That was the scene a month after his foundation had fully recovered, after he had resumed his grueling training.
That year, he was sixteen.
He told his father:
"Dad, I’m all better."
"My vitality index has reached 1.23!"
That night, his father was stunned at first, then ecstatic.
But as he laughed, his father went into the bathroom and closed the door.
Back then, in his youth, he hadn’t thought much of it.
But now, he could clearly "see" that behind that closed door, the man who had been strong his whole life was clamping a hand tightly over his mouth.
His father was squatting on the floor, trembling silently, letting the tears—suppressed for ten long years and filled with endless sorrow, bitterness, and relief—stream down his face.
He just didn’t want his son to see his vulnerable side.
...
As his consciousness drifted, a single, scalding hot tear slipped uncontrollably from the corner of Qin Feng’s eye.
Yet the tear didn’t even make it down his cheek.
The moment it appeared, it was instantly vaporized, turning into a wisp of imperceptible steam that dissipated into the air.
Qin Feng came back to his senses.
He began to arrange his father’s funeral.
Everything was kept simple.
No memorial service was held. He only notified his uncle, Wang Ming, and his family.
It was his father’s last wish.
He simply completed all the procedures quietly, all by himself.
Finally, he rented a small, private starship, left the atmosphere of Qimingxing, and entered the cold, vast Star Sea he had traversed countless times before.
He changed into a simple black training uniform and stood before the vessel’s rear hatch.
In his hands, he cupped a box made of plain nanmu wood.
He opened the box.
Inside lay the last trace his father had left in this world.
Qin Feng reached out and scattered the grayish-white ashes into the endless void before him.
There was no wind.
In the absolute vacuum, the fine particles did not disperse.
Instead, following the purest laws of physics, they formed a small, grayish-white cloud of interstellar dust. It floated silently in the deep darkness, a faint echo of the billions of brilliant stars in the distance.
Qin Feng just watched quietly as the small nebula, disturbed by the faint gravitational pull of the ship’s engines, slowly drifted away into the deeper, unknown darkness.
Until, finally, it vanished from sight.
From this day on, there was no more Qin Dahai in the Star Sea.
From this day on, there was only Qin Feng.
-----------------
By the time Qin Feng returned to the Qimingxing Silver Seagull Community, dusk was falling.
The afterglow of the setting sun bathed the entire city in a warm, golden light.
The streets were bustling with traffic and pedestrians, vibrant with the pulse of life.
But this lively atmosphere had nothing to do with him anymore.
Qin Feng returned to the house he knew so well.
Pushing the door open, an indescribable sense of emptiness washed over him.
The place was just as he remembered it: the sofa, the coffee table, the old photos on the wall... nothing had changed.
But the figure who would always greet him with a smile when he came home was gone forever.
This house was now just a house, no longer a home.
In the days that followed, Qin Feng handled all the subsequent affairs with an almost mechanical calmness and efficiency.
He went to the civil affairs department to cancel his father’s identification, then proceeded to the property management center to handle the inheritance procedures.
This old house in the Silver Seagull Community, along with all the memories it held, would be preserved forever.
It would become his eternal coordinate in this Cosmos, a spiritual anchor.
No matter how far he ventured in the future, this place would always be the starting point he could trace his way back to.
When the dust settled, Qin Feng returned once more to the empty house.
He didn’t turn on the lights. He just sat quietly on the sofa his father had loved most, letting the twilight from the window slowly swallow his figure.
A boundless loneliness, like a bottomless, cold tide, surged in from all directions, threatening to drown him completely.
He recalled a line from his father’s last letter.
"The great are always lonely."
A self-deprecating smile touched the corners of Qin Feng’s lips.
’Will I be one of the great?’
Qin Feng didn’t know.
But he would strive to be.
In the profound silence, he began to calmly take stock of his current strength and his path forward.
A screen of light only he could see unfolded silently in his mind, listing lines of cold, precise data.
’Vitality Index: 108,000.’
’Thanks to the *Ten-Complete Hand*, the Top-grade Primordial Acupoints, and a physical aptitude with the potential of a Starry Sky Giant Beast.’
’These fifteen years of accumulation have allowed my vitality to reach the theoretical limit of a Ninth-level Extreme Martial Artist, touching the barrier of the "Fourth Great Limit."’
’To advance further, I must achieve a life-level transition and break through to the Planetary grade.’
’And the key to breaking through is Mental Power.’
’Spiritual Power Index: 85.’
’I’m still fifteen points short of the minimum standard of one hundred. At my current cultivation speed with the *Crystal Meditation Method*, it will take about three more years.’
’As for my killing techniques...’
Qin Feng’s brow furrowed slightly.
’I’m too far behind.’
It was a fortunate problem to have.
His Vitality Index had risen so quickly that his Slaughter Realm was struggling to keep up.
’The Fourth-level Killing Techniques, *Heavy Spear* and *Triple Spear*, and the Fifth Level Killing Technique, *Hundred Barges Struggle Stream*... Although I’ve reached the Control Realm with all of them, I still haven’t even mastered a single Level 6 Killing Technique.’