Lián Xù braced himself when the System Store opened.
He expected spectacle—rows upon rows of dazzling options, exotic names etched in gold, descriptions that screamed chosen one. At the very least, a list. Choices. Hope.
Instead, the screen remained bare.
A single line of text floated before him, stark and unadorned.
[Spiritual Roots cannot be freely displayed.]
[Available options are restricted by the host's body constitution and latent potential.]
"…That's it?" Lián Xù stared at the emptiness, then scoffed. "You're telling me a heaven defying system with a limitless item shop doesn't even let me browse?"
[Browsing incompatible Spiritual Roots is meaningless.]
[Forceful acquisition will result in rejection, collapse, or permanent stagnation.]
The words were calm. Clinical. Uncaring.
Lián Xù exhaled slowly and leaned back against the table, fingers tapping the wood. "So you're saying… if I buy the wrong one, best case scenario, nothing happens. Worst case?"
[Worst case: irreversible damage. You become a true wastrel.]
"…Right." Lián Xù let out a slow breath, rubbing his temple. A crooked smile tugged at his lips—half disbelief, half grudging admiration.
"For a prototype," he said dryly, lifting his gaze toward the invisible presence, "you're disturbingly efficient… and way too transparent about it."
Silence followed, thick and deliberate. The kind that nudged a person toward logic whether they liked it or not.
After a long moment, Lián Xù straightened. "Fine. Then what can we do?"
[The system may perform a full constitutional scan.]
[This will determine the optimal—and only—compatible Spiritual Root.]
He hesitated.
Letting something peer that deeply into him felt unsettling. Like standing naked beneath Heaven's gaze. But then he laughed softly, shaking his head.
"As if I have anything left to lose," he muttered. "Do it."
[Scanning initiated.]
The air in the chamber shifted.
Lián Xù felt it first as pressure—gentle, pervasive, as though invisible fingers were brushing through his flesh, his bones, his very breath. Not invasive. More like… searching. Peeling back layers he didn't even know existed.
Time stretched.
Minutes passed. Or maybe only seconds. He couldn't tell.
Then—
[Scan complete.]
The pressure vanished. The chamber felt suddenly small.
[Host constitution identified: Origin Body.]
[Classification: Unique]
Lián Xù blinked. Once. Twice.
"…Origin Body?" He repeated the words slowly, tasting them. "That sounds… important. I think."
[It is.]
His pulse quickened. "Define how important."
The System did not rush this time.
[The Origin Body is the most primitive and fundamental body constitution.]
[It manifests once in approximately one out of a quadrillion births.]
Lián Xù froze.
"…A quadrillion," he echoed faintly. "You're joking."
[I do not joke.]
A strange chill crawled up his spine.
"If it's that rare," he said carefully, "then why have I been—"
[—unable to cultivate.]
The System finished the thought for him, mercilessly precise.
[The Origin Body cannot be activated by conventional Spiritual Roots.]
[Attempting to do so results in complete rejection.]
[To the cultivation world, such an individual appears talentless. Mortal.]
Lián Xù let out a hollow laugh. "So all this time…"
[You were never lacking talent.]
[You were incompatible with the world's standards.]
The words landed harder than any insult he had ever endured.
He swallowed. "Then what can activate it?"
[Only Origin Spiritual Roots.]
The screen shifted.
Three names appeared, each one carrying a weight that made his breath hitch.
The System began, its voice unchanged even as it described things that sounded like myths.
The moment the first name stabilized, the space before Lián Xù shifted.
Light bled outward from the System interface, thin at first—then widening, unfolding into a vast, impossible firmament. The chamber ceiling dissolved, replaced by an endless canopy of stars. Constellations rotated in silent procession, their paths precise, immutable.
A distant pulse echoed—slow, steady—like the breathing of Heaven itself.
Above him, a miniature sun ignited.
Its radiance was neither harsh nor blinding. Instead, it felt right. Balanced. Perfectly measured. Streams of silver moonlight and golden starlight descended together, intertwining without conflict, flowing into an unseen center as if drawn by inevitability rather than force.
Lián Xù felt his chest tighten.
The light did not rush. It moved with rhythm—an ancient cadence that made his bones hum faintly in response. Each fluctuation aligned with something deeper, something older than technique manuals or cultivation realms.
Images flashed.
A sword stroke—but before the blade moved, he understood why it would.
A formation array—its complexity unraveling itself at a glance.
A law unfolding not as words, but as memory—familiar, intimate, undeniable.
He hadn't learned any of it.
He had recognized it.
The stars slowly contracted, spiraling inward, collapsing into a single point of brilliance before the vision faded.
The chamber returned.
The System's voice followed, cool and absolute.
[Tiān Yuán Líng Gēn— Heavenly Origin Spiritual Root, resonates with the perfected laws of Heaven.]
[Its bearer cultivates in harmony with celestial order.]
Lián Xù exhaled, unaware he had been holding his breath.
"…So that's what it means," he murmured.
He lifted his gaze, eyes reflecting lingering starlight.
Lián Xù's lips parted slightly. "…So basically, Heaven's favorite."
[Correct.]
The next line pulsed faintly.
Before Lián Xù could steady himself, the stars vanished.
Not faded.
Erased.
Light, darkness—both collapsed inward, folding into a single point of colorless existence. The world held its breath.
Then—
Mist.
Not white. Not gray.
Something unfinished.
It seeped outward, filling the chamber like a living memory of nothingness. There was no sky, no ground—only an endless, formless expanse where distinctions had yet to be born.
Within the mist, fragments appeared.
Fire—then unmade.
Water—then dissolved.
Sword intent, demonic aura, righteous qi, baleful malice—each surfaced briefly, only to be stripped of identity and returned to featureless essence.
The process was gentle.
Relentless.
Lián Xù felt it reach for him—not invasively, but curiously, as if asking a question older than Heaven.
What are you… before you become something?
A luminous pearl formed at the center of the mist. Smooth. Perfect. Empty—and yet impossibly full. Galaxies flickered faintly within it, forming and dispersing without pattern or urgency.
Every impurity that drifted close unraveled on contact, reduced to its most fundamental state, as though corruption itself had never been permitted to exist.
Lián Xù swallowed.
His skin prickled—not with danger, but with possibility.
The mist slowly receded. The pearl dimmed.
The System spoke.
[Tàichū Líng Gēn— Primordial Origin Spiritual Root, embodies the state before differentiation.]
[All energies are equal before the Beginning.]
Lián Xù's voice came out low.
"…So this one doesn't choose a path."
He stared at where the mist had been.
"It remembers all of them. That one sounds unfair," Lián Xù murmured.
[It is.]
Then the final name surfaced.
The moment the next display activated, Lián Xù felt it.
Pressure.
The air screamed—silently.
Space itself twisted, as if the chamber had been shoved into a place it was never meant to exist. Colors inverted. Sound warped. Even the System's projection flickered for the first time.
Then chaos bloomed.
A vortex tore open midair—black and white entwined, devouring light at its edges. The rotation was slow, inexorable, like a god turning in its sleep.
Spiritual energy from the surroundings didn't flow toward it.
It was ripped apart.
Qi shattered on contact, reduced to raw, writhing entropy before being swallowed whole. A heartbeat later, the vortex spat it back out—reformed, heavier, distorted.
Different.
The space around it fractured. Lines bent. Distances lied. The very idea of stability recoiled.
Lián Xù staggered back a step.
Images flashed—domains collapsing, formations unraveling mid-activation, techniques mutating halfway through execution. No two manifestations were the same. Nothing could be predicted. Nothing could be analyzed.
Order didn't resist.
It simply ceased to apply.
The vortex pulsed.
For a terrifying instant, Lián Xù felt that if he stepped closer, even his existence might be rewritten—broken down and reborn into something unrecognizable.
Then the chaos stilled.
The chamber snapped back into place, leaving behind an echo that refused to fade.
The System's voice cut through the silence.
[Hùndùn Líng Gēn— the root of Chaos, is the source of unmaking and rebirth.]
[Where it exists, fixed laws cannot dominate.]
Lián Xù let out a shaky breath.
His eyes darkened, a spark of something dangerous igniting within.
The chamber felt quieter after that.
Lián Xù sat down slowly, his mind racing.
"So let me get this straight," he said at last. "All my life, people thought I was useless. Untalented. All this was a misunderstanding. A misjudgment?"
[Yes.]
"And the truth is… my body was too fundamental for their methods to even register."
[Also correct.]
A breath escaped him—half laugh, half disbelief.
"No wonder no detector ever found anything."
[The Origin Body is nearly impossible to trace.]
[Only those with Heavenly Eyes or cultivation at the Supreme Emperor realm or above may perceive it.]
Lián Xù leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"So that's it," he whispered. "I wasn't really a failure."
A slow smile tugged at his lips—quiet, dangerous, alive.