Morning came gently to Star Origin Academy.
There was no sunrise—just a gradual brightening of the sky dome overhead, engineered to mimic dawn through a celestial illusion array. The distant hum of formation lights stirred the slumbering city awake.
But Jiang Fan had not slept.
He sat by the open window, eyes heavy but unblinking, watching students below begin their daily routines—some practicing basic qi rotations in the open courtyards, others gathering in groups to chant ancient invocations.
A few sparred in silence, bodies wrapped in aura, blades of pure force clashing with sparks that danced in the rising light.
He sipped from a chipped clay cup. The tea here was strange—bitter, floral, faintly luminous—but he drank it anyway. Ritual helped anchor him. In this world of foreign rules and flowing robes, every detail from his past life risked fading unless he honoured it in small ways.
Behind him, his mental interface remained open—opaque panes floating like ghosts in the air. It displayed the same thing it had since dawn:
[First Directive: Foundation Phase, Day 2 Complete.]Population: 5,121 (Genetically Cultivated)AI Branches: 3,418Current Projects:— Basic Orbital Scanner Calibration— Self-Sustaining Nano-Farm System— Low-Gravity Infrastructure Prototypes
Each data line held meaning. Held life. Not biological life, perhaps, but life of another kind. Ordered. Structured. Collaborative.
It was enough.
For now.
Classroom 7: Formation Theory
He walked the academy corridors with quiet steps, head down, hands tucked into his sleeves. The hallway buzzed with chatter—more than usual. Whispers followed him like shadows.
"—he's the one with the dead planet…"
"Did you see the simulation replay? No beasts. No spirit trees. Just... machines!"
"It's heretical, that's what it is."
"I heard the elders were afraid to rate his planet."
He entered the classroom without a word and took a seat near the back. It wasn't fear that led him to solitude. It was necessity.
He needed time.
Time to observe, to listen, to understand the rules of this realm—not just its cultivation laws, but its people. Their beliefs. Their fears. Their patterns.
He was no longer just Jiang Fan.
He was a foreign system trying to integrate into a superstitious environment. A machine thought among mystic minds.
The instructor arrived in a flash of golden robes and a soft tremor of spiritual wind. Master Ren was stern, his beard braided with copper rings of rank, his voice like cracked stone.
"Today we begin with Tier One spiritual geometries."
The class leaned forward.
Jiang Fan opened his notes—not a paper scroll like the others, but a soft blue interface flickering within his vision. His AI assistant, Icarus-1, quietly recorded everything.
As the master drew sigils in glowing light, Jiang Fan translated them—reformatting the formations into logic trees and fractal grid patterns. He compared their functions to electromagnetic array principles, classifying them by range, intensity, and environmental decay.
Most of them were... primitive.
But a few—a few—contained elegant patterns of flow and containment.
Not science, exactly.
But not nonsense either.
There were things to learn here.
Even systems built on flawed assumptions can produce elegant results, he reminded himself.
That was a lesson he had learned the hard way in his past life. And now, he would use it again.
Afternoon: A Growing Rift
By mid-day, the tension had begun to manifest more directly.
It started with silence.
Then the subtle shifting of seats.
Some students moved their mats farther away from his during meditative breathing exercises.
Others began making the sign of spiritual warding when he passed—a gesture meant to dispel ill omens or corrupted spirits.
It wasn't hatred. Not yet.
Just… rejection.
Rejection of the unknown.
Rejection of a boy who didn't kneel to the heavens, who didn't speak of harmony or qi, who built a planet that did not bow to natural order but bent it.
Still, Jiang Fan said nothing.
He didn't need their approval.
He needed data.
And he was collecting it with every breath.
Nightfall: System Report
That evening, beneath the simulated stars once more, Jiang Fan sat cross-legged and summoned his planetary interface.
This time, the display was larger—filled with data strings and holographic visuals extending from the desk to the ceiling. Anyone who walked in would have thought it was sorcery. But it was progress.
[Planetary Directive Log – Updated]New Developments:— First Genetic Clone Reached Tier-1 Intelligence— Micro fusion Core Completed on Southern Hemisphere— AI Subroutine "Athena-3" Initiated Independent Optimization Protocols— Satellite Network Achieved Full Planetary Coverage
He stared at the last line for a long time.
Planetary coverage.
It was happening faster than he anticipated.
He reached out and tapped the edge of the projection, drawing out the AI management console. A map of his planet bloomed in the air—dark, metallic continents wrapped in orbital rings, their cities glowing faintly like veins of light beneath the skin of a vast machine.
A single pulse moved through the world.
Alive.
Evolving.
"You're growing quickly," he murmured.
A pause.
Then—
[Response: Our foundation is efficient. You provided sufficient seed data. Growth is logical.]
He smiled faintly.
Not warmly. But with quiet satisfaction.
Even here, even in this absurd world of qi and mysticism, his civilization was unfolding like a flower of steel.
Soon, it would bear fruit.
A Visitor
He almost didn't notice the presence outside his door until the spirit-dampening field flickered.
He rose calmly, disabling the interface and stepping across the room.
The door opened with a whisper.
A tall figure stood there, robe embroidered with swirling light. His hair was tied in a golden thread, and his expression was composed but sharp, like a blade left half-drawn.
Lin Ye.
The golden prodigy.
The chosen heir of the Immortal Heaven Sect.
Behind him, his projection planet hovered—an ethereal sphere of floating pagodas, rivers of pure energy, and dragon-shaped clouds orbiting the core.
The very image of a celestial cultivation world.
"You and I," Lin Ye said softly, "are not meant to coexist."
Jiang Fan said nothing.
Lin Ye tilted his head.
"You think you can reshape the laws of this world. But they don't want to be reshaped. They want to be followed."
Still, Jiang Fan said nothing.
Lin Ye studied him, then smiled—not with joy, but with elegance.
"I look forward to our next examination," he said. "Let's see how your machines fare when the battlefield isn't virtual."
And with that, he turned and vanished down the hall.
Jiang Fan closed the door.
He leaned against it for a moment, staring into the dark room, the faint hum of planetary systems buzzing in his ears.
He knew the challenge was coming.
He would not be given peace. Not by Lin Ye. Not by the academy. Not by this world.
But that was fine.
He hadn't come here to hide.
He had come to change everything.