Night draped Beijing in a restless glow.
Neon lights washed over wet asphalt, traffic flowing endlessly like blood through arteries.
To ordinary people, it was just another busy evening. To Fang Ze, however, the city felt… uneasy. Beneath the familiar hum of engines and conversations, something else stirred—thin, distorted threads of Qi leaking through cracks in the urban order.
He stood on the balcony of his family's apartment, hands resting casually on the railing. His breathing followed a steady rhythm, slow and deep, as the Qi Gathering Seventh Layer circulated smoothly through his meridians. Compared to his earlier cultivation, the difference was subtle but profound—his senses were sharper, his control far more refined. The city no longer felt flat. It had depth.
Behind him, the apartment buzzed with warmth.
"Ge, you're spacing out again."
Fang Xiaoyu's voice broke his thoughts. She leaned against the balcony door, schoolbag slung loosely over one shoulder. Since the incident a few days ago, she stuck closer to him without realizing it.
Fang Ze turned, a faint smile forming. "Just enjoying the night."
Fang Yuhan emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands. "Dad says dinner's almost ready. Don't disappear again."
"I won't," Fang Ze replied easily.
Yet even as he stepped back inside, his attention remained outside—locked onto a faint disturbance several blocks away.
Someone was circulating Qi improperly.
Later that night, after the household settled into quiet, Fang Ze slipped out. He moved through backstreets and overpasses with unhurried steps, his presence blending seamlessly into the city. At an abandoned parking structure near the Third Ring Road, he stopped.
Below, three figures stood in a loose triangle.
One was a middle-aged man in a cheap jacket, breath ragged as he forced Qi through his body. The backlash was visible—veins bulging, aura unstable. The other two lingered nearby, clearly acting as lookouts.
"Still forcing it?" Fang Ze said calmly.
All three jolted.
The man spun around, eyes widening. "Who—!"
Before he could finish, Fang Ze's gaze sharpened. The pressure alone made the man's knees buckle.
"You're damaging your foundation," Fang Ze continued evenly. "This kind of cultivation method will kill you in five years. Maybe less."
The lookouts panicked and fled instantly.
The man swallowed hard. "You're… a cultivator?"
Fang Ze neither confirmed nor denied it. "There are people in this city selling you broken methods. If you keep listening to them, you'll die."
Fear flickered—followed by desperation. "Then what should I do?"
"Stop," Fang Ze replied. "Or find someone who actually understands cultivation."
He turned and walked away, leaving the man slumped on the concrete, shaking.
From the shadows above, a pair of eyes watched silently.
A young woman leaned against a railing, her expression unreadable. He Yun had followed the disturbance on instinct—and witnessed everything. Fang Ze hadn't raised a hand. He hadn't shown off. Yet the outcome was absolute.
"So that's his level…" she murmured.
Elsewhere in the city, inside a private club glowing with soft gold lights, Yan Heitu received a report. His fingers tightened around his glass.
"Another incident near Third Ring Road?" he asked coldly.
"Yes. Same boy."
Yan Heitu smiled thinly. "Good. Let him keep moving. The louder he gets… the harder the fall."
Back at home, Fang Ze sat cross-legged in his room, Eclipse Veil resting quietly nearby. He adjusted his breathing, drawing the city's scattered Qi into a stable circulation.
The Golden Era was no longer just awakening.
It was seeping into the streets, into desperate people, greedy factions, and reckless ambitions.
And Fang Ze knew—
Soon, observing wouldn't be enough.