Chapter Twenty-One: The Power of the Cosmos

After two days of rest, feeling that his body was at its peak, Yin Seventeen arrived at the shore, the coastline where he regularly trained. He found a flat spot, sat cross-legged, and gradually closed his eyes.

The seaside was seldom frequented by apprentice warriors; no one would disturb him here. It was the perfect place to attempt igniting his microcosm.

The sea breeze caressed him gently, the tides rose and fell, and Yin Seventeen’s restless heart slowly grew calm.

As he focused all his attention on the sixth sense—root consciousness—the other five senses faded into the background. The sound of the waves diminished, the wind weakened.

At last, the world perceived by his five senses slipped away entirely, leaving only the illusory realm that his root consciousness could “see.”

Within his body, a small galaxy rotated quietly—not too fast, not too slow. It existed in perfect balance with him, coexisting harmoniously.

That was his microcosm.

Now, he had to break that balance, guide the microcosm’s change, and harness its power for himself.

Yet, the microcosm itself was unconscious; it would not obey personal will. If its balance was altered rashly, it would instinctively disperse its power, inevitably causing the attempt to ignite it to fail.

To make the microcosm respond to personal will, to allow its power to be used, one had to grant it a measure of consciousness, so it understood what must be done, what may and may not be done.

The essence of igniting the microcosm, then, was to bestow it with consciousness.

Something cannot emerge from nothing. To expect the microcosm to spontaneously generate self-awareness was nearly impossible—and to have it develop an uncontrolled consciousness would pose a great threat to the individual.

Thus, the best choice was to share a portion of one’s self-awareness with the microcosm, or rather, to integrate one’s consciousness into it.

The method for granting the microcosm consciousness was to infuse it with the life instinct represented by the sixth sense.

This was what they called igniting the microcosm.

Having mastered these principles long ago, Yin Seventeen slowly directed his root consciousness into the starry sea.

From the outside, the microcosm seemed small—contained within a mortal body. But from within, it was vast, boundless.

If one's root consciousness was too weak, merging with the universe would only lead to losing oneself, unable to influence the microcosm’s transformation.

Of course, strength alone was not enough. To the human, a microcosm infused with the sixth sense became a second body—a strange, unfamiliar vessel.

Whether one could control the microcosm’s power depended on how well the sixth sense matched the microcosm. If the fit was poor, it was like a person with uncoordinated limbs—actions would not be fully under control.

He surmised that Elder Owen’s failure in the past was likely due to a lack of resonance between the sixth sense and the microcosm.

Yin Seventeen guided the consciousness formed by his sixth sense, like a lone spaceship drifting in space, toward the nearest star.

He had to land upon any star before his strength was exhausted.

Though the void was part of the universe, those gaps were not its core points. Infusing the sixth sense into the void could not influence the microcosm’s operation—meaningless.

To affect the microcosm, to mobilize its power, the sixth sense had to merge with a core point—the stars, which were the universe’s nodes of power.

Controlling all core points was impossible, but influencing just one would suffice!

He did not know how long his sixth sense had wandered the illusory gaps, but at last, Yin Seventeen reached the nearest star.

Impatiently, he merged his root consciousness with it.

It was like pouring water onto sand—the water seeped in naturally.

In that instant, he felt as if a heavy shackle had been placed upon his sixth sense.

“No wonder Elder Owen failed,” he murmured.

“The burden on consciousness is severe—it clouds judgment, like wielding a broadsword to carve delicate patterns into a winter melon. So easy to make a mistake!”

Understanding this, Yin Seventeen concentrated even harder on the process, exerting himself to control the star’s movement.

He didn’t know how much time passed—eventually, his sixth sense was fully integrated with the star.

“Now, I must try to draw upon the power of the microcosm!” Yin Seventeen tensed, nerves stretched taut.

This was the decisive moment.

A single thread could affect the whole—if he failed to control the star’s power, the entire microcosm could spiral out of control in a chain reaction.

He used his will to grasp the star, carefully altering its movement according to his intent.

Instantly, the tranquil microcosm seemed to awaken.

It was like a row of falling dominoes.

As the first star changed its trajectory, its gravity affected several nearby stars, one after another, altering the state of the entire microcosm.

In that moment, with the star Yin Seventeen controlled as the lead, an unparalleled power surged forth!

“So this is the power of the universe?” Yin Seventeen suddenly understood.

Yet he realized clearly that a single mistake would unleash that power beyond his guidance, shattering the microcosm.

He dared not relax. With utmost concentration, he guided the star to slow its pace, gradually calming the awakened cosmic power.

Once it was subdued, he repeated the process, again and again, dozens of times, until he could expertly control the star’s movement.

“Is this all it takes?”

Staring at the once more peaceful sea of stars, Yin Seventeen felt incredulous.

It seemed almost too easy.

But he forgot—one mistake, and there would be no chance to correct it.

Precisely because he had made no mistakes, it felt so effortless.

“Huh, what’s that?”

Now fully commanding the microcosmic power, Yin Seventeen sensed the presence of something foreign within his microcosm.

He distinctly felt that it was not a native part of his microcosm.

He manipulated the microcosm, dispersing the stars to reveal the hidden anomaly to his sixth sense.

Only then did he “see”—it was a sword, an ancient and mighty blade, as immense as a star.

“How could there be a sword in my microcosm?” Yin Seventeen was bewildered.

Suddenly, the blade shone brightly, and a white figure materialized from it, stepping forth.

Yin Seventeen clearly “saw” an old man dressed in a Daoist robe, and he looked remarkably familiar.

Thinking carefully, Yin Seventeen exclaimed in shock, “It’s you!”

The old man was identical to the mystic who had once blocked his path.