Ziwei descended from the Upper Realm, guided by the celestial glow of the Star Chart—an Innate Supreme Treasure bound by forty-nine cosmic restrictions, woven from starlight, time, and the silent will of the Great Dao.
Its constellations shifted and shimmered, mapping every star, every fate, every breath of Heaven.
With each step, the laws of space bent and folded beneath him.
But today, Ziwei did not walk with divine command.
He walked in silence.
Layer after layer, he passed through the Nine Celestial Veils—thunder, flame, water, wind, frost, metal, poison, shadow, and pure light—each a sacred seal forged to imprison chaos-born spirits.
And then, he arrived.
The Primordial Land.
The sleeping heart of the cosmos.
Here, Pangu's spine still pierced the heavens, and the first breath of Creation drifted like wind through ancient forests.
Yet the land lay still.
Silent.
"So long they have slept," Ziwei murmured, standing on a crumbling ledge of floating stone, his silver robes stirring like the faintest star-wind. "What storm do they fear will come next?"
Below stretched a realm untouched by time—forests frozen in quiet, hollow rivers without flow, and sealed tombs holding beings older than stars themselves.
The Eighth Era had dawned.
Yet the world had not awakened.
10 million years passed.
But not in haste.
Ziwei had been born with the Martial Dao—an immortal path forged for those denied fate. But he did not rush to claim dominion.
Instead, he turned inward.
He refined his body and soul, tempering the Martial Path from the first step of flesh-hardening pain to the Great Luo Golden Immortal.
He forged a way so that even mortals without divine root or bloodline could climb to the heavens.
While stars turned and Eras cycled, Ziwei waited.
Patient.
Until now.
The Primordial Land greeted him not as a throne to be taken, but as a sacred pilgrimage.
Forests of jade stretched upward, their leaves humming with Innate Qi, each breath alive with the resonance of pre-Dao harmony.
Mountains rose like the spines of dragons, wreathed in fog spun from spirit light and memory.
Ziwei could dispel the illusions with a thought.
But he did not.
"Let me see as mortals see," he whispered. "With wonder."
Crystal rivers carved ancient paths, their waters singing songs older than language. Blossoms bloomed along their banks—some pulsing with Yin-Yang energy, others radiating ancient soul essence.
He passed beneath a silver waterfall, its droplets catching rainbows woven from Dao-light.
"Like Kunlun's Crystal Springs," he murmured, "but more... alive."
Wherever Ziwei's bare feet touched the sacred soil, flowers bloomed eternal—unfading and untouched by sorrow.
A lone sakura tree shed petals that shimmered like stars, yet none decayed.
"Like the Mortal World's groves," he smiled faintly, "but free of grief."
Golden lotuses, vast as chariots, bloomed nearby—each one so pure it could refine a Saint's soul.
"Even Heaven's Jade Garden never birthed such harmony."
Despite his divine nature, Ziwei stood quiet, his soul stirring deeply.
"If the Purple Star held valleys like these… perhaps I would never have built palaces of jade and lightning."
Though the Supreme Emperor of Heaven and Earth, Ziwei's heart carried mortal memories.
He remembered the laughter of a brother.
The warmth of a mother's embrace.
The ache of longing.
A soft breeze tugged at his sleeve; spirit birds wove nests in glowing trees; the fog danced like forgotten dreams.
"Why does this feel more real than the Celestial Court?" he wondered.
He dreamed not as a god, but as a man.
A palace not of thunder, but of wood and starlight.
Where moonlight flowed through open windows,
And rivers ran beneath the halls.
Ziwei walked slowly—not with urgency, but with reverence.
Though trillions of li remained to his goal, he did not rush.
He walked not toward conquest—
But toward Mount Buzhou.
The spine of Heaven.
The body of Pangu.
And the father he never knew.
Ziwei's mortal life had known a mother's arms and a brother's laughter.
But a father?
Only silence.
Now, in this divine form—born from Pangu's will—he carried no voice of a father's love.
Yet as he approached Mount Buzhou, where Pangu's spine upheld the sky,
Ziwei walked like a son returning home.
Slowly.
Silently.
With eyes full of yearning.
Suddenly, he stopped.
His divine senses rippled.
A sorrow hung heavy in the air.
Before him stood a silver-furred doe, shielding her trembling calf.
Her aura flickered—Mysterious Immortal realm—no match for what approached.
A Ferocious Beast.
Massive. Twisted. Claws dripping with chaos.
Eyes burning red with hunger.
Golden Immortal realm.
The doe knew she would fall.
Yet she stood tall—defiant.
Whispering to her child, she sent it running.
> "Mama said I must live," the calf sobbed, stumbling. "If I stay… she can't fight. Just like Papa… before he vanished…"
"Will I lose Mama too...?"
He ran, tears streaking his silver fur, glancing back.
His mother roared, buying time.
Ziwei's eyes shimmered.
And a single tear fell.
"Even beasts mourn."
"Even beasts love."
Ziwei raised a hand.
From the sky, a vast purple palm descended—
Formed of pure Dao, shaped by heavenly law.
It moved slowly.
Not with wrath.
But with final judgment.
CRACK.
The beast vanished—no blood spilled.
The calf stopped, turning.
The menace was gone.
Only silence remained.
Neither doe nor calf saw the savior.
But deep within their souls, a Presence was felt—
Vast.
Distant.
Divine.
They bowed.
As deeply as beasts could.
And they were mistaken.
This was no cold judge of the Celestial Court.
This was Ziwei—
Supreme Emperor of Heaven and Earth.
Yet in his heart,
He was still a mortal boy,
Born in a world far away.
Ziwei's gaze grew distant.
In the doe's courage, he saw his own mother—
Working tirelessly.
Holding two sons.
Alone.
But always smiling.
"Mom… Brother…"
"Wherever you are… I hope you are well."
"Mom… your son has grown strong."
"Maybe one day… I'll rule the Honghuang."
"If only… you could see it."
His words were soft.
But the stars heard.
And the wind wept.
Ziwei stood beneath an empty sky.
Before him, Mount Buzhou rose like a pillar—
The spine of the world.
The pillar of the heavens.
The resting place of Pangu's will.
He took a breath.
Stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
Not as a god.
Not as a ruler.
But as a son.
And the cosmos—
Held its breath.