Chapter Eight: The Last Remnant of Cultivation

Although he now understood that he was indeed cultivating, and knew he could continue this practice even while awake in the future, he still did not know what benefits such cultivation might bring him. He wondered if perhaps he could develop the inner strength of martial heroes or even the legendary magical powers, yet his nearly thirty years of education convinced him such things were impossible. Moreover, he had never heard of anyone on Earth possessing such abilities. Nevertheless, the advantages of this practice were obvious, so he resolved that once this mission was completed and he returned, he would continue cultivating this technique—“perhaps on the return journey, when my body enters hibernation, I can continue to cultivate,” he thought.

Suddenly, he sensed a slight change in the speed of the spacecraft, as if it had encountered some resistance. Drawing on the experiences of previous unmanned craft breaking out of the solar system, he realized they had reached the solar system’s edge, where the sun’s gravity was binding the ship into a solar orbit and altering its direction. He was not worried; as long as the ship’s velocity was sufficient, the radius of its orbit would gradually increase until, following the tangent of its path, it would eventually break free of the solar system and enter the vaster universe.

All at once, a tremendous surge of energy struck the spacecraft. This energy did not cause the ship to explode but instead damaged the electronic systems upon impact. Then, the energy descended upon Li Xingyu himself, not harming him but causing him to vanish instantly from the cabin. In that moment, he felt a massive pressure descend upon his body, followed by a violent tearing sensation, and, unable to withstand the strain, he lost consciousness.

When the energy dissipated, Li Xingyu vanished from the ship, along with his spacesuit and the items in the pouch attached to it. Everything else remained in place, undamaged, except for the ship’s electronic systems, which were destroyed by a backflow of current induced as the energy interacted with the closed metal hull. Though the spacecraft remained intact and continued onward, propelled by inertia, its ruined electronics meant it would henceforth become just another particle of cosmic dust, drifting aimlessly through space—unless shattered by other debris or captured by the gravity of some planet, it would float forever.

Back at the ground control center, the atmosphere was heavy. Two hours earlier, they had received word from Starry Sky One that it was about to break through the solar system. As per protocol, Li Xingyu was to send confirmation as soon as he succeeded. However, by now he should have already made contact, yet nothing had come through. An hour later, the control center tried to reach Li Xingyu and the ship’s automatic response system, but to no avail. All they could do was wait for news. After a full day, they had to accept that the mission had failed—Starry Sky One and Li Xingyu would never return. The commander removed his headset and left the hall with heavy steps, uncertain how to break the news to Li Xingyu’s mother and his own daughter, who had been Li Xingyu’s beloved for many years.

When Li Xingyu awoke, he opened his eyes to see a blue sky and a sun hanging overhead. He was surrounded by a wide, open expanse littered with rocks, and he lay atop them in his spacesuit. Encircling the clearing was a forest. “Where am I? Have I returned to Earth? But even if I have, I shouldn’t be in a place like this. Could the ship have crashed during landing, veering off course?” He tried to recall what had happened during the breakthrough at the edge of the solar system—he remembered falling unconscious. Was it possible ground control had remotely piloted the ship back? If so, another five years should have passed, yet he could not be sure of the time. Fortunately, the spacesuits of this era were advanced, weighing only twenty kilograms and allowing for agility. Had he been wearing the suits from the early days of spaceflight, he would never have been able to stand up after a fall.

He decided to try to get up and survey his surroundings but found himself completely unable to move. Only now did he notice the severe pain that surged when he attempted to shift. Forced to remain lying down, he waited for the pain to subside before assessing his condition: his body was in a terrible state—he could not move his limbs and guessed, from the pain, that there were fractures. Other injuries were apparent, and his skin felt sticky with what he recognized as blood seeping from beneath the surface, lending the air a faint metallic scent. He surmised he must have fallen from a great height, and the bleeding might be related to the pressure he experienced before blacking out.

What he did not know was that he was no longer on Earth but had arrived on a planet called Nastar. The mysterious energy he had encountered at the edge of the solar system was a type of restriction known to cultivators. This restriction did not harm creatures trying to break through from within but instead transported them to a predetermined location—Nastar. His injuries were the result of the immense pressure during transmission. Previously, only cultivators with formidable bodies, protective energies, or magical artifacts could survive such a transfer unharmed.

Ordinary people attempting such a transmission would at least require a cultivator’s protective talisman. Fortunately, Li Xingyu had trained his body with special methods from a young age and, for the past five years, had diligently practiced the mysterious cultivation technique, which had not only granted him a measure of true energy but also further tempered his physique. The spacesuit, too, had absorbed some of the impact. Thanks to all these factors, he managed to survive the ordeal.

Now, anxiety about his predicament began to set in. He tried to contact base via the radio in his helmet but found it useless; perhaps the communications system had been damaged in the crash. If the locator was broken as well, it would be very difficult for base to find him—at least half a month would be needed. In his condition, regaining mobility would take at least a week, but how could he survive that long without food or water?

Suddenly he remembered the cultivation technique he had been practicing. After completing a cycle, the energy that entered his body seemed to strengthen him. Perhaps, if he cultivated now, he could accelerate his recovery. He focused his will, directing the energy in his dantian to circulate according to the prescribed path. He soon noticed that wherever the energy passed, his body began to heal. This discovery delighted him. After one cycle, he felt a much stronger energy than he had ever experienced aboard the ship flow into his body from the surrounding space. This energy, once absorbed into his dantian, significantly aided both the healing of his body and the growth of his inner strength. He estimated that if he persisted, he could regain some mobility within three days. Then, he could remove his spacesuit, open the pouch, and use the supplies for food and medicine, speeding up his recovery.

Hope restored, he calmed his mind and continued his cultivation, no longer questioning the differences he felt during the process. The difference arose from the fact that on Nastar, the life energy in the heavens and earth was far more abundant than the sparse spiritual energy drifting through the solar system. Since an ancient catastrophe, only Earth, through the presence of life, had begun to accumulate any spiritual energy at all; elsewhere, none remained, which is why cultivators had ceased to appear on Earth.

Crystal is preparing to write over ten thousand words on the first day of 2013 and needs your recommendations and support—your encouragement is the greatest motivation for continual updates! Thank you all.

Zhulang Editor’s Joint Recommendation: The grand collection of Zhulang's popular novels is now online. Click to add to your favorites!