In ancient times, there was a cocoon of light hanging in the sky, which the world called the Mother Spiritual Hub.
It swallows all the sluggishness and depression of practice in the world, turns its power into the drizzle on a spring night, makes awakening as easy as breathing, and makes breakthroughs as common as drinking water. Thousands of monks basked in the blessings, thinking that heaven and earth should be so generous.
Until the cocoon of light shatters and nothingness overflows.
The weight compensated by tenderness falls back on the shoulders of mountains, rivers and sentient beings. Cultivation is no longer a smooth road, and awakening is no longer a gift. Every step forward must be based on flesh and blood, guided by mind, and identify one's own echoes alone in the stagnation.
The young Pei Zheng was born in this era of heavy returns.
He has never seen the warmth of the light cocoon, but he has been burdened with some unspeakable cracks since childhood. When the spirit of all things presses on the soul with real weight, and when the boundary between "help" and "carrying" blurs into sorrow on the Supreme Being, he finally understands: some roads cannot be walked for others, and some weights cannot be carried for others.
From then on, he no longer borrowed the light of others, and no longer sought a painless state.
Only in the eternal stagnation, step by step through the siltation and fog, to hear the real sound that has been forgotten for too long.
This is not a story about "getting stronger".
This is a story about "how to become your own light in a world where you don't borrow light."
When whispers are heard from the depths of the abyss, when bones grow out of the cracks, the so-called master is just the footsteps of a person who would rather bear the truth than be compensated for it, and regain his footing in the stagnant world.
