In the cold silence of the night, Jin sat on a flat rock beside the riverbank.
The water carried faint ripples of moonlight, and the forest breathed quietly around him.
His eyes were closed, but his mind was turned inward — perceiving the plane of his soul.

He remembered his master’s warning earlier that day.

Bao Kun had approached him with that lazy swagger he always wore, the gourd of wine swinging at his hip.
When he finally spoke, his tone carried no hint of jest.
“Jin, your soul is going to explode soon.”

Jin nearly slipped off the rock. Every time this old dog talks about cultivation, I’m either about to implode or explode.
He steadied his breath and asked, “What do you mean by that?”

Bao Kun took a long pull from his gourd before answering.
“The clarity of your soul has risen too fast. The pressure your soul exerts on the energy it’s gathered is turning volatile. Keep this up, and it’ll tear itself apart.”

Strangely, Jin understood more than he expected.
Since his body’s reformation, thoughts came cleaner — like gears clicking into place.
Still, the idea of his soul exploding didn’t sit right.
“So how do I fix it?”

Bao Kun smirked. “Do you remember the manual I gave you when we first met — the one you’ve only opened once?”

Jin’s face reddened. He bowed, muttered something unintelligible, and went to fetch the Star Shattering Halberd Manual.

The first mantra he recalled was the Gathering Mantra, which refined how a soul absorbed energy.
The second caught his eye — The Mantra of Twin Gravities, meant to balance ego and emotion.

Emotion and Ego are not the same star, yet their gravities entwine.
Let the Ego be the axis, the point of light that names the self;
let Emotion be the orbiting tide, drawing warmth and motion from the core.
When Ego swells unchecked, it consumes its own fuel and darkens.
When Emotion drifts unbound, it scatters its fire into the void.
Separate their paths so each may keep its course;
then let their fields interlace in harmony.
Allow Emotion to steady the Ego’s spin,
and allow Ego to give Emotion a sun to circle.
Thus the soul becomes a system in balance —
a constellation that neither collapses nor flares beyond measure.

The words resonated deeply.
It had been two months since Jin and Lin’er returned to Shuimeng, and something in him had changed.
Time spent with her had softened the edges of his thoughts — brought him clarity, even acceptance of his past.
But as Bao Kun said, what brought peace to the heart could bring chaos to the soul.
Jin’s constitution — or whatever affinity lurked within — seemed to pull energy naturally, like a star drawing in light.
When his heart was clouded, that pull was weak.
Now that his mind was clear, the gravity of his soul had grown stronger — dangerously so.

He began to meditate, repeating the mantra in silence.
The world around him blurred.
Within, a vast abyss opened.

A blinding red star hung in that emptiness, radiating waves of power.
Around it drifted fragments of energy, scattered like embers adrift in night.
The star pulsed — hungry, drawing everything inward — but each pulse sent tremors through the void.
It was on the verge of consuming itself.

Jin focused on the first feeling that rose in his chest — fear.
Fear of loss. Fear of abandonment.
When he gave it form, a pale light peeled away from the main star, gathering into a thin plate that began to orbit it.
It spun slowly at first, then faster, drawing stray energy from the void like a whirlpool.
The pull of the star tried to drag it back in, but Jin recalled the mantra — separate their paths.
He willed a thin boundary between the two forces.
The plate steadied, absorbing the unstable currents that once threatened the core.

Encouraged, he reached deeper.
The next current that stirred was compassion, soft and bright.
Its disk formed closer to the star, turning opposite to fear’s rotation — the two rings crossing like breathing lungs.
Anger rose last, fierce and red, its orbit wild but strong enough to anchor the rest.

Before long, seven faint plates spun in perfect asymmetry — thin, luminous rings drawing threads of energy through the void.
Each inhaled chaos and exhaled harmony.
The star’s fury calmed.
Where there had been a devouring blaze, there was now a steady pulse — a living system in motion.

“So this is balance,” Jin whispered, his voice echoing through the stillness of his mind.

He watched the system revolve, the disks feeding on stray currents, keeping the ego-star from overloading.
In time, perhaps each disk would condense into its own star, but for now, this was enough.
Jin pulled his senses back.

When he opened his eyes, dawn was breaking.
His temples throbbed; his head felt heavy, as though he had lived centuries inside that abyss.
He chuckled quietly. “I suppose the old dog wasn’t wrong.”. Jin then returned home, recently a big decision was made. Shen would be staying with them for the long run. As it turns out all intent practitioners are big ole softies. Shen couldn't bear to leave Lin'er alone in what he called "a house of apes". To be fair Jin also knew that it would be hard on Lin'er if Shen were to leave, so if anything he welcomed this decision.

The next morning unfolded like any other.
He helped Shen cook, walked Lin’er by the river, skipped stones until she laughed, and returned to train.

His halberd felt as though it were a whip nowadays, the blade first then the sound.
His movements were sharper now, more fluid.
The halberd sang through the air, cutting stone as if it were silk.
His body felt lighter — his soul, quieter.

After training his weapon arts Jin moved on to training his movement arts. Having been chased by that old dog for nearly a week Jin had formed an understanding of movement within battle. For the most part he'd perform his movement arts on his own, But today was one of the days Bao Kun would come to "Help". His pretense today was helping Jin refine his intent. By the end, Jin was half-conscious, mumbling something about old dogs and divine punishment.

Later that afternoon, Shen arrived as Jin finished practice.
He stood at the forest’s edge, posture straight but expression dark.
Jin wiped the sweat from his brow. “Why the long face, brother?”

Shen’s voice was low. “The Crimson Flare Sect has been vanquished — erased — by a grand cultivator of Mount Hua.”

Jin blinked. “Isn’t that good news? They deserved it.”

Shen’s eyes, however, didn’t soften.
“Think, Jin. We were the only ones who escaped — no one else should have known.”

The forest wind grew still.
Even the river’s murmur seemed to fade.
For a heartbeat, Jin could almost feel the pull of his inner star falter — a tremor echoing deep within the soul he had just stabilized.
Mount Hua’s shadow loomed far away, but its reach, he realized, might already be stretching toward them.