She spoke before she could stop herself. " True Immortal… may I ask—why does Heaven not test you? The Three Ancient Clans, even Heaven itself, test us constantly. To climb, to prove, to be deemed worthy of each step in our cultivation. But you… You ascend untouched." The moment the question left her lips, regret bloomed. What foolishness. Why would the world test him? He was not a candidate for greatness—he was its architect. He did not need to be measured. He was the measure.
Ren's gaze remained steady, unreadable as the stars before memory. "I will be tested soon," he said, voice low, almost amused. "I've not faced a trial since the beginning of my path. But it comes—at the five-hundredth step. The threshold of the Demigod Realm." A pause. "I welcome it."
"I chose not to be tested during the earlier steps," Ren said, his voice calm, almost distant. "There was no point. In my eyes, the trials were ornamental—meant to measure those still seeking definition. But now, as I approach the Demigod Realm, I welcome it. He turned to her, gaze steady. "You've been tested before, haven't you? But since you've remained near me, your cultivation has gone untouched. I can tell you that my presence shields you. If you wish to be tested again, you may. For you, it would be ten thousand strikes of lightning." Her breath caught. "Each cultivator receives a different number," Ren continued. "The lightning knows. It counts not your strength, but your truth."
She looked up at him, hesitant. "True Immortal… how many lightning strikes will you receive?" Ren's smile was faint, almost amused. "Countless. You couldn't number them if you tried. But it's fine. I'll complete the trial easily." He paused, gaze drifting toward the horizon as if watching storms gather beyond time. "I'll fast-forward it. You don't need to wait for each strike to fall.
Lightning knows me—it won't linger."
"Stay close to me," Ren said, his voice low but steady.
"If my lightning touches you, it will strengthen you. If it harms you—let it temper your spirit."He turned slightly, gaze sharpening with quiet intent. "One more thing. I'll be taking your brother as a disciple." She blinked. "You will?" "He's talented," Ren continued. "Already at mid-stage, Step 100. And he's only ten." A pause. Then a faint smile. "It's impressive, yes. But not surprising. If this were a novel, he'd be called a prodigy. And rightly so."
She tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her gaze. "A novel? Like a story? I've read those… Is that how you see this world? As a novel?" Ren didn't hesitate. "Yes. Every single being—every life—is like a story. One you could write. One you could tell." He looked out toward the horizon, where qi shimmered like ink across parchment. "Some stories are short. Some are tragic. Some are still being written. But all of them matter."
Ren's gaze softened. He could feel it—somewhere, someone was crafting this moment, fingers trembling with hope. He thought, How cool is this idea? Right now, while writing it. The princess frowned, then smiled faintly. "I'm so confused… But I think I understand, True Immortal."
She leaned forward, voice hushed with wonder. "So… you see it that way? That this—right now—is our story being told? And the one writing it… They're hoping this novel reaches a broader audience. Otherwise, it'll be forgotten, as if it never existed. Does that make sense to you?" Ren nodded slowly. "It does. And it's true. Every moment we live is ink on a page somewhere. The writer hopes. We live. That's the pact we made." He paused, then added with quiet finality: "After all… I created the writer as well."
She hesitated, then asked, "True Immortal… if that's the case, have you been to other people's creations? Other novels?" Ren's eyes gleamed with memory. "I have. They're all fascinating in their way. There was one realm with a protagonist called Alucard. It started strong. Intriguing. Then it twisted. The creator wrote of a man who slept with his mother, impregnated her and cuckolded his father. Strange, yes. But the writer… had talent. Even chaos can be compelling when told well." She blinked, unsure whether to recoil or lean in. "That's… disturbing." Ren shrugged. "Disturbing is just another flavour of truth. Not every story is meant to comfort."
Ren's voice dropped to a near whisper, yet it echoed like thunder across the soul. "I mean… I created everything that exists. Even the one writing this novel. They were made to tell my story the best they could. It's confusing, I know." He turned away, the air around him thick with unsaid truths. "Anyway… let's stop this conversation."
She hesitated, then asked softly, "One last question, True Immortal… You created everything, right? Does that mean you decided how everything would play out?"
He looked out toward the horizon, as if watching the story unfold beyond them. "I created the writers—not to control the tale, but to witness it. To record it as it happened. Not as I commanded."
"I didn't want my life to be controlled. Not by me. Not by anyone. I wanted it to unfold—naturally, even if it hurt, even if it wandered. Even if it ended before I understood it." She looked up at him, eyes steady. "Because if I controlled it… I'd never know what it could have been."
Ren turned to her, voice low but unwavering. "Princess Lianhua Tianchen… You're a free spirit. No one controls what you do, or what you say. It's all you. Just like it is with me." He let the silence breathe. "We walk our paths. Not because we must— but because we choose to."
"I'm glad to know no one controls my life. That I'm not some doll— posed and moved by unseen hands deciding my fate." She looked up, eyes bright with quiet defiance. "They don't decide for me. They write it. Not to command— but to witness. To record it as it truly happened." Before she fully realised it, her spirit surged. The qi around her trembled— And she stepped into the Late Stage, Step 300. She turned toward the True Immortal. He remained still, quietly absorbing the Ancient God Qi, as if the cosmos itself bowed to his breath. She mirrored him, drawing in the divine current with newfound clarity. And in that silence, she understood. His words hadn't just comforted her— They had unlocked something. A deeper truth. A way of seeing. And with it, she continued forward.
The Emperor and Empress descended into the deepest cell of the royal palace—a chamber reserved for the most dangerous and mysterious cultivators. Its walls pulsed with ancient seals, etched to contain chaos itself. There, they watched their daughter. Princess Lianhua Tianchen knelt in the centre. Her body trembled, her lips bitten raw. Lightning carved through her like divine punishment— bloodied, broken, but unyielding. She was enduring and not surviving. Becoming. Their eyes shifted to the True Immortal. Ren stood beside her, his Trial of Lightning dancing across his skin like harmless rain. He did not flinch. He did not bleed. He did not heal her. Because this was not a moment for mercy, it was a lesson. Pain. Perseverance. Becoming.
Ren had not felt pain, nor perseverance, nor the raw edge of becoming—not for a long time. Nothing resisted him. Since the day he became a True Immortal, the world yielded. And that, too, it was a tragedy.
Both the Emperor and Empress tried to hold back. They had sworn not to interfere. But they couldn't help it. Their daughter was being pushed to the edge of death. Her body trembled, bloodied and broken, lightning carving through her soul. They stepped forward— hands raised, hearts cracking. "Stop." The word came not from them, but from Ren. Quiet. Final. The air itself stilled. He did not shout. He did not threaten. But the heavens obeyed. The Emperor froze mid-step. The Empress lowered her hand. Ren's gaze never left Lianhua Tianchen. "If you take this from her, "You take her becoming. Let her write this chapter." The Emperor bowed his head. The Empress closed her eyes. "Yes, True immortal. As you command." But before they could retreat, a voice broke through the storm. "It's okay, Father. Mother. I can do this." Princess Lianhua Tianchen coughed up blood, her body trembling, organs faltering, bones cracking beneath divine lightning. "I know I can." She looked at Ren, his silhouette calm amidst the chaos. "You said I have the aura of… protagonist instinct." She didn't know what it meant. Not fully. Maybe it meant great luck. Perhaps it meant something more. But if the True Immortal believed it, then she would, too. Her body was failing. But her spirit was rising.
"Stay close," Ren had said. "It will benefit you." She trusted him. For hours, she remained near—silent, reverent, absorbing the storm that curled around him. But the heavens had their timing. The Lightning Trial that followed Ren was ancient, volatile, and aware. It didn't strike because she was weak. It hit because it recognised her. One bolt descended. Her body convulsed. Blood burst from her lips. She collapsed, trembling. Ren did not speak. His eyes met hers—steady, unreadable. More lightning fell. Some of it was hers. Some of it was his. The heavens didn't separate them. They saw her proximity, her promise—and decided: test her now. Her cultivation cracked. Her soul burned. Her body writhed beneath divine judgment. And Ren—Ren watched. The final bolt descended. Her body stilled. She died.