Some encounters are not written by fate, but by the hand that tears fate apart. Zhou Tian had not stumbled upon those people—no, the web had already entangled him within their story. His arrival here was not a choice, but an inevitability.
And inevitability was the cruelest chain of all—for it offered no retreat, no escape, no second path.
When their gazes fell upon him, the world itself seemed to tilt.
The dim lamps of the ruins flickered, shadows quivering as though afraid. The air pressed down, thick and suffocating, forcing Zhou Tian's breath to grow heavy. It was as if a thousand years of dust and weight were crushing his lungs.
The two figures stood still, their presence like immovable monoliths. Then, one of them asked, voice sharp and suspicious:
"Why are you hiding there? Are you a spy?"
Their words echoed unnaturally, reverberating against the ruined walls as though the place itself repeated the question.
Zhou Tian's heart pounded. The pressure that emanated from their bodies was indescribable, so overwhelming that his mortal senses could not measure it. Their aura alone pressed against his bones, whispering of death.
Yet he forced himself to answer, voice trembling but steady in resolve:
"I… I was traveling when suddenly a portal appeared before me. It pulled me in, and when I crossed through, I found myself here."
The two exchanged glances, brows furrowing.
"A portal?" one muttered. "This ruin has no other entrances. For years, none have found a way in."
Their suspicion did not wane. Instead, it deepened.
"Where are you from?" the second man demanded. "What clan or sect do you belong to?"
"I… come from Earth," Zhou Tian replied, the word falling like a fragile stone into a bottomless abyss. "I do not belong to any sect, nor any clan."
"Earth?" The men frowned. Their thoughts brushed against one another, silent yet heavy. In the Immortal Realm, no record existed of such a place.
"You lie to us," the first man said coldly. "Enough riddles. Come with us. The Young Master will deal with you."
Zhou Tian's body stiffened. He knew resistance was useless. These two were stronger than him by countless measures. If they wished, they could crush him where he stood. So he lowered his head and allowed himself to be taken.
As they walked deeper into the ruins, Zhou Tian overheard their hushed voices:
"This man has no cultivation at all. Perhaps he is truly mortal. If so, why bother taking him to the Young Master? Killing him now would save time."
The other man's eyes narrowed. A faint, obscure symbol flickered in his gaze, as though a cosmic script etched itself upon his iris.
"Not so simple," he murmured. "Two possibilities exist. Either his cultivation is hidden so well we cannot pierce it… or he truly has nothing. Both are dangerous in their own ways."
Their silence weighed heavier than chains.
"Bring him," the second commanded at last. "If he hides power, the Young Master will uncover it. If not… then he is no more than dust."
Zhou Tian felt invisible pressure tighten around him. His limbs chilled, his bones stiffened. Without rope, without touch, their sheer will bound him, pulling him forward like a prisoner shackled to unseen chains.
They walked through a corridor of ancient palaces, vast as mountains. Mural after mural stretched across the walls, carved in styles older than memory itself. Yet their meaning was lost. Faded symbols slithered like serpents under his gaze, rearranging when he tried to focus on them, as though alive.
The silence grew unbearable. His footsteps echoed, but the rhythm did not match his heartbeat. No—something else pulsed beneath the stones, another cadence, another will.
Finally, they entered a vast hall.
---
The chamber stretched endlessly, lit by torches that burned with blue flame. The ceiling dissolved into shadow, from which hung chains of light that swayed gently as though pulled by invisible tides.
At the far end, upon a throne of bone and black stone, sat a young man.
Or rather, a man who appeared young. His face was smooth, almost delicate, his body slim. Yet his eyes carried a winter that had endured for millennia. His robe was embroidered with dragons and lotuses, his hand rested on a staff crowned by a crystal that pulsed slowly, like the beat of a heart.
When Zhou Tian was dragged before him, the young man tilted his head, studying him with cold curiosity.
"Interesting," he murmured. His voice was soft, but it rippled across the hall like waves, echoing in every corner. "A mortal? In this place?"
The two escorts immediately bowed low.
"Young Master, his body contains no spiritual force. Yet the ruins only permit those beneath the Divine Master level to enter. We wondered if perhaps… his cultivation was hidden."
The Young Master rose from his throne. Each step he took elongated the hall, stretching time itself, as though his presence warped reality. He stopped before Zhou Tian, lowering his gaze.
His eyes were black, vast as the void, yet within them glimmered distant stars.
Then, he smiled.
"No. He truly is a mortal."
The smile was calm, almost tender. Yet the cold that seeped from it was sharper than any blade.
"How rare… how fragile… and how useful."
Zhou Tian's chest tightened. He understood nothing—not this place, not these people, not their language of power. But his instincts screamed at him. The Young Master's eyes did not hold curiosity. They held hunger.
The staff lifted. Threads of shadow unraveled from the air itself, weaving into a circle around Zhou Tian. Symbols blazed to life on the floor—spirals of red and gold, patterns like blood flowing in ritual veins.
A sacrificial array.
"Blood of a mortal shall widen the gate," the Young Master whispered. "His body shall awaken the slumbering seal."
The two escorts bowed even lower.
Zhou Tian struggled, but the ritual's weight pressed down upon him, pinning him like an insect beneath glass. His muscles locked, his veins burned. Even the universe seemed complicit, forbidding him to move.
A thought crept into his despair:
So this is my end? A pawn sacrificed in a game I never knew existed?
But another voice, colder, stubborn, whispered from the depths of his heart:
No. I did not come this far to vanish nameless. Even as an ant, even if I am crushed, I will not let the world decide my worth.
The array blazed brighter. The Young Master's staff rose, his incantations shattering the air like splintered glass.
And then—
---
A voice, sharp as a drawn blade, sliced through the chamber.
"You dare?"
The flames shuddered. The chains above clattered violently, singing a metallic dirge.
From the shadows, a figure emerged.
She wore robes of white, embroidered with silver patterns. Midnight hair cascaded like a waterfall, her pale face aglow with cold moonlight. Her eyes were like frozen lakes—calm, yet merciless. In her hand gleamed a sword, its edge whispering promises of death, its light flickering with both frost and fire.
The Young Master froze. His smile curdled into a scowl.
"Lin Moun."
The two escorts trembled, bowing until their heads touched the floor.
Zhou Tian's eyes widened. He did not know her, yet her presence was like a storm descending upon a mountain—inescapable, overwhelming. She did not look at him, nor offer any sign of salvation. Her gaze was fixed only on the Young Master, sharp and unyielding.
The Young Master's voice darkened.
"This is my ritual. You would interfere?"
Lin Moun's lips curved, but it was not kindness—only contempt.
"Corrupt arts? In these ruins? You dare stain your lineage with such filth?"
The Young Master's face twisted with anger.
"Spare me your lectures, cold witch. You wield death's blade and speak of purity? Do you think your weapon grants you the right to judge me?"
Her eyes narrowed, glacial.
"Right?" she whispered. "I require no right. I have strength."
Her sword rose. Its song rang through the chamber, defying the silence of centuries.
The Young Master's staff pulsed with malevolent light. The array around Zhou Tian flared, its symbols writhing like serpents.
The air thickened with imminent violence.
---
The hall trembled. Shadows writhed across the walls, chains clattered like the heartbeat of a thousand drums. Zhou Tian stood trapped in the center of the ritual, powerless, watching two titans face one another.
The world itself seemed to hold its breath.
And in that breathless pause, Zhou Tian realized:
Whatever happened next, his life would never again belong to himself.
---