The heavens wept fire.
The mountains of the Azure Sky Sect, once filled with chants of cultivation, were drowned in screams and blood.
Smoke rose into the night, and the scent of death hung heavy in the air.
Among the ruins, a young man crawled from beneath a pile of corpses. His body trembled, his eyes empty.
His name… was Wang Chung.
He was seventeen this year — a low-ranked disciple of the Azure Sky Sect.
Three years ago, he had joined the sect full of hope and dreams, believing that one day he too would soar across the heavens like the elders he admired.
But reality was cruel.
His spirit roots were weak — barely measurable. His talent was worse than ordinary. While others advanced realms within months, he took three years just to step into the Second Layer of Qi Condensation.
He endured the mockery, the pity, the whispers that he would never cultivate past mediocrity.
Yet he stayed.
He worked.
He believed effort could surpass talent.
Until tonight.
---
The Scarlet Moon Sect, one of the Eight Great Sects of the Southern Domain, had descended without warning.
They called it justice. They called it punishment.
But it was nothing more than slaughter.
Wang Chung had watched his master die. He had seen his fellow disciples—his friends—cut down one after another.
He had hidden beneath their corpses, trembling, his nails digging into his palms until blood ran down his fingers.
For three days, he lay there as flames devoured everything he once loved.
When the fire finally burned out, he climbed out from the ashes, alone.
---
He wandered through the ruins, each step heavier than the last.
The sky above was dull and grey, the world eerily silent.
That was when he saw it — a faint golden light glowing beneath the fallen altar of the main hall.
Curiosity—or perhaps despair—drove him to it.
There, half-buried in rubble, floated a small black bead. Golden veins shimmered faintly across its surface, pulsing like a heartbeat.
It was beautiful… and terrifying.
As if drawn by fate, Wang Chung reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed the bead, a flash of light swallowed him whole.
Pain surged through his body. His vision blurred.
He fell to the ground as the bead melted into light and pierced between his brows.
---
When he awoke, dawn had already come.
His body ached, yet deep inside… something was different.
In the depths of his soul, a black bead floated silently — spinning slowly in the void of his consciousness.
He could feel it there, calm and ancient, radiating an aura that made his soul tremble.
He tried to move it. Nothing happened.
He tried to speak to it. Silence.
Yet from that day onward, his cultivation began to change.
The Qi around him grew gentler, purer.
Though his progress remained slow, every wisp of Qi he absorbed felt heavier, more refined, as if it carried the weight of heaven itself.
Still, Wang Chung said nothing.
He told no one. There was no one left to tell.
---
Months passed. He buried the dead, carved graves, and left the mountain behind.
He walked through villages and forests, surviving on whatever he could find.
While others chased glory and power, he walked the path of silence.
But deep in his eyes, a faint spark refused to fade.
One night, beneath a blood-red moon, he stood upon a cliff overlooking the burning horizon. His voice was calm, cold, and filled with quiet determination.
> "Scarlet Moon Sect…"
"You destroyed my home. You killed my master. You took everything from me."
"One day…"
"You'll kneel."
As his words faded into the wind, the black bead within his soul spun once, and the heavens seemed to shiver.
From that night on, a new fate began to stir.
The boy the world forgot…
Would one day become the Celestial Immortal Emperor.