At sixteen, Ji Jingqiu faces a desperate choice: conjure the Fire House Buddha Prison, cultivate a sacred bodhi tree, and forge his path through martial arts to survive. Decades pass. A radiant brilliance pierces the veil of endless night. An immense ancient tree emerges—jade-hued foliage sprawling like a grand pavilion, crystalline and luminous, stretching toward the heavens. It upholds a transcendent pure land across boundless eons, its light spanning the three realms and ten directions. In this moment, every martial artist beneath the sky raises their gaze, as insignificant as mayflies before the infinite expanse. "The bodhi tree I planted when I first walked the martial path has blossomed into shelter for all beneath my shade." "I perceive everything the world contains, yet nothing matches my ascension." "Years ago, I studied the unrecorded histories, searching page by page for those characters that revealed: 'The storms of this world are born from us.'" — From the chronicles of Ji Jingqiu, the radiant pinnacle of the martial realm today.