Memory flickered like old fire within Li Qiye's mind.
At the end of the Ancient Nether Era, when the Age of the Emperors was just beginning, he had been bound—trapped within the body of the immortal crow. Centuries turned to millennia before he wrestled free of the Demon Immortal Cave's curse.
Back then, Mingren the Immortal Emperor had been nothing but a hot‑blooded youth—reckless, sincere, hungry for the Dao.
It was Li Qiye who had guided him onto the path of cultivation.
Now millions of years had passed.
All those heroes—dust and memory.
Li Qiye's eyes drifted to the incense stand beside the emperor's statue.
An old, black‑charred stick rested there.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
That simple stick had once broken the bones of spirited juniors who had challenged him for pride.
Now, even their names were gone.
The sound of footsteps snapped him from thought.
Six elders of the Cleansing Dust Sect entered the hall—robes flowing, hair white yet auras suffused with crushing intent.
The sect might have declined, but its roots as an imperial lineage still ran deep.
Each of these men could have ruled a kingdom if they wished.
Six pairs of sharp eyes locked onto Li Qiye.
He sat there, calm as stone.
"Where is the Cleansing Dust Order?" the Grand Elder demanded, voice low and resonant.
That relic was sacred—one of the three tokens left by Emperor Mingren himself.
A joke could be forgiven; meddling with this was heresy.
Li Qiye raised a hand. In his palm lay a weathered bronze token, faintly glowing with imperial runes.
Three Smiles Elder had handed it to him before vanishing into a brothel down the mountain—the Emerald Red Pavilion.
Li Qiye had been surprised then; he hadn't expected that lecherous trickster to own such a relic.
Long ago, the Crow had watched the young Mingren craft those three tokens, gifting them to three trusted souls.
To see it again, after millions of years—it stirred something heavy in his chest.
The elders examined the order one by one. The aura was unmistakable. Genuine.
They exchanged uneasy glances. The sect had tried for ages to retrieve that token, but Three Smiles was too slippery—and too protected.
No one had expected him to hand it to a mortal.
"Where's that fool now?" the Grand Elder growled.
"At the Emerald Red Pavilion," Li Qiye said lightly.
Silence. Then collective despair.
Every elder's face darkened. The Emerald Red Pavilion was the largest brothel in town—practically the old man's second home.
"What do you want?" another elder asked coldly, trying to regain dignity.
"I heard the position of Chief Disciple is vacant."
Li Qiye's tone was even. "Three Smiles Elder recommended me. My request — to take that position."
The words hit like thunder.
The elders' expressions turned grim.
"The Chief Disciple's seat is not child's play!" one of them snapped.
"I know," Li Qiye said calmly, "but the holder of the Cleansing Dust Order may make one request. That was Emperor Mingren's decree."
"The token in your hand might not be legitimately yours," the Grand Elder said coldly, eyes glinting.
"Afraid I stole it?" Li Qiye smiled faintly.
"If you doubt me, send someone to the pavilion and ask."
The elder's face twitched—but he waved for confirmation.
Minutes later, a disciple returned, bowing low. "Report — verified. Three Smiles Elder gave it to him personally."
A collective groan filled the hall. There was no going back.
"Bring out the Mirror of True Aspect," ordered the Grand Elder.
A disciple carried in an antique mirror—its surface rippling with immortal light.
The mirror could reveal a cultivator's innate constitution, life wheel, and fate palace.
Light fell upon Li Qiye. His reflection was vague, the glow around him faint and unstable, like a dying candle.
A disciple spoke out clearly, "Constitution: Mortal Body. Life Wheel: Mortal Grade. Fate Palace: Mortal Rank."
The report sent uneasy whispers across the elders.
A common mortal—no talent whatsoever.
"The Chief Disciple must at least possess an Innate Spirit Body," the Grand Elder said icily. "Your qualifications fall short."
"I understand," Li Qiye said evenly. "Which is why I choose this — as my request."
"You—!" another elder roared, but stopped when Li Qiye lifted the bronze token.
"Would the descendants of Emperor Mingren dare defy his law—or betray their ancestor's will?" Li Qiye's voice was calm, almost polite.
"If this token fell into different hands, what then? You know the answer."
Silence thickened.
The Grand Elder's eyes darkened. "Even so, we must verify your origin. Otherwise, the sect loses its face."
"That's your problem, not mine," Li Qiye said lazily.
"If I were truly your enemy, this token could demand the Emperor's Secret Manual itself.
If I intended harm, why bother joining your sect?"
The elders fell quiet. He was right —and they knew it.
"This one speaks truth," Elder Xiong muttered. "Better to let him in, then recover the token afterward."
The Grand Elder didn't like it, but his silence was agreement.
"Still," he said, "the Chief Disciple is the Sect Master's personal choice. Let us ask for his decree."
A messenger talisman flew off in a streak of light.
Moments later, it returned with a single word etched in flame: "Approved."
The elders stared blankly.
"The Sect Master has lost his mind!" the Grand Elder roared, voice echoing through the hall.
Elder Xiong sighed. "What's done is done. The title of Chief Disciple belongs to the Sect Master's candidate. At least, this way, the token returns home."
The decision was made.
Under the watch of six stunned elders, a teenage boy with nothing but a mortal's body was formally admitted into the Cleansing Dust Sect — and named its Chief Disciple.
A title once reserved for prodigies and emperors.
And the ancient crow behind those calm eyes simply smiled.
Fate might forget him—but he would never forget how to rewrite fate.