Chapter 18 – A Mask Beneath the Heavens
The cold mist of dawn hung low over the mountain ridge, curling around the jagged stones like spirits reluctant to leave the mortal world. Ye Tianlan stood barefoot on a cliff ledge, his body soaked in sweat, breath steady and rhythmic as spiritual energy surged through his meridians.
Since his arrival in the Earth Realm, he had kept his existence quiet—his name buried, his identity sealed beneath layers of silence. But as the faint traces of power began to stir in his bloodline, he knew that the shadows were never far behind. Someone… something was watching.
He couldn't see them yet, but he felt them.
A faint prickle at the back of his neck. A presence that lingered just beyond sight.
He exhaled, calming his thoughts. "Not yet… I'm not strong enough to face whoever it is."
With deliberate movements, he drew a black cloth mask from his robe and tied it around his face. His reflection shimmered in the blade of his dagger—no longer the face of Xu Lian, the boy from a destroyed clan, but a faceless wanderer. From this moment onward, Ye Tianlan no longer existed in this realm.
The air trembled as he circulated his spiritual energy again, merging it with his breath. The mountain's qi was dense, unrefined, and harsh—perfect for cultivation under pressure.
He performed the Heaven-Devouring Cycle, a forbidden technique left behind in a fragment of his clan's scripture. Spiritual energy spiraled around him, forming faint rings of light that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
> First cycle… condense. Second cycle… refine. Third cycle… devour.
As the technique deepened, the surrounding air darkened, drawing faint traces of energy from the mountain itself. The trees swayed. The ground hummed. Birds took flight in fear.
But unknown to Ye Tianlan, far in the shadows of the forest below, a figure watched—silent, unmoving. The observer wore robes of pale silver, a talisman gleaming faintly on his chest. His eyes narrowed as he scribbled something on a jade slip.
> "So he survived after all…" the figure murmured. "The Xu bloodline… still breathes."
On the cliff, Tianlan clenched his fist as the cycle completed. His veins burned with fresh power—unstable but alive. The kind of strength that came not from talent, but from pure will.
He sat cross-legged and let the energy settle. The mask on his face fluttered slightly in the breeze, like a seal hiding an untold storm beneath.
> "I'll remain nameless until the time comes," he whispered to the sky. "When I return… I'll make the heavens remember the name Xu once more."
The morning sun pierced through the mist, illuminating the lone cultivator—silent, masked, and unaware that the first threads of fate were already being woven around him.