The lotus of mirrors shattered.
Yi Zhen stood alone, trembling. The fragments hovered in the air—each petal a shard of his past lives. In them, he saw every face he had worn. Tyrant. Saint. Sinner. Savior. In each, he had fought to break free, only to be devoured by the illusion of rebellion.
He clenched his fists.
Then… released them.
"I sever myself."
Without hesitation, Yi Zhen slammed his palm into his chest. A thunderous crack rang out. Blood sprayed in gouts as his Dantian shattered like thin glass, his golden core imploding in a spray of dying light. He dropped to his knees and roared as his meridians writhed and twisted violently inside him like dying serpents.
One by one, he severed each.
Fire flooded his body. But it wasn't just pain—it was clarity. The addiction to cultivation—the illusion of power—was gone.
"I renounce this system!" he screamed to the torn heavens. "You gave me fate and called it freedom. You gave me ascension and called it choice!"
His body convulsed as all remaining traces of Qi drained from his being. He stumbled forward into the Spirit Sea—an infinite ocean of blue flame and rippling silver. Every cultivator had their own, but Yi Zhen's no longer mirrored his soul.
He walked barefoot upon it.
And the sea welcomed him.
With each step, the waters rippled, not in reaction, but in understanding. As if the Spirit Sea had waited for this moment.
Yi Zhen raised his voice, and the entire realm listened.
> "We reincarnate seeking revenge.
We cultivate to destroy the heavens.
We live… to die stronger.
But this path is flawed.
There is no peace in vengeance.
No eternity in blood.
No freedom in resistance… if resistance is part of the wheel."
His words echoed across the horizon. Far in the distance, souls in meditation turned their heads. Spirits paused their drift. Divine beasts bowed low. The Dao itself held its breath.
> "We mock mortals for their fear of death… yet we die more than anyone.
Our bodies ascend, fall, break, return—again and again.
And we call it power."
Yi Zhen sank deeper into the Spirit Sea.
The further he walked, the more his flesh peeled away—no longer burned, no longer harmed. It was not destruction.
It was release.
He walked past the seabed, past the spirit sands, past the bones of divine whales and forgotten titans, into the heart of the ocean—where existence itself flickered like candlelight.
There, at the bottom of the Spirit Sea, in a place unseen by gods or devils, he found it.
The Great Wheel.
It spanned across reality, made of golden spokes etched with the names of all living beings—twisting endlessly, dragging souls up and down across lifetimes. Celestial runes from forgotten tongues burned across its rims: Samsara, Nirvana, Karma, Dharma.
Yi Zhen hovered before it, his body already crumbling into motes.
And for the first time…
He understood.
This was the true prison.
The cultivator who chased immortality.
The demon who fled death.
The god who sought reverence.
The beast who desired power.
They all spun within this Wheel.
And he?
He had become another spoke.
Tears streamed from what was left of his face.
"This… This isn't it."
He reached toward the core.
The Wheel resisted. Winds of karma screamed in his ears. The pressure crushed his spine. His bones burst one by one. His soul burned. But he kept moving.
"I don't want power."
Flesh peeled. Hair fell. Skin blackened.
"I don't want revenge."
Organs liquefied. Blood turned to vapor.
"I want… peace."
As his final limb reached the hub, the Wheel groaned.
And shattered.
A whisper escaped into the cosmos:
> "True Nirvana… is surrender."
---
And then—
Darkness.
A single mote of light drifted in the void.
Yi Zhen's soul, now formless, was scattered. He did not ascend. He did not fall. He simply dissolved.
But not into death.
Into rebirth.
Again.
And again.
And again.
100,000 times.
As a starving orphan.
As a leaf on a tree.
As a divine priest.
As a blind beggar.
As a loyal dog.
As a slave. As a queen. As a child. As a god.
As everything.
Through every life, he remembered the Wheel. Slowly, the rage faded. The pain softened. Each birth added another layer of understanding. Each death stripped him further of his pride.
Until one day, in his 100,000th life, sitting beneath a banyan tree on a quiet hill, Yi Zhen smiled.
And for the first time in eternity—
Felt nothing.
No desire.
No anger.
No fear.
He had truly left the path of cultivation.
And entered the path of Nirvana.