for experience. Swallow spirit pills to accelerate progress. Become immortal in under ten years.
That existed only in his dreams.
To prevent energy deficits, immortals above a certain level were forbidden from cultivating inside the realm. At the Grand Academy, meditation was strictly limited to half an hour per day.
Exceed it once—punishment.Twice—heavier punishment.A third time—execution.
Monster hunting? Yes, the Void had beasts. Usually, though, it was the immortal who got eaten.
Spirit pills? Certainly. The Academy's Exchange Hall offered treasures for merit points.
The problem was simple.
Mo Xuan was poor.
Cultivation was harder than climbing the heavens.
He endured two hundred years of bitter training before finally advancing to Half-Immortal status—without an Immortal Garden. At his current earnings, he estimated five hundred years of work to repay his Academy debt.
How to work?
Void scavenging.
Don't underestimate it. Countless immortals coveted the position. Only immortals qualified. If one struck a rich asteroid vein, it could equal a century of labor.
Even as scavengers, immortals were elite workers.
Without an Immortal Garden, one couldn't enter deep Void space. Fortunately, the Academy rented Void transport vessels—half-formed micro-domains. The terms were simple:
60% of harvest taken as operational fee
30% automatically deducted toward debt
10% left for personal use
Ships were limited. Waiting lists lasted years.
Mo Xuan had two words for it: suffering.
Fortunately, Teacher Kong privately owned a vessel and was recovering from energy depletion after a previous expedition. He lent it to Mo Xuan.
Mo Xuan folded a letter home into a paper crane, breathed immortal qi into it, and sent it flying.
Watching it disappear, he set off with joy.
"Void scavenger" sounded crude. He preferred another title:
Interstellar Miner.
After drifting for half a year with no gain, he risked an ultra-long-range jump.
Bad luck.
And incredible luck.
An asteroid belt.
His heart was still racing from nearly dying when his eyes locked onto the drifting field like a starving beggar spotting roasted chicken.
Cultivation here was simple.
No monastic austerity. No fasting.
Just resources.
Even a parrot, legend said, had once been raised into immortality by the Dao Lords' teacher.
Compared to Qingyuan's poverty, that tale sounded absurd.
Mo Xuan wiped drool from his mouth.
Half a year without a single scrap—and now this treasure field.
He activated the vessel's scanning arrays.
Results appeared.
32,475 asteroids.
Estimated distribution:
15% A-grade
Over 25% B-grade
51% C-grade
Less than 6% D-grade or waste
A super-rich vein.
His mental calculations clicked rapidly.
Harvest half—debt repaid.
Harvest the rest—resources enough to build an Immortal Garden.
"Survive disaster, and fortune follows," he muttered.
He began work.
Mining wasn't simple towing. It required cutting, refining, separating impurities, classification.
The vessel's eighteen whip-like appendages extended.
Five secured a thirty-meter asteroid.Three activated flame-blade Dao techniques to slice its crust.Five emitted vibration waves to shatter layers.Five polished and cleared debris.
After full processing, the massive rock shrank—revealing a dark metallic core gleaming within.
First rule of Void navigation:
Never leave cosmic waste behind.
Mo Xuan pulverized the discarded crust into fine dust. Larger fragments were stored for later processing.
Every movement was precise.
Every strike was survival.
Cultivation was hard.
But for the first time in two hundred years—
Hope felt tangible.