The Return Of The Conqueror Of The Cosmos

Shen Hao opened his eyes.

His breath was slow. Shaky.

His body felt strangely warm—not from heat, but from comfort. His head rested on something soft.

He blinked.

His ceiling. His room. His bed.

"…What… the hell…?"

His voice came out hoarse. He tried to sit up, but his body screamed in protest. Every muscle ached like it had been crushed, rebuilt, then crushed again.

His hand twitched.

Pain. Real pain.

So I'm alive.

But that raised more questions than it answered.

The last thing he remembered was chaos—roaring energy, a storm of light, Lingfeng pinned under rubble, and that shadowy figure with beast-like golden eyes…

His heart jumped.

Lingfeng.

He turned to the side—and froze.

There, lying next to him on the bed, was Lingfeng.

Silent. Peaceful. Whole.

Not only alive… but undamaged.

It didn't make sense.

Lingfeng had been nearly destroyed—cracked, bent, his blade chipped and scorched. But now, he looked as if nothing had ever happened. Not only was he repaired… he was stronger.

"What is this…?"

A flicker of light appeared.

From the edge of the room, Mo Han materialized. His left hand rested behind his back; his right hand stroked his beard in deep thought. His gaze was stern—silent calculation behind every word he didn't say.

"You're awake," he finally said.

Shen Hao stared at him. "What… what happened? How are we alive?"

Mo Han stepped closer, thoughtful and composed.

"You were dead. Or very close to it."

No drama. Just truth.

Shen Hao waited, silent.

Mo Han continued. "After you passed out, a being appeared. I couldn't see it clearly. Its presence… bent the space around it. Heavy. Ancient."

Shen Hao's blood turned cold. "Was it… a shadow?"

"Yes," Mo Han said quietly. "Eyes like a monster. Not of this world."

Shen Hao nodded slowly. "I saw him. At the school… during the earthquake."

"I believe it brought you here," Mo Han said. "It carried you—and Lingfeng. Teleported straight into your room."

"But that's impossible," Shen Hao said. "That kind of teleportation—instantaneous, spatial—only high-level beings can do that, right?"

"Correct," Mo Han replied. "It was no ordinary cultivator. What it did next proves that."

He looked toward Lingfeng.

"The moment it disappeared, both your bodies began to heal—rapidly. Not over hours or days. Seconds. Muscle, bone, spirit—everything. Even Lingfeng's body—the blade you hold—restored itself."

Shen Hao touched his chest. No bruises. No breaks. He felt… better than before.

"Who could do that?"

Mo Han's fingers slowed against his beard.

"Someone who walks the path… of Phantom Spirit Qi."

Shen Hao blinked. "Phantom what?"

Mo Han stood taller, his posture sharp, his tone shifting to something deeper—like a teacher revealing a secret truth.

"There are two main paths a cultivator can walk in this universe," he said. "Two types of Qi. Two destinies."

Shen Hao leaned forward, absorbing every word.

Mo Han raised his free hand.

"One: Dragon Qi. The path of warriors. Of power, force, domination. It fuels combat techniques, physical strength, energy blasts—the kind of power you've been using your whole life."

Shen Hao nodded. That part was familiar.

"But there's another."

His eyes glinted.

"Two: Phantom Spirit Qi. The path of restoration. Of healers, alchemists, soul-binders. It flows softer, but deeper. Where Dragon Qi crushes mountains, Phantom Spirit Qi can rebuild the soul."

Shen Hao's brow furrowed. "Then why doesn't everyone choose Phantom Spirit Qi?"

"Because it's not easy," Mo Han said, stroking his beard. "And it's not glorious. Healers don't win wars. They don't stand on the frontlines. They serve quietly. But their Qi... evolves."

"Evolves?"

"Yes. It changes. Unlike Dragon Qi, which grows in size and intensity, Phantom Spirit Qi refines. It becomes more intricate, delicate—and powerful in a different way."

Shen Hao sat quietly.

Mo Han nodded slowly. "But there's a price."

"What kind of price?"

"If someone chooses the path of healing, they cannot easily return to the path of combat. The two types of Qi resist each other. Trying to master both would double—sometimes triple—the difficulty of every step."

"But is it possible?"

Mo Han hesitated.

"Some legends speak of cultivators who achieved balance between both—who mastered the sword and the spirit. But they're rare. Their lives were filled with suffering and solitude. To walk both roads… is to defy the universe."

Shen Hao swallowed hard.

"So whoever healed me… is a Phantom Spirit cultivator."

Mo Han nodded. "A powerful one. And teleportation of that caliber? He's no beginner."

Shen Hao's eyes flicked to Lingfeng.

"…But why help us?"

"That," Mo Han said darkly, "is the question."

He turned, slowly pacing toward the window.

"For now, I don't want you chasing answers. You're not ready. Not yet. You need to recover. Let your Qi settle. Let your spirit stabilize."

Shen Hao laid back slowly.

The silence that followed felt heavier than before.

Mo Han looked at him one last time, beard still in hand.

"Rest, Shen Hao. The universe isn't done with you yet."

Then he vanished, fading into a wisp of golden smoke.

Shen Hao stared at the ceiling, his thoughts racing.

And somewhere in the silence, a truth settled deep in his heart:

Power isn't just about strength. It's about the choice of path.