From the moment he first opened his eyes to the world, Ningxue was not ordinary.
As a child, he towered half a head above boys of the same age, his frame sturdy, his features already sharp with hints of future handsomeness. The elders muttered that the heavens had favored him, for his aura was bright, and the qi around him always flowed more smoothly than with others.
He led even before he understood what leadership meant. Other children of the clan followed him instinctively—whether it was chasing after wild beasts in the forest, practicing their first swings of a wooden sword, or daring to climb the highest roofs of the manor. He was brave, reckless even, yet every risk he took seemed to be gilded by fortune. He never fell where others stumbled, and even when danger brushed past him, he emerged unscathed.
The clan elders nodded in approval. His father's eyes overflowed with pride. And the prestigious young masters of the Southern Capital? They looked upon him with envy and unease. Even at a tender age, Ningxue was already someone they could not compare to.
Years passed, and that brilliance only grew. His cultivation advanced like a raging river, his comprehension of martial scrolls left even seasoned tutors speechless, and his elegance made maidens whisper his name behind their fans. He was the clan's spear, the Southern Capital's genius, and perhaps even the future hope of an entire region.
But the heavens are cruel.
Now, that same Ningxue was buried in shadows.
The once tall and proud figure sat hunched over a low table, sleeves stained with spilled wine. Empty jars littered the ground like fallen leaves of a forgotten path. His eyes—once bright and commanding—were red and heavy, staring blankly at scrolls scattered before him.
He read endlessly, desperately, as though searching for salvation in lines of ancient scripture. But the more he read, the deeper his despair grew. Every page was like a mirror reflecting the abyss he had fallen into, reminding him that the genius of the Southern Capital had been reduced to a dust.
He did not leave his room. He did not answer his father's calls. He did not care for the world outside his door. The clan that once trusted him, the people who once followed him—all had become distant past.
The heavens had given him everything. And now, it seemed, they had taken everything away.
Sunset clouds were blown apart by the evening breeze, leaving the sky painted in violet streaks. A single jade disc turned slowly in the heavens, its light scattering like silver dust across the Milky Way.
Outside the locked chambers, whispers drifted like trembling leaves in the wind. Servants huddled together, voices lowered, their fear palpable.
"Did you feel it? The chill seeping out from the door… It's like stepping into a graveyard at midnight."
"No one dares enter. Even the stewards avoid this hallway now."
The heavy doors bore frost along their frames, thin layers of ice crawling outward as if the chamber itself rejected warmth. Within, goblets of fine wine, once brimming with crimson life, sat untouched. When left alone too long, the liquid stiffened into crystalline shards, frozen solid beneath the influence of his cursed Physique.
This was the child who once towered proudly among his peers, taller, braver, and more handsome than any of his age. The lucky scion of the clan, the beacon others envied, the genius of the Southern Capital. He had been the envy of prestigious young masters, admired by elders, trusted by his father. The leader, the hope, the shining one.
Now… he drowned in wine and solitude, his brilliance buried beneath the past.
At the doorway, unseen by servants, his father stood. His aged hands trembled as they pressed against the cold wood. His lips quivered, but he could not call out. Helplessness carved deep lines into his face. He had watched his son rise like the morning sun… and now he could only watch him fall into eternal night.
His tears fell silently, absorbed by the wooden threshold. For even a father's love could not watch a son's suffering.
Hei Ningxue sat quietly by the window, his black hair loose, eyes fixed upon the rising moon. In its pale glow, his skin looked almost translucent—an unhealthy gray sheen clung to him. His lips, tongue, and even his fingernails were stained black, a sign of the Yin Furnace Physique awakening.
But what unsettled the clan most was not his withering complexion, but the subtle change in his frame: his once-sharp features had grown delicate, his voice softer, his body slowly shifting toward that of a woman.
Behind him, the Hei Clan Leader—Hei Xuanyang—sat in silence, his face pale with dread.
"Yin Furnace Physique…One of the ten absolute physiques. A cursed gift."
Ningxue spoke lightly, his tone strangely serene, "Father, I can feel my end approaching. My meridians are burning cold, my aperture collapsing. If I cannot consume vast amounts of yang energy soon, this body will wither into dust."
Unlike the reckless youth he had once been, Ningxue's eyes now carried a deep stillness. He no longer fought against fate with madness—he had found acceptance.
"Do not speak of dying!" Xuanyang snapped, his voice breaking. "Our Hei Clan has been suppressed by the Xuan Dragon Sect for generations. You were our hope to rise! I will not watch you vanish like smoke in the wind!"
He rose abruptly, his robes swirling. After a long pause, he gritted his teeth, as though making a decision that weighed upon his very soul.
"Follow me. I will take you… to the spirit spring."
They walked through twisting tunnels lit only by moonstone lamps. The path was narrow and suffocating, until at last it opened into a hidden cavern.
Moonlight fell through a crack in the ceiling, illuminating a vast pool of shimmering water. Mist rose gently from its surface, infused with spiritual energy so dense it made the air heavy to breathe.
Ningxue's eyes narrowed. "This is our clan's foundation… the spirit spring."
Xuanyang nodded solemnly. "Yes. But there is more. At its heart lies the fragment of an Immortal Spirit—left behind by our first ancestor. For centuries, it has slumbered here, nourished by the spring. It chooses who is worthy. If you gain its recognition, it may suppress your Yin Furnace, delaying your death."
"And if it rejects me?"
"Then you will die," Xuanyang said flatly, though his fists trembled.
The spring began to ripple as if stirred by an unseen hand. Mist thickened, and from the depths, a blinding radiance surged forth.
Out of the water rose a figure of pure light—its form neither man nor woman, neither mortal nor immortal. Its eyes were twin stars, cold and boundless.
Hei Xuanyang fell to his knees at once. "I pay respects to the Immortal Fragment!"
But Ningxue only stood, pale and unyielding. His black eyes locked upon the spirit without fear.
Time froze. The cavern seemed to hold its breath. The Immortal Spirit's light surged like a tidal wave, crashing toward him.
With a single cry, it entered Ningxue's body in a stream of white fire. His frame jolted, his pale lips parting in pain. The Immortal Spirit coiled within his dantian, pressing down upon the wild Yin Furnace that threatened to devour him.
The black veins spreading across his skin slowed. His body steadied, though still frail.
Xuanyang staggered to his feet, awe in his eyes. "It did not reject you… it entered your body! Ningxue, you—"
Ningxue lifted his gaze to the moonlit crack above, his expression unreadable. "It is not salvation. Only chains. I have gained time… nothing more."
The moonlight reflected in his dark eyes. His path was far from over.