The night was cold, and the stars shimmered above like distant flames that refused to warm the earth.
A child no older than ten sat quietly on a cracked stone near a rundown hut. His clothes were thin, patched countless times, and his bare feet were covered in dirt and dried blood. But his eyes—those deep, obsidian eyes—reflected a fire no poverty could extinguish.
Zhang Yujia clutched a worn wooden sword, its edges chipped and its balance broken. It was the last thing his father gave him before the flames swallowed their home.
His mother had screamed his name before silence fell.
They were gone.
Buried beneath ashes.
And yet the village elders said nothing. No one came to help. The truth of their death, whispered behind closed doors, never reached his ears. All he knew was that the world had turned its back on him.
But still—he trained.
Every dawn, when the dew was still fresh and the cold pierced his bones, Yujia stood before the broken well and practiced the basic sword stances his father had once shown him. The villagers laughed. Some pitied him. Others feared what he might become.
And then came the day the sect arrived.
Wearing flowing robes, their hair tied with jade pins and golden clasps, the disciples of Green Leaf Sword Sect descended upon the village like immortals from a painting. They promised hope, a future. And for Zhang Yujia, it was a chance—perhaps his only one.
He bowed before them, knelt for hours, endured humiliation. But in the end, they allowed him to follow, perhaps amused by his stubborn eyes.
Yet the truth of the cultivation world was nothing like the stories.
He was assigned to clean the latrines.
He was mocked during training.
He was beaten for failing to gather enough qi.
The elders called his spiritual root "fragmented"—a body that could not cultivate properly, a soul that would never touch enlightenment. A burden. A waste.
But he endured.
Because endurance was all he had.
Until one night, seven years later, blood once again stained the snow.
A senior disciple had died. Poisoned. And the blame fell on him.
No trial. No chance to speak.
Just pain.
Just exile.
Beaten, broken, stripped of his robe and thrown into the night, Zhang Yujia lay beneath the same stars that once watched him as a child.
He laughed.
Not out of joy, but from the hollow echo of realization.
This world did not reward the righteous.
This world devoured them.
And so he rose, slow but steady, gripping the same wooden sword—now wrapped in bloodied cloth—and turned his back on the sect that had taught him nothing but cruelty.
"If the heavens are blind," he whispered, "then let the shadows see."
And so began his journey—not as a hero, not as a savior—but as the boy who would one day make the world tremble in the name of truth.
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"The world where Zhang Yujia lives is known as the Five Realms Horizon, consisting of:
1. Human Realm (Renjie) - where most ordinary people and small sects reside.
2. Spiritual Realm (Lingjie) - inhabited by high-level cultivators and spiritual beasts.
3. Shadow Realm (Yinjie) - a gray world where dark entities and forbidden techniques thrive.
4. Heavenly Realm (Tianjie) - said to be the birthplace of gods.
5. Lost Realm (Miejie) - a mysterious realm that has disappeared from the map, but mentioned in ancient texts as the place of the "Ultimate Truth".
In this world, strength is everything. Those with high spiritual roots are taken in by large sects, taught rare techniques, and worshiped like princes. Meanwhile, the weak become servants, slaves, or are forgotten.
Large sects like the Golden Mountain Sect, Pure Heaven Sect, and Black Blood Temple compete for territory, wealth, and ancient legacies. However, all these sects hide a truth: that this world was once one, and was split apart by wars between the sect founders themselves. There are whispers that these founders have become false gods, maintaining the world's order only to preserve their own power.
Yujia, who now walks alone without a sect, begins to hear these whispers from travelers, ancient texts, and sealed spirits in ancient ruins. And in his heart, a determination grows: If this world is built on lies and blood, then let it be the sword that tears it all apart."