Chapter 1: Stardust and Failure

Who am I?

I started drawing in energy when I was eight, standing in the dust behind the old family barn, summer heat sticking to my skin, the air buzzing with the promise of something bigger. Folks in Maple Heights still tell the story of that night—the sky turning violet, neighbors gawking from their porches, my mama fainting in the kitchen. I just grinned, mud-caked and wild, already feeling the world calling me up the mountain.

At eighteen, I laid the groundwork. By forty-eight, I hit Violet Peak. At one hundred and twenty, I formed my Golden Core, snagging a thousand-year lifespan. Within a hundred years, I shattered that core and broke through to Soul Manifestation—the kind of breakthrough folks would whisper about for generations.

He remembered the first time he’d stared at the stars over the barn roof, thinking he’d conquer the world. Now, the stars felt a million miles away.

Who am I? I’m the most gifted genius Maple Heights ever saw. At three hundred eighty-eight, I hit Spirit Transformation and entered the Silver Hollow Great Realm. Out-of-Body, Spirit Division, Unity, Crossing Tribulation, Great Ascension—I never lagged behind. Seven thousand years and I’d ascended, stepping into the Immortal Realm, free as the wind, nothing left to hold me back.

There were times when folks would drive out from the city, dust trailing behind their cars, just hoping to catch a glimpse of me practicing behind the old church. But the attention never meant much. It was always about chasing the next horizon, dreaming of things no one else had dared name yet. I’d sit on the barn roof at night, watching for shooting stars, plotting my own escape.

In my life, I’ve crossed paths with countless prodigies. To me, they were barely worth a glance.

I wandered the Immortal Realm for five thousand years, thinking my luck and strength would see me through. But I was wrong. Out here, if you didn’t give up your freedom and join a clan or family, you couldn’t even get your hands on a cultivation manual. What I prided myself on was a joke to the natives. The Immortal Realm I’d fought so hard to reach was just the starting line for the true locals.

It’s like showing up for your first day at MIT thinking you’re hot stuff, only to find out every kid in your dorm has a Nobel laureate for a parent and a quantum computer in the closet. My old hustle didn’t cut it. Out here, if you didn’t sign up with the big families—like the Langleys or the Montoyas—you didn’t even get a textbook, let alone a shot at the big leagues.

I was bitter. My fate is my own, not Heaven’s.

With anger burning inside, I charged into my first lightning tribulation. Becoming immortal doesn’t mean you can’t die; you have to face a tribulation every five thousand years.

That night, I fell from ten thousand feet into a valley, raising a cloud of dust, but the world didn’t even blink.

Lying on the ground, I survived, but it felt like I’d already died. I knew I wouldn’t survive the next lightning strike. I was exhausted. I just wanted to sleep. Maybe, after sleeping, everything would change.

Who am I? Heh. Just a complete and utter failure.

Even immortals get washed up. I was so tired, I almost laughed at myself lying there under the stars, feeling the world go on as if nothing happened. In Maple Heights, a storm would bring folks running with casseroles and blankets. Here? Not a soul noticed. It was a long, hard loneliness. Sometimes the worst punishment is just being forgotten.

But even as I closed my eyes, ready to let go, something deep inside refused to quit. Maybe I wasn’t done yet.