In the 372nd year of the Aura Depletion Era, Earth was unrecognizable.
A century prior, the last traces of spiritual energy had vanished, snuffing out traditional cultivation. Talisman papers, spirit artifacts, and formation arrays—once the path to immortality—now lay forgotten. Humanity had forged a new path: Tech-Cultivation, where quantum computing power replaced spiritual energy, and biological Dao Cores were implanted to rewrite the laws of nature.
The world split into two extremes. The Celestial Domain boasted gleaming skyscrapers, where elites wielded Golden-Rank Cores and controlled vast computing resources. The Mortal Domain, by contrast, was a lawless wasteland of scrapyards, broken signal towers, and abandoned factories. Here, the weak fought over every scrap, their lives defined by the meager power of their low-grade cores.
At the heart of the Mortal Domain lay the Chip Graveyard—a mile-long junkyard piled high with discarded Dao Cores, fried circuit boards, and dead server racks. It was here that Lu Zhechuan toiled.
He crouched amid rusted server racks, calloused fingers gripping a worn screwdriver, prying apart a charred motherboard. His left arm, half-bared, revealed a Black-Iron Dao Core—a cracked, dull-grey implant pulsing weakly. It kept him at the initial stage of Core Implantation Realm, barely qualified to scavenge in the graveyard.
Orphaned at ten, Lu Zhechuan survived by repairing broken cores and trading components for rations. His only possession was a small, cold-forged metal plate etched with unrecognizable golden patterns. At its base, his parents' final words were carved: "Stay away from the Heavenly Dao Corporation. Protect the Core."
His parents had died in a mysterious accident at a Heavenly Dao data center—the corporation that monopolized high-grade cores and controlled the world's computing power. To the Mortal Domain's inhabitants, the Heavenly Dao Corporation was a god; to touch its property was to sign a death warrant. Lu Zhechuan had resolved to live quietly, to avoid attention, and to uncover the truth one day.
That resolve shattered when the Blackstone Gang arrived.
"Lu Zhechuan! Hand over this month's computing tax!"
A harsh voice cut through the wind. Three figures emerged from behind satellite dishes. The leader, a tall youth with a sneering face, had a Bronze-Rank Dao Core glowing on his arm—mid-stage Core Implantation, enough to terrorize the graveyard. Behind him, two smaller boys wielded rusted energy blades.
The Blackstone Gang extorted "taxes" from low-level cultivators. Power was their only law.
Lu Zhechuan's fingers tightened around the screwdriver. He did not look up. "I have no surplus power. This month's harvest was minimal."
His Black-Iron Core barely sustained his life, let alone produced tax.
"Bullshit!" the leader snarled, kicking a pile of scrap chips. His gaze locked onto a small, black object half-buried in the dust at Lu Zhechuan's feet—a chip he'd found ten minutes earlier, unremarkable: matte black, smooth, no engravings, no energy signature. He'd picked it up on a whim, thinking it might hold usable wiring.
To the gang leader, it was treasure.
"That thing! Give it to me!" he roared, lunging forward. His fingers, coated in Bronze Core energy, slammed into Lu Zhechuan's palm. A sharp nail sliced through his skin, and a single drop of blood welled up, falling onto the black chip.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
The blood sat on the chip's surface, dark and still, like ink in water. Lu Zhechuan flinched, pulling his hand back to wipe the blood on his pants, and reached for the chip—intent on ending the confrontation quickly.
That's when the chip breathed.
A micro-vibration rippled across its surface, invisible to the eye but felt deeply by Lu Zhechuan. His Black-Iron Dao Core twitched beneath his skin, a faint spasm that sent a jolt of strange energy through his body—not chaotic, but precise, as if two puzzle pieces had clicked into place.
The blood was gone.
It didn't evaporate or stain. It was simply absorbed, sinking into the black surface as if the chip had a mouth.
Lu Zhechuan's brow furrowed. He stared, his breath slowing. Years of repairing hardware had honed his awareness: the air around the chip had grown colder, dust particles settling slightly, drawn by an invisible force.
Next, a thread of energy seeped from the chip—pale, translucent, and utterly unlike anything he'd felt. It crawled up his wrist, following his veins, and wrapped around his Black-Iron Core like a gentle hand.
Lu Zhechuan's eyes widened.
This energy wasn't the rough power of Black-Iron or the steady warmth of Bronze. It was clean, pure, and ancient—like the first light of a new universe, the raw code that birthed the world. When it touched his damaged core, miracles happened.
Cracks on the Black-Iron Core's surface began to heal. Dead code, dormant for years, stirred to life, flickering blue beneath his skin. His Core Implantation Realm energy surged—from a faint spark to a bright, steady flame.
A soft, clear voice echoed in his mind, not as a shout, but as quiet communication, as if the chip spoke directly to his soul.
…Compatible energy flow detected.
…Host bloodline analysis complete. Match: 99.97%.
…Primeval Origin Dao Core — Incomplete State. Binding initiated.
Lu Zhechuan's heart skipped a beat.
Primeval Origin Dao Core.
The words flooded his consciousness with intuitive knowledge—not text, but understanding. This wasn't scrap. It was a Dao Core forged by a civilization far older and more advanced than modern Tech-Cultivation. It was the "Core" his parents died to protect.
Unaware, the gang leader grew impatient. He raised his fist, crackling with Bronze Core power, and aimed a brutal Energy Fist at Lu Zhechuan's chest.
"Give me the chip, or I'll crush you!"
The fist streaked toward him, fast and heavy, whistling with power. A direct hit would break his ribs—maybe kill him.
Lu Zhechuit did not flinch.
His body moved on its own. His right hand closed around the black chip, and his consciousness whispered a single command to the Primeval Origin Dao Core: Analyze.
The chip's energy surged—not an explosion, but a quiet, controlled wave. It flowed through Lu Zhechuan's body, amplifying his restored core power, and locked onto the incoming Energy Fist. He "saw" its structure: energy flow, code patterns, weak points—like a blueprint, clear and precise.
The Energy Fist stalled.
For a split second, it hung in the air, caught in an invisible web. Then its code unraveled, twisting, reversing, rebelling.
…Energy Fist code disruption: Critical error.
…Energy backlash initiated.
The gang leader's eyes went wide. He tried to pull his fist back, but it was too late. The energy he'd poured surged backward, slamming into his own Bronze Core with bone-shaking force.
"Agh—!"
A scream tore from his throat. His Bronze Core flickered, then died. His arm went limp, energy draining away in an instant, leaving him trembling on the ground, face drained of color.
"My Core… my power…" he whimpered, staring at his arm in horror.
The two henchmen froze, terror in their eyes. They looked at Lu Zhechuan, then the black chip, and saw something they couldn't comprehend—a power defying the Mortal Domain's laws.
Lu Zhechuan stood, grip tightening on the chip. He could feel the Core resonating within him, a steady hum matching his heartbeat. His Black-Iron Core, now fully restored, pulsed with enough power to push him to the peak of Core Implantation Realm—and beyond.
He looked down at the terrified gang leader, voice calm, cold, unyielding.
"Leave. And do not return."
No threat, no grand power display. Yet it was enough. The men scrambled to their feet, tripping over each other, and fled into the scrap metal maze.
Silence fell over the Chip Graveyard.
Lu Zhechuan sat on a rusted crate, fingers brushing the black chip. Its matte surface now glinted with faint golden lines, patterns mirroring the metal plate from his parents. The Core's energy was warm against his palm, a quiet promise.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the power surging within. The Primeval Origin Dao Core's functions were clear: analyze, reconstruct, devour. It could take any modern core—Black-Iron, Bronze, Silver, Gold—and rewrite its code, optimizing power, breaking limits. It was a weapon, a tool, and a legacy.
His parents' words echoed: Protect the Core.
They hadn't told him to hide. They'd told him to protect it, so he could uncover the truth.
Lu Zhechuan opened his eyes, gaze sharp and determined. The setting sun painted the sky orange and grey, casting long shadows over the scrapyard. His old communicator buzzed to life on his wrist.
A message from the Blackstone Gang leader, venomous: "You think you're tough? Wait until dark. I'll bring the whole gang. We'll take your chips, your hand, everything."
Lu Zhechuan stared, then smiled—a cold, sharp smile he hadn't worn in years.
He'd hidden in the shadows long enough.
He stood, brushing dust from his clothes. The Primeval Origin Dao Core glowed faintly, a silent beacon in the dying light. His Core Implantation Realm power surged, and he took a step toward the Blackstone Gang's camp—a ramshackle collection of shacks hidden in the graveyard's depths.
This wasn't a fight he sought. But it was a fight he would win.
The Blackstone Gang was just the first step.
The Heavenly Dao Corporation, the shadow that killed his parents and hoarded the world's power, would be next.
And the truth behind the Primeval Origin Dao Core, the ancient cultivation civilization's fall, and Tech-Cultivation's true nature—all of it, he would uncover.
Above the wasteland, the broken core whispered.
Lu Zhechuan's journey, his rise, his destiny as the Primeval Origin Dao Core bearer—had only just begun.