The golden river flowing from thirty planets did not stop. It gathered above the bow of the Sovereign Aurora like a boundless ocean of liquid honey and pure starlight.
Every strand was woven from genuine, unforced human gratitude.
There was no fear in this energy, no desperate pleading, and no bitter envy. It was the honest thankfulness of farmers who could keep their crops, weavers whose ancestral looms were safe, miners whose broken bones were mended, and children whose blindness had been washed away.
Lin Mo stood motionless at the brass railing. The golden river poured directly through the crown of his skull, filling his meridians with boundless, gentle warmth.
Inside his dantian, a dramatic cosmic transformation was taking place.
In the standard scriptures of the Star Immortal realm, ascending to higher tiers was a brutal, bloody ordeal. Orthodox cultivators had to travel to dying galaxies, strip burning stars of their planetary marrow, and plunder the spiritual veins of weaker civilizations.
Because their cores were forged through theft, extortion, and slaughter, their dantians were cold, dark, and plagued by venomous inner demons. Every breakthrough carried the risk of soul combustion. When an orthodox master attempted to step from Rank 8 Mid to Rank 8 High, they had to suppress millions of screaming ghosts that clawed at their spiritual veins.
