Morning light spilled through the towering windows of the imperial palace, pooling like liquid gold on the smooth, polished floors. Silk tapestries swayed gently in the faint breeze, their intricate patterns shifting with the sun's warmth.
The soft hum of distant footsteps echoed through marble corridors, accompanied by the faint clinking of porcelain cups. A delicate fragrance—incense mingled with jasmine—drifted in from the gardens, curling through the air like a whispered promise.
Long Shen stood by the wide veranda, his gaze tracing the mountains guarding the capital. Their peaks sliced the sky like silent sentinels, unmoving and eternal.
His fingers brushed the cool jade pendant resting against his chest, a subtle weight that spoke of legacy and duty.
A quiet laugh floated from the courtyard below, where children chased each other beneath blooming cherry blossoms. The sound was light, almost fragile, yet it settled deep into the heart of the palace like a balm.
The walls around him held memories—echoes of conversations, of celebrations, of moments stitched together in time.
Outside, the world stretched wide and welcoming, bathed in the soft glow of a new day.
In that stillness, everything seemed balanced on the edge of forever.
But even the calmest skies hold the promise of storm.
Happiness—he would soon learn—was a fragile thing.
It did not announce its departure.
It did not ask for permission.
And when it left, it took everything with it.
Long Shen opened his eyes to the sharp sting of smoke and the coppery smell of blood.
For a moment, his mind was empty—no pain, no fear, only a strange ringing buzzing in his ears.
The grand hall, once gleaming with jade pillars and golden chandeliers, was now broken and shattered. Flames licked the edges of the ruined ceiling, casting flickering shadows on fallen banners and scattered weapons.
His vision cleared slowly, revealing a nightmare made real.
His father lay before him.
The man who once stood like an unshakable mountain now knelt on one knee, a spear buried deep in his chest.
His armor was shattered, the once-pristine plates now cracked and stained with blood. His hands still clenched around his sword, as if even in death, he refused to fall.
Just behind him, his mother lay sprawled across the ground.
Her robes were soaked red, her body twisted in a way that spoke of desperate struggle.
She faced toward Long Shen, as though she had tried to shield him with her last breath.
They were dead.
They had died protecting him.
Long Shen's breath caught in his throat.
His body refused to move.
His mind screamed, but no sound came out.
Then he saw his grandfather.
At the center of the ruined hall, the old man stood alone.
His back was bent but unbroken.
Blood dripped from his arm onto the cracked jade floor, a vivid scarlet against the pale stone.
His eyes burned with fury and an unyielding will as he faced several enemies cloaked in dark robes.
Their faces were hidden beneath heavy hoods. Their auras cold and suffocating—like a sudden winter that crushed all warmth.
Each step they took forward shook the air.
Each breath his grandfather took seemed heavier than the last.
"Run…" the old man roared, his voice hoarse yet filled with unmatched will.
"Shen'er, run!"
But Long Shen couldn't move.
He could only watch.
As the last pillar of his family stood between him and the end.
The clash of power shook the ruined hall.
Long Shen's grandfather fought with every ounce of strength left in his aged body.
His fists and blade tore through the air, each strike shaking the very foundation beneath their feet.
Blood ran down his arm, but his back never bent.
He was like a wounded dragon—still guarding its last treasure.
Then one of the enemies moved.
In a blur, a shadow slipped past the battlefield.
It rushed straight toward Long Shen.
Killing intent crashed down on him like a mountain.
Long Shen's pupils shrank.
His body refused to listen to him.
He couldn't scream.
He couldn't run.
"SHEN'ER!"
His grandfather's roar shook the hall.
The old man turned, abandoning his enemies.
In an instant, he appeared in front of Long Shen.
The attack meant for Long Shen pierced straight through his grandfather's body.
Blood sprayed across the air.
"Grandfather—!"
The old man swayed.
Stone dust drifted from the ceiling. Cracks crawled across the jade pillars like black veins. Blood slid from the corner of his mouth, dark against his beard.
Yet he did not fall.
Instead, his hand shot out.
Cold jade pressed into Long Shen's shaking palm—slick, warm, sticky. The pendant trembled faintly, as if alive, its surface smeared crimson.
The old man's fingers closed around Long Shen's wrist with surprising strength.
"Look at me."
Smoke burned the air. The palace groaned around them, beams screaming under invisible pressure.
"Breathe," the old man said.
His voice was low. Steady. It did not match the ruin surrounding them.
"Whatever happens next—" His grip tightened. "—you do not stop."
Long Shen's throat locked.
Before a sound could escape him, the space behind him collapsed.
Something unseen seized his body.
The world folded.
Wind tore the scream from his lungs as the palace vanished in a blur of shattered light. He was flung into the night, robes snapping, limbs weightless, spinning—
A voice followed him.
Not loud.
Not desperate.
Carved into the dark like a blade.
"Shen'er."
His grandfather stood alone in the blazing hall, robes torn, spine straight. Blood flowed freely now, yet his eyes burned brighter than the flames rising around him.
"Remember this."
The night ruptured.
Power exploded outward.
Not violent—absolute.
A sun bloomed where the palace once stood, white and devouring, swallowing stone, steel, and screaming cultivators whole. The air screamed. The heavens recoiled.
For a single heartbeat, Long Shen saw it.
His grandfather's silhouette stood at the center of the light—unyielding.
"As long as you live," the voice echoed, calm to the very end, "the Long family still stands."
White swallowed the sky.
Then—
Nothing.
Only cold wind.
Only the jade pendant burning against Long Shen's chest as he fell, and fell, and fell into the endless dark.
Long Shen crashed onto the cold ground far away.
The jade pendant was still clutched in his hand.
His ears were ringing.
His eyes burned with tears he could not hold back.
The palace behind him was gone.
And with it, the last guardian of his family.
He slammed into the ground like a fallen star.
Pain exploded through his body.
He tried to breathe, but blood filled his throat.
His vision swam—the world spinning in broken fragments.
When he tried to move, his body answered with nothing but agony.
Bones shattered.
Flesh torn.
Meridians ripped apart as if burned by fire.
Even his dantian… he could feel it—empty, cracked, destroyed.
The proud foundation of a cultivator had been reduced to ruins.
Cold rain—or maybe ash—fell onto his face.
He couldn't tell anymore.
His fingers still clutched the jade pendant, slick with blood.
So this is how it ends…?
His eyelids felt heavier with each passing second.
Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision.
Swallowing the world bit by bit.
Just before he lost consciousness, he saw two blurry shadows approaching through the haze.
Their figures were unclear.
Their auras… strange.
One felt vast and tranquil, like an endless sky.
The other felt violent and oppressive, like a bottomless abyss.
Friend… or enemy…?
Long Shen couldn't tell.
His vision went black.
And the world fell silent.
To be continued.....