Chapter 30: Chen Xing's Flashback – A Hymn to Courage

Episode 6 of "The Prequel of the Stars: Embers"

Boom!

The episode opens with Tian Dao unleashing the Stellar Energy Technique — Black Azure against a superalloy test pillar.

Though the crater left on the pillar wasn’t spectacularly massive, the shockwave it generated was enough to make the entire training room tremble visibly.

That alone was enough to reveal just how terrifying the raw power behind Tian Dao’s strike truly was.

And it also exposed the hidden truth—this wasn’t just any ordinary test pillar. It was something far more formidable than it appeared.

Through this moment, the audience finally understood why Chen Kong and the others had felt what they described as an earthquake outside the training chamber.

“So… I can only push up to ten times my normal rotation speed?”

“Kalolin, did you record the stellar energy output from that strike?”

“Stellar readout: 1900. Impact equivalent to a Level 2 beginner.”

“But your energy efficiency is only at 95%. That’s practically your current limit.”

“Tian Dao, personally, I think you should stop here. That extra 5% efficiency gain isn’t worth the time and effort—it’s not worth the return.”

“Only 1900?”

Through this exchange, the audience finally grasped Tian Dao’s current standing within the Stellar Prodigy system.

With a Stellar Source and a base Stellar Energy Value of 100, one qualifies as a Level 1 Stellar Envoy.

Tian Dao wasn’t just a Level 1 Stellar Envoy.

He was a Level 1 who had already achieved the power level of a Level 2.

For most Stellar Prodigy candidates, this would be considered an insurmountable gap—most were stuck hovering around Level 1.

Tian Dao, by contrast, had pulled ahead by a full two tiers.

And yet, even now, Tian Dao wore a face of quiet disappointment.

This over-the-top kind of humility—so casually arrogant—left the audience utterly stunned.

“Wait, you’re already two levels ahead of everyone else, and you’re still not satisfied? What in the world are you even trying to achieve?!”

“Stop, man king. You’ve reached the peak. Keep going, and you’ll be stepping into the realm of gods!”

Faced with a man who was already beyond extraordinary, yet still striving for perfection—audience members were left speechless.

Talent? Check.

Hard work? Check.

No wonder he’s the strongest.

Not long after Tian Dao paused his training, the training room door slid open.

Chen Xing and Chen Kong stepped inside.

Tian Dao immediately greeted them with a grin.

But as always, despite his flawless exterior—his personality remained the same.

A man who, aside from his attitude, was flawless in every way.

And yet, when it came to words, he never failed to pick the most painful wound to poke.

“Star,” he said, eyeing Chen Xing’s brother, “look at how fast your little brother’s healing. No scar at all.”

“Now look at you—refusing to let go of a scar on your arm, even though you insist it’s a warning to yourself.”

“Honestly? You’re just too comfortable. You’re forced to suffer. Why would anyone choose a scarred surgery over a clean one? You’re not even normal.”

Chen Xing didn’t tolerate this for a second.

She fired back instantly—unleashing her newly acquired Stellar Source ability: Red Lotus Inferno.

The screen flared with heat. The production team leaned hard into the visual spectacle.

Even through the screen, the audience could feel the overwhelming destructive power of Red Lotus Inferno.

But Tian Dao?

He simply flicked his hand.

The flames dissipated like smoke.

“Whoa, already mad? Can’t I speak the truth anymore?”

The audience gasped.

Not just at the sheer power of Chen Xing’s attack—but at how casually Tian Dao had deflected it.

To block fire with nothing but a flick of the wrist?

And to do it with such effortless grace?

This man… was terrifyingly strong.

Chen Xing, however, wasn’t surprised.

She’d been on the receiving end of that kind of arrogance before.

After another round of their trademark bickering—playful, sharp, and full of unspoken history—the scene ended with Tian Dao heading to the cafeteria.

But before he’d taken more than a few steps, Chen Xing suddenly called out.

“Wait.”

“Again? What now, my dear Chen Xing?”

“I’ve trained all day. I’m exhausted. Can you just get this over with in one go?”

“Tian Dao… I want to fight you again. I want to see exactly how far I still am from you.”

“Again? Seriously?”

Tian Dao visibly resisted.

But as the number one star of the Chen family, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—say no.

Still, he wasn’t going to make it easy.

With a wave of his hand, he drew a one-meter circle on the floor.

“I’ll stay right here,” he said. “If you can force me out of this circle within three minutes, I lose.”

The audience erupted.

“Locked in! Tianxing has to be locked in!”

“Just spoil her, you’re going to ruin her!”

“It’s just a game between a couple. Why are you all acting like this is a life-or-death battle? (I’m literally vibrating with excitement)”

With eyes sharp and focused, Chen Xing stepped forward—serious, determined.

But as she passed Chen Kong, she paused.

“Watch closely, Empty,” she said. “Because you’ll soon see the real gap between us… and the monsters.”

“…And that gap? It’s so wide, it’s hopeless.”

Some truths only sting when they come from someone else’s lips.

Hearing Chen Xing—the second strongest—admit aloud that she was far behind Tian Dao…

It cemented Tian Dao’s image in the audience’s mind: a natural-born legend.

Nothing was more convincing than a second-place contender openly admitting they were no match for the first.

“Chen Xing, what are you doing?! Without you, how are we supposed to face the Demon King Tian Dao?!”

“It’s fine. Wife can’t beat husband—normal, right?”

“Stop it, Tianxing fans. Kalolin is the real queen. You should be the ones stepping aside.”

“Hahahaha, queen? You’re hilarious.”

“Wait—anyone here a Tianliu fan?”

“Tianliu? Who’s that? A street dog? Go play with the kids!”

As the fan wars raged over Tianxing vs. Tianka, the screen suddenly cut—shifting into Chen Xing’s childhood memories.

Unlike Tian Dao’s past, this flashback was rich with vivid, personal moments from her youth.

Her parents’ faces were blurred—but even so, it was clear: Chen Xing had once lived a happy, peaceful life.

Then—everything shattered.

She blew out the birthday candles on her cake, wearing a paper crown, smiling.

Then—a glitch.

The screen erupted in static, like shattered mosaic.

The audience felt it immediately—something was wrong.

And sure enough, when the image cleared…

The warm, glowing living room was gone.

In its place: a dark, dusty, ruined room—collapsed, forgotten, haunted by time.

Chen Xing still stood where she’d blown out the candles—but her dress was torn, ragged. Her princess outfit was now a tattered tank top and shorts.

The birthday cake?

Now a moldy, rotting loaf of bread, buzzing with flies.

One second in paradise.

The next—hell.

The audience felt the cut.

The production team had delivered a brutal, emotional blow.

This wasn’t just a memory.

It was a knife.

“Empty, stay here. I’m going to find food. Don’t wander off.”

“O-okay, Sister.”

Two children. Same age. Same need to be protected.

But Chen Xing—despite her youth—was already strong.

She calmed her brother, slung her backpack on, and stepped into the night—into the silent, dead city ruins.

This moment mirrored her words during the Final Evaluation:

“Even if I know the next step is the abyss… I have to walk forward. Because there’s no one behind me.”

Chen Xing was proud.

But her pride wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t boastful.

It was earned—through every scar, every sacrifice, every time she chose to keep going, even when she wanted to fall.

People hate liars.

But no one can hate a warrior who carries the weight of the world on their shoulders and still walks.

Because courage?

That’s humanity’s greatest hymn.

Meanwhile, back in the dorm, Tian Dao—watching the episode through the dimensional screen—sat up abruptly.

He hadn’t expected to see this.

Not this depth. Not this pain.

And worse—this was new.

This story… this memory…

It wasn’t in the original script.

It wasn’t in the source material.

Which meant—his accidental appearance had rewritten the story.

The universe had changed.

And Tian Dao?

He didn’t know a thing about it.

PS: Just a little warm-up—three minor demons dispatched effortlessly. (No sweat. Slight dirt on the sleeve.)

Please, support the story with a follow and a monthly vote!

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end