Atop Qingming Peak, the sea of clouds churned like boiling water.
The morning bell had not yet tolled, yet frost and dew already clung to the stone.At the edge of a sheer cliff stood a figure in pristine white robes—still as carved jade. Not a fold of his sleeve stirred; not a strand of hair lifted in the wind. Even the gale seemed to hold its breath before him.His name was Xie Wuchen.
Seventeen years old. At the peak of Foundation Establishment. The youngest Inner Sect Disciple-Master Qingming Sect had seen in a hundred years.But today, he had not come to listen to sutras or test his sword.
He had come to ask a single question:"If Heaven's Dao shows no favoritism, yet always sides with the virtuous—
then why did my mother die?"Three years ago, the Great Plague swept through Nanhuan.
Mortals fell like blades of grass—nine out of ten households emptied overnight.
He carried his mother on his back, seeking a cure, kneeling before all thirty-six peaks, knocking at every one of the seventy-two abbeys.Every Daoist master he met said the same:
"This is karmic retribution. It cannot be undone."Only an old beggar, in a crumbling temple, offered him half a bowl of murky water and laughed:
"Young master, have you never heard? 'Heaven's Dao is without kindness—it treats all things as straw dogs.'"His mother drank the water. That night, she slept peacefully—and never woke again.
And the beggar? He dissolved into a wisp of azure smoke, vanishing into the moonlight.From that day on, Xie Wuchen ceased to believe in "good deeds bring good rewards."
He cultivated the Dao—not for immortality, not for ascension—but to see clearly:
Was this so-called "Great Dao" truly compassionate… or merely indifferent?"Wuchen."A soft voice called from behind.An old man with snow-white hair stepped across the clouds, sleeves hiding constellations, eyes holding oceans—the Sect Master of Qingming himself, Zhenren Xuanwei."You're here again."Xie Wuchen did not turn. His voice was calm, distant:
"Master, last night I observed the stars. Ziwei has shifted; Mars lingers over the Heart Palace. The heavens warn of calamity."Xuanwei was silent for a long moment—then smiled faintly.
"The heavens? No, child… it is the hearts of men that stir."From his sleeve slid a tattered bamboo scroll, stained with blood, bearing four ancient characters carved deep:"All living beings are kindling.""In three days," Xuanwei said, "the Demon Tide will rise in the Northern Frontier.
The Sect commands you to descend the mountain, enter the mortal world, and investigate a strange case:
One hundred commoners—aged overnight, souls utterly devoured, leaving only a whispered phrase:'The Great Dao… devours people.'"At last, Xie Wuchen turned.
His eyes held neither sorrow nor joy—only a faint ember, like ash about to die… or a flame just beginning to burn."I accept the order," he said.He took a single step forward.
Beneath his feet, the cloud sea split apart.Far below, human realms stirred—
smoke curled from kitchen fires, markets buzzed with life.The dust of the mortal world rolled on, waiting for him to step into its game.(End of Chapter One)