**The Gue Empire Capital**
The sky unveiled its brilliance—a perfect canvas of azure blue stretched overhead, punctuated by drifting white clouds that cast moving shadows on the bustling streets below. A gentle breeze carried the scent of street vendors' cooking and the perfume from noble gardens. The sun shone warmly from its zenith, blessing the capital with golden light that made the imperial architecture gleam.
Zheng Han finally allowed herself to smile—a genuine expression of contentment rare during her visits to the capital. She clutched the small cloth bag of seeds she'd purchased after careful negotiation, already imagining the garden she would plant and the joyful expression on her son's face when the vegetables grew.
The simple pleasure of that thought warmed her more than the autumn sun.
But her peaceful moment was shattered by the sudden roar of crowds converging on the main avenue. The streets erupted with chanting, thousands of voices unified in welcome for the emperor's long-awaited return after eight years away.
Zheng Han found herself swept along by the crowd's momentum until she stood at the edge of the parade route. First came the bannermen with crimson flags, then the elite guard in mirror-bright armor, then musicians announcing the arrival of power itself.
And then—the imperial carriage.
Inside sat the Emperor flanked by his two sons, all three wearing robes so elaborate they seemed to capture and transform sunlight itself. Zheng Han's breath caught in her throat as her eyes fell upon the Emperor's eldest son.
She recognized that face. Had tried for sixteen years to forget it.
His eyes swept across the crowd—and stopped. Their gazes locked.
The world faded into silence. The cheering, the music, the clatter of hooves—all of it dissolved. There was only the space between them, compressed into a single moment of recognition.
Sunlight bathed them both—the majestic prince in his carriage and the humble woman in her worn traveling clothes, separated by an unbridgeable chasm of social hierarchy.
Yet in that suspended moment, something passed between them—a shared memory of long-buried longing and love that had once burned bright before being smothered by duty and reality.
The prince's composed expression cracked, just for an instant. His eyes widened. His lips parted as if to speak.
Then the carriage rolled forward. The procession continued. The moment shattered.
Zheng Han stood frozen, clutching her bag of seeds, feeling something inside her chest crack and bleed. The prince glanced back once over his shoulder before the curve of the road took him from sight.
*Some doors, once closed, cannot be reopened,* she thought with bitter wisdom. *Some lives, once diverged, can never reconnect.*
She turned away, wanting nothing more than to return to her small hut where her son waited, where the world was smaller and manageable.
---
**Back to Black Water Village – Moments Earlier**
"Tell me," Xiang Yue said softly, her voice carrying that same musical quality that seemed at odds with the violence she'd just committed, "do we know each other? You look remarkably like someone I once knew. The resemblance is... striking."
Zhung felt his pulse quicken despite his iron control. His body tensed involuntarily, a wave of irrational fear washing over him—not fear of death, but fear of *recognition*, of being *known*.
Their eyes locked in an intense, searching gaze. Her crimson irises studied every detail of his face, as if trying to solve a puzzle. Meanwhile, Zhung's eyes—which had once been vibrant blue in another life—were now hollow and lifeless, black as a winter night.
Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. Rain began to fall, first as scattered drops, then with increasing intensity, soaking the autumn leaves and drumming against the tavern's roof.
"Excuse me, miss," Zhung said with forced calm, each word carefully measured, "but you must be confusing me with someone else. I'm just a peasant from outside the village."
The woman's expression hardened, her crimson eyes narrowing with absolute certainty. "No. Your presence is *precisely* what I've been searching for."
Her voice carried a bitter edge that sent chills down Zhung's spine.
Zhung forced himself to remain outwardly calm while his mind raced. "Then tell me—who are you, really?"
The question hung between them. Rain drummed harder. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the tavern in stark white light.
His hand curled into a fist beneath the table, nails digging into his palm hard enough to draw blood. The pain helped anchor him.
The woman leaned closer, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "My name is Xiang Yue. But you..." She paused, studying his reaction. "You may have known me by another name, in another life. Tell me—does the name Xain Xe mean anything to you?"
The name struck him like a physical blow.
*Xe. Not Yue. Close, but not identical.*
Zhung's entire body went rigid for a heartbeat. His dark eyes flickered with emotions he quickly suppressed—recognition, fear, rage, grief, all compressed into a single instant before his control reasserted itself.
"I'm Zhung," he said finally, forcing warmth into his voice. "Just Zhung. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Yue."
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly. Blood from his self-inflicted palm wounds dripped onto the table, mixing with spilled alcohol. "I should go. The rain is getting worse."
As he turned toward the exit, Xiang Yue's expression shifted rapidly—nostalgia bleeding into anger, anger transforming into something that looked disturbingly like pity.
"Goodbye, Mr. Zhung," she said softly. "I hope we meet again. Soon."
Behind her, reality began to ripple. A subtle distortion appeared in the air, like looking at the world through water. She stepped backward into it, and the rift closed, leaving Zhung alone in the emptying tavern.
---
Zhung stumbled out into the rain, his mind reeling.
As he trudged along the muddy path back toward the forest, something inside him fractured. The name—*Xiang Yue*, so close to *Xain Xe*—ignited a spark in his hollow gaze. His expression shifted from cold neutrality to something darker, more volatile.
He looked up at the darkening sky and laughed—a sound that started as genuine mirth but quickly transformed into something manic, desperate.
Then his legs buckled. He staggered, pressing his bleeding palms to his face, and the laughter turned to harsh sobs that tore from his throat against his will.
"Why?" he shouted at the uncaring heavens. "Why torment me like this? Just—*why*?"
For the first time in years, his carefully constructed mask cracked completely. Raw humanity bled through—pain and confusion and the accumulated grief of three lifetimes all surfacing at once.
But the moment of weakness passed quickly. He wiped his face roughly, forced himself to stand, and smiled bitterly at the storm.
"The past is irrelevant," he muttered, his voice hardening. "It never truly existed. How could I be so foolish as to believe it was just a dream?"
Thunder cracked directly overhead, as if Heaven itself was mocking the clown standing in the mud who had just unearthed the truth of his second life.
*If Xiang Yue knows the name Xain Xe... if she recognizes something in me... then the cultivation world was real. Master Shin Luo was real. Everything I experienced across three hundred years actually happened.*
*Which means I truly in my deathbed and I killed the Heavenly Demon in a intense fight. Which means every betrayal, every loss, every moment of that life left permanent scars on my soul.*
His eyes briefly flashed brilliant blue—the color they'd been in his cultivation life—before fading back to empty black.
"Being deceived marks me as a fool," Zhung said to the storm. "So I admit it—I am that fool."
Rain poured down harder, as if trying to wash away his revelation.
"Therefore, I must press on. I must attempt to redefine the concepts of Heaven and Fate themselves. No more being their entertainment. No more being the cosmic joke."
---
By the time he reached his small hut, the storm had intensified into a full tempest. Zhung sat at the rough wooden table, water dripping from his hair and clothes, and began writing a letter with hands that trembled slightly.
*Mother,*
*I've gone to pursue an opportunity that cannot wait. There are things I must do, paths I must walk, before I lose the chance forever. Please don't worry. I will return when I can.*
*Thank you for everything you've given me—warmth in a cold world, love when I'd forgotten what it felt like, a reason to keep some small part of my humanity alive.*
*The seeds you'll bring back will grow beautifully. Plant them in the south corner where the sun lingers longest.*
*Your son,
Zhung*
He stared at the letter for a long moment, then carefully folded it and placed it prominently on the table where she would find it immediately upon returning.
Looking around the small hut one last time, he allowed himself a genuine smile—sad but real.
Then he gathered supplies into a large bundle: dried food, a waterskin, the hunter's knife he'd kept hidden, rope, flint and steel, a change of clothes. Everything a person might need to disappear into the world.
*My mother was the last light in this life,* he thought with cold clarity. *But if I stay here, I'll only dim that light. Better to leave now, to become something strong enough to protect what little warmth remains, than to wait for Fate to snuff it out like it always does.*
As the storm continued its assault on the world outside, Zhung opened the door, shouldered his bundle, and stepped out into the rain.
He cast one final glance back at the hut—at the only home and family he had in this life—then turned and walked into the forest without looking back again.
The rain fell steadily, soaking him to the bone, but his frozen soul remained unmoved.
His thoughts had turned to ice: *Enough is enough. I refuse to let them dim my light any longer. I must make an effort. I must redefine the rules. I will transform myself from a clown into an unstoppable force.*
*Even if it costs me everything.*
---
**Black Water Village – The Next Morning**
Zhung returned to Black Water Village under gray morning skies, the storm having passed but leaving everything sodden and miserable. His gaze had become cold as steel, his eyes reflecting the relentless pursuit of an unattainable goal—power, understanding, control over his own fate.
The village was just beginning to stir, merchants setting up stalls, early risers heading to work. Everything appeared normal on the surface.
Then Zhung's gaze fell upon a shadowy alleyway between two buildings.
A woman stood there—strikingly beautiful in an unsettling way, with an unmistakable aura of predatory intent. As Zhung watched from a distance, she moved with casual grace toward a drunk man who'd passed out against a wall.
Her hand moved in a blur. The man's throat opened. Blood sprayed.
She straightened, a streak of blood now decorating her pale face, and turned directly toward where Zhung stood watching.
Passersby continued about their day, completely oblivious to the murder that had just occurred mere feet away, as if some technique was keeping them from perceiving it.
The woman's copper-colored eyes locked onto Zhung's dark ones. Her predatory aura intensified for a moment—then vanished completely, replaced by an expression of curious interest.
She approached him with unhurried steps, her movements graceful and deliberate.
"Hello there, young man," she purred, her voice dripping with sultry undertones. "You seem a bit lost. Or perhaps... you're exactly where you intended to be?"
Zhung remained silent, his gaze as unyielding as steel, his dark eyes fixed only on her with analytical coldness. He showed no fear, no revulsion at what he'd just witnessed—only calm assessment.
The woman tilted her head, studying him like a fascinating specimen. "Most mortals would be running and screaming by now. But you..." She smiled. "You just watch. Calculate. Interesting."
Before either could speak again, the ground suddenly trembled beneath their feet.
The vibration was subtle at first, then grew stronger. Around them, people paused, looking confused. Birds exploded from trees in the nearby forest, fleeing in panicked flocks.
Then—a thunderous roar resounded from deep within the forest, so loud and primal it seemed to shake the very air. The sound transformed the lingering drizzle into a renewed downpour as storm clouds gathered with impossible speed.
Curiosity drew the townspeople outside despite the rain. They emerged from homes and shops, gathering in the muddy main street, all staring toward the forest with expressions ranging from fear to excitement.
The ground shook more violently. Trees at the forest's edge began swaying and cracking.
The woman beside Zhung smiled wider, her copper eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Well, well. This day just became far more interesting."
The forest trembled as something massive moved through it, snapping trees like twigs. Among the towering pines and oaks, an enormous shape emerged—a wolf, but impossibly large, easily the size of a small cottage.
Its fur was pristine white, almost glowing against the dark forest background, now slicked down by rain. Its eyes burned a vivid, unnatural crimson red that seemed to pierce through the gloom.
The beast opened its massive jaws and released a haunting, gut-wrenching howl that resonated in the chest cavity of every person who heard it.
Mortals throughout the village—Zhung included—clutched their ears in agony as the sound seemed to vibrate through their very bones. Several people collapsed. Children screamed. The pain was intense, disorienting, almost unbearable.
But the woman beside him remained completely unfazed, her smile never wavering. She looked at the beast with the expression of someone appraising valuable merchandise.
"An Albino Mountain Wolf," she said with satisfaction, loud enough for Zhung to hear despite the ringing in his ears. "Infused with demonic blood, at least Bronze rank. This will be profitable."
The doors of the cultivators' tavern burst open. Multiple figures emerged—the white-robed Hang family member, several rough-looking hunters, and others Zhung recognized as having displayed abilities beyond normal humans.
They all wore similar expressions: hungry greed barely masked by professional assessment.
One cultivator—a burly man with Iron rank aura—shouted over the rain: "Demonic blood! A beast of this size could have enough concentrated essence for multiple breakthroughs!"
"It's mine!" another yelled.
"First kill gets first claim!" a third added.
The woman who'd been speaking with Zhung suddenly sprang forward with inhuman speed, moving so fast she seemed to blur. Other cultivators followed, each trying to reach the beast first, to claim the prize.
As the cultivators charged toward the Albino Mountain Wolf, panicked villagers fled in all directions—screaming, shoving, trampling over each other in their desperation to escape.
Only Zhung remained relatively still, standing in the muddy street, watching everything unfold with calculating eyes.
A grim smile spread across his face as he stared at the massive beast. His dark eyes gleamed with cold determination.
*Demonic blood,* he thought. *Finally. After eight years of failure, an opportunity has literally walked out of the forest and presented itself.*
But he knew better than to rush in blindly. He was still mortal—no Aperture, no Will, no cultivation. Against Bronze-rank cultivators and a demonic beast, direct confrontation meant certain death.
*Patience,* he reminded himself. *Wait for the right moment. Let them weaken each other. Then strike.*
He darted into a nearby alleyway, pressing himself into shadows where he could observe without being noticed, his bundle of supplies still strapped to his back.
From the forest, answering the Albino Mountain Wolf's howl, came a chorus of responding cries—higher-pitched, more numerous.
A pack of blood wolves surged from between the trees—dozens of them, each one the size of a large dog, their red eyes glowing with mindless hunger, their fangs dripping with saliva.
The scene descended into immediate chaos.
The first cultivator to reach the pack—a Copper-rank warrior with enhanced speed—barely had time to scream before three blood wolves converged on him. One clamped onto his head, jaws crushing through skull. The others tore at his limbs, pulling him apart like a rag doll.
Another cultivator tried to use a fire technique, flames erupting from his palms, but five wolves overwhelmed him before he could complete the attack. They dragged him down into the mud where his screams were quickly muffled and then silenced.
The muddy earth turned red, blood mixing with rainwater to create crimson streams that flowed between the cobblestones.
Cultivators fell one by one despite their enhanced abilities. The sheer number of blood wolves, combined with the massive Albino Mountain Wolf coordinating the assault, proved overwhelming.
Zhung remained hidden, watching with cold analysis, waiting for his opportunity.
Then a blood wolf's head turned, its red eyes locking directly onto his hiding spot. It had caught his scent.
The beast charged with terrifying speed, claws churning mud, jaws wide.
Zhung's hand moved with practiced efficiency. He drew the knife from his bundle just as the beast lunged at his throat.
Time seemed to slow. He could see every detail—the blood on its teeth from previous kills, the mindless hunger in its eyes, the way rainwater flew off its fur as it moved.
He twisted aside at the last instant, letting momentum carry the wolf past him, and drove his blade upward into its eye socket. The knife punched through the thin bone behind the eye, into the brain.
The wolf's charge became a stumble. It crashed into the alley wall, thrashing.
Zhung yanked the knife free, blood spraying across his face and clothes, and plunged it into the beast's neck with brutal efficiency. He held it there, pinning the creature as it bled out, until its thrashing weakened and finally stopped.
He stood slowly, breathing hard, adrenaline singing through his veins. His clothes were now thoroughly soaked with blood and rain. His face was spattered with gore.
He looked down at the dead wolf with satisfaction. *One.*
But there was no time to celebrate. He quickly surveyed the chaotic battle unfolding in the street.
The copper-eyed woman was fighting with incredible skill, her movements almost dance-like as she wove between attacks. But even she was being pushed back by sheer numbers.
The white-robed Hang cultivator had created a barrier of spiritual energy, but blood wolves were hammering against it relentlessly, and cracks were beginning to show.
"Everyone, this is too much!" one cultivator shouted over the chaos. "We need to retreat!"
As if the Albino Mountain Wolf understood human speech and wanted to prevent their escape, it moved with devastating speed. Its massive paw swung in a wide arc, catching the shouting cultivator mid-sentence.
The impact sent him flying like a toy. He crashed through the wooden wall of a house with a sickening *crunch*, disappearing into the structure's interior. The building's frame shuddered from the impact.
The remaining cultivators' resolve broke completely. They turned and fled in different directions, abandoning any thought of claiming the prize, focused only on survival.
As chaos reigned and rain poured down, Zhung pressed himself deeper into the shadows, his mind racing through possibilities.
The Albino Mountain Wolf was powerful—far beyond his ability to fight directly. But he noticed something crucial: the beast was favoring its left front leg. An old injury, perhaps, or damage from the initial cultivator attacks. It was limping slightly.
*Already weakened,* Zhung observed. *But still incredibly dangerous. And those blood wolves—six remain close to it, acting as guards.*
He frowned, considering his options, then looked toward the tavern. An idea formed.
Moving silently through the chaos, staying low and using the rain and confusion as cover, Zhung approached the tavern from the side. He found a window that had been left open—probably by someone fleeing in panic.
He slipped inside the wooden building with practiced stealth.
The interior was empty, abandoned in the rush to escape or fight. Zhung moved quickly up the stairs, each creaky step making him wince, but the sounds of battle outside covered any noise he made.
On the second floor, in what appeared to be a cultivator's rented room, he found exactly what he'd hoped for: a bow resting against the wall, and a quiver with perhaps three arrows.
A genuine smile spread across his blood-spattered face. He gathered them eagerly, testing the bow's draw weight. It was heavy—meant for someone with enhanced strength—but manageable.
*Perfect.*
A noise from below made him freeze. Heavy breathing, paw-steps on wood.
Three blood wolves had entered the tavern, following his scent trail.
Zhung cursed silently. He moved to the top of the stairs, nocking an arrow, and waited.
The beasts appeared below, red eyes glowing in the tavern's dim interior, mouths dripping saliva and blood. They spotted him and immediately charged up the stairs.
Zhung drew, focused, and released.
The arrow flew true, striking the lead wolf directly in the eye. The shaft punched through and into the brain. The beast dropped mid-step, tumbling down the stairs and tripping the two behind it.
But they recovered quickly, leaping over their fallen packmate with snarls of rage.
Zhung nocked another arrow, aimed at the second wolf's neck as it bounded up the stairs.
Released.
The arrow struck perfectly. The wolf's howl of pain turned into a wet gurgle as blood poured from the wound. It stumbled, thrashing violently on the stairs, choking on its own life as the arrow had severed something vital.
Zhung quickly pulled the arrow from its neck—blood-slick but still usable—as the third wolf launched itself directly at his face.
He had no time to nock the arrow properly. Instead, he grabbed his knife with his other hand and raised it desperately to deflect the beast's snapping jaws.
The wolf's bone-crushing bite clamped down on the blade. Metal groaned. The knife bent, then snapped in half with a sharp *crack*.
The momentum of the beast's leap carried it into Zhung, slamming him backward onto the wooden floor. His breath exploded from his lungs. The bow clattered away.
The wolf loomed over him, broken knife handle still caught in its jaws. It spat out the metal fragments and opened its mouth wide, going for his face.
Zhung's hand shot up, grabbing the bloody arrow he'd retrieved. With desperate strength, he drove it upward into the soft flesh under the wolf's jaw, punching through into its mouth.
The beast recoiled, pawing at the arrow, giving Zhung just enough space to roll aside.
But it was still moving, still alive, still dangerous. It shook its head, dislodging the arrow, and turned back toward him with murder in its red eyes.
*No more weapons. No more tricks. Just...*
An idea—insane, primal, desperate—flashed through Zhung's mind.
As the wolf lunged again, Zhung moved *toward* it instead of away, getting inside its attack range. His mouth opened wide, and he *bit* down on the wolf's neck with all his strength.
His teeth sank into fur, through skin, into the meat beneath. Hot blood flooded his mouth, tasting of copper and raw flesh. The wolf howled in shock and pain.
Zhung's jaw clenched harder, shaking his head like an animal, feeling his teeth tear deeper. The wolf thrashed violently, trying to throw him off, but he held on with desperate strength, biting down until he felt something give way—muscle separating, veins rupturing.
Still clinging to the beast's neck with his teeth, Zhung's hand groped for the fallen arrow. His fingers closed around it.
With his last reserve of strength, he pulled his head back, ripping flesh with his teeth, and drove the arrow into the wolf's eye socket with brutal force. He pushed it deep, angling upward, feeling it punch through into the brain cavity.
The wolf's body went rigid. Its legs spasmed once, twice. Then it collapsed, dead weight falling onto him.
Zhung lay there for a moment, pinned beneath the corpse, breathing hard, his mouth full of blood—the wolf's and his own from where he'd bitten his tongue. He spat repeatedly, trying to clear the taste, then pushed the body off with effort.
He stood slowly, assessing himself. Multiple bruises. Cuts. Exhausted. But alive.
*Three down,* he thought with grim satisfaction. *But there are still more out there, and the Albino Mountain Wolf hasn't even been seriously wounded yet.*
He retrieved the bow and remaining arrows, then moved to the second-floor window that overlooked the main street.
From this elevated position, he could see the full scope of the battle. The Albino Mountain Wolf stood in the center of the devastation it had created, surrounded by three remaining blood wolves that acted as a protective guard.
Bodies littered the street—both human and beast. The survivors had fled. It was just the pack now, victorious, beginning to feed on the fallen.
Zhung nocked an arrow, took careful aim at one of the blood wolves, and released.
The arrow whistled through the rain and struck the beast in the head. It dropped instantly.
The remaining two blood wolves' heads snapped toward the tavern, spotting him in the window. They began moving toward the building.
Zhung calmly nocked another arrow, aimed at the closer one, and released. The arrow struck its front leg, shattering bone. The wolf collapsed, unable to walk but still alive, howling in pain and fury.
The last blood wolf tried to howl a warning to the Albino Mountain Wolf, opening its jaws wide.
Zhung's hand moved in a blur. He grabbed his final knife—the one he'd thrown earlier and retrieved from a wolf's skull—and hurled it with all his strength.
The blade spun through the air and embedded itself deep in the wolf's skull with a wet *thunk*. The creature dropped mid-howl, dead before it hit the ground.
*Done. All the blood wolves are dead or dying.*
Zhung jumped from the window, landing hard in the mud but rolling to absorb the impact. He came up with the bow in hand, though he was now completely out of arrows.
He walked calmly toward the blood wolf he'd crippled—the one with the shattered leg, whimpering and trying desperately to drag itself away.
The beast's red eyes met his dark ones. It whimpered again, almost pleading, some animal instinct recognizing a superior predator.
Zhung felt nothing. No pity, no satisfaction. Just cold necessity.
He walked slowly around to its uninjured side, bent down, and pulled the arrow from its leg. The wolf howled in agony as blood gushed from the wound.
Without hesitation, Zhung drove the same arrow into its other front leg, pinning it completely. More howls, more blood mixing with the rain.
The beast was immobilized now, unable to move, only able to watch as Zhung walked away.
He turned his attention to the structures around him—the tavern, the nearby houses, the merchant stalls. His mind was calculating, planning.
The blood wolf's vision began to blur as shock and blood loss took their toll. Through dimming eyes, it watched the strange human move between buildings with purpose, gathering things, preparing something.
Then its vision went dark, and it knew nothing more.
Zhung worked quickly in the rain, his movements efficient and practiced. He had a plan now—desperate, dangerous, but possible.
The Albino Mountain Wolf was still out there, weakened but deadly. And somewhere in its body flowed the demonic blood he needed.
All he had to do was take it.
The storm intensified, rain falling in sheets, as if Heaven itself was watching to see what the mortal boy would do next.
**End of Chapter 9**