The village of Green River was a peaceful place, hidden between rolling hills and endless fields of green.
Every morning, golden sunlight spilled over the rooftops, illuminating narrow dirt roads and the wooden houses that lined them. Farmers worked in the fields, children chased one another beside the river, and smoke rose from kitchen chimneys as families prepared breakfast. It was an ordinary place, far removed from the conflicts of the cultivation world.
To the powerful cultivators who ruled the lands beyond the mountains, Green River was nothing more than an insignificant village.
But to Wang Ren, it was his entire world.
At eighteen years old, Wang Ren possessed no extraordinary talent, no mysterious inheritance, and no powerful family background. He was simply a young man with dark eyes, black hair, and a lean body strengthened by years of working in the fields.
He had never seen a flying sword.
He had never witnessed a cultivator splitting a mountain with a single strike.
And he had never imagined that the heavens could be so cruel.
For as long as he could remember, his life had been peaceful.
Every morning, he helped his father tend their small field. In the afternoon, he collected firewood from the nearby forest. When evening arrived, he returned home to find his mother waiting beside the wooden table, a warm meal prepared for the family.
Those simple moments were the greatest treasures Wang Ren possessed.
"Ren'er, stop staring at the food and wash your hands first!"
His mother's voice came from the kitchen.
Wang Ren smiled and obediently walked toward the water basin.
"Mother, I worked in the fields all morning. My hands are already cleaner than Father's."
From outside the house came an offended shout.
"You ungrateful brat! Who taught you to plow the fields in the first place?"
Wang Ren laughed.
His father, Wang Shun, was a broad-shouldered farmer whose face was weathered by years beneath the sun. He possessed no cultivation and had never traveled beyond the neighboring towns, yet Wang Ren regarded him as the strongest man in the world.
Not because of his physical strength, but because his father had always stood between his family and every hardship life could bring.
His mother, Lin Yue, was gentler. She rarely raised her voice, but a single glance from her was enough to make Wang Ren abandon even his most stubborn arguments.
Their home was small, their possessions modest, and their lives ordinary.
Yet Wang Ren had never felt poor.
He had his parents.
What more could he possibly need?
After dinner, Wang Shun sat beneath the old tree outside their house, repairing a broken farming tool. Wang Ren joined him, carrying two cups of tea.
"Father," he said after a moment, "do you think there are really immortals in this world?"
Wang Shun paused.
"Why are you asking that?"
"I heard Uncle Zhao talking at the market. He said cultivators can fly through the sky, live for hundreds of years, and destroy entire cities with their techniques."
Wang Ren looked toward the distant mountains.
"If such people really exist, what would it be like to meet one?"
His father studied him for a moment before setting the tool aside.
"Ren'er, there are many things in this world that ordinary people cannot understand. Some people spend their entire lives chasing power. Others spend their lives protecting what they already have."
He picked up his cup.
"Never assume that someone is worthy of respect simply because they are stronger than you."
Wang Ren considered those words.
"Then what makes someone worthy of respect?"
Wang Shun smiled faintly.
"What they choose to do with their strength."
Wang Ren remembered that answer.
He would remember it for the rest of his life.
Unfortunately, he did not yet understand how much those words would cost him.
The first sign that something was wrong came shortly before midnight.
Wang Ren awoke to the sound of his mother calling his name.
"Ren'er! Get up!"
He opened his eyes and sat upright.
His mother's face was pale. She stood beside his bed, gripping his shoulder with trembling fingers.
"What happened?"
Before she could answer, a tremendous explosion shook the village.
The windows shattered.
A distant scream rose into the night.
Then another.
Wang Ren rushed to the doorway.
The sky had turned red.
Flames spread across the neighboring houses, painting the village in a terrible crimson glow. Villagers ran through the streets, carrying children and desperately searching for their families. Above them, several figures floated in the air.
They wore dark robes embroidered with strange silver symbols.
Their feet did not touch the ground.
Their bodies hovered effortlessly above the burning rooftops.
One of them raised a hand.
A streak of blue light shot from his palm and struck a house near the village entrance.
The building exploded.
Wang Ren stared in disbelief.
Those people were not ordinary humans.
They were cultivators.
The immortals he had heard about all his life had finally appeared before him.
But there was no wonder in his heart.
Only terror.
"Mother, what are they doing?"
Lin Yue pulled him away from the doorway.
"Ren'er, listen to me. Whatever happens, stay behind your father."
His father entered the room carrying a wooden staff.
His expression was unlike anything Wang Ren had ever seen. The warmth that usually filled his eyes had disappeared, replaced by a grim determination.
"Take your mother and run toward the eastern forest," Wang Shun ordered.
Wang Ren shook his head.
"What about you?"
"I will follow shortly."
It was a lie.
Even then, Wang Ren could hear it in his father's voice.
Before he could protest, another explosion rocked the house. The front wall collapsed, sending dust and splintered wood flying across the room.
Through the smoke, three black-robed men stepped into the ruins.
The man in the center looked no older than thirty. His face was handsome, almost delicate, but his eyes were cold enough to make Wang Ren's blood run still.
He glanced at Wang Shun.
"Where is it?"
Wang Shun tightened his grip on the wooden staff.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The man's expression did not change.
"Do not waste my patience. We sensed a trace of ancient spiritual energy in this village. Someone must have discovered something left behind by our ancestors."
His gaze shifted toward Wang Ren.
For one brief moment, the young man's entire body felt as though it had been plunged into freezing water.
The cultivator's eyes narrowed.
"Interesting."
He raised his hand.
Wang Shun moved before Wang Ren could even understand what was happening.
The old farmer charged forward, swinging his staff with every ounce of strength he possessed.
It was a hopeless attack.
The cultivator flicked a finger.
A burst of energy struck Wang Shun in the chest and sent him crashing against the broken wall.
"Father!"
Wang Ren tried to rush forward, but his mother seized his arm.
The cultivator stepped over the fallen man without a second glance.
"Search the house," he ordered his companions. "Kill anyone who resists."
Lin Yue pushed Wang Ren behind her.
"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "We are only ordinary villagers. We have nothing you could possibly want."
The man looked at her with indifference.
"Then you should have remained ordinary."
A flash of silver crossed the room.
Wang Ren saw his mother fall.
For an instant, the world became completely silent.
He stared at her, unable to comprehend what his eyes were showing him.
Then something inside him broke.
"Mother!"
He dropped to his knees beside her.
Her hand trembled as she reached toward his face. Blood stained her clothes, but she still tried to smile.
"Ren'er..."
Her voice was barely audible.
"Live..."
Her fingers slipped from his cheek.
Wang Ren stopped breathing.
He could not hear the flames.
He could not hear the screams outside.
He could not even hear his own heartbeat.
There was only his mother's still body and the man standing behind her.
The cultivator looked down at Wang Ren.
"Be grateful. You are too weak to be worth killing."
He turned away.
But Wang Ren did not move.
His hands trembled against the ground. His throat tightened, and tears blurred his vision. He wanted to scream, to attack, to tear the man apart with his bare hands.
Yet he could do nothing.
He was an ordinary human.
And the difference between them was greater than the distance between earth and heaven.
The cultivator paused at the doorway.
"Burn the remaining houses. We leave before dawn."
His companions bowed.
Moments later, the man rose into the sky.
Wang Ren watched him disappear beyond the clouds, carrying with him the power to destroy lives without even looking back.
Outside, Green River burned.
Inside the ruined house, Wang Ren knelt between his parents.
His father was motionless.
His mother would never speak again.
Everything he had ever loved had been taken from him in a single night.
The strangers had not merely destroyed his home.
They had destroyed the boy who had lived there.
For a long time, Wang Ren remained on his knees, unable to move.
Then he slowly lowered his head.
His tears fell upon the bloodstained floor.
When he finally raised his face, the grief remained, but something else had taken root beneath it.
Hatred.
He looked toward the distant mountains where the cultivators had vanished.
He did not know their names.
He did not know which sect they belonged to.
He did not know why they had come to Green River or what ancient secret they had been searching for.
But he would learn.
He would find them, no matter how many years it took.
If ordinary humans were destined to live beneath the feet of immortals, then he would become an immortal himself.
If the path to power demanded blood, he would endure it.
If the heavens refused to grant him a place among the strong, he would carve one out with his own hands.
And if the man who had killed his mother stood at the summit of the cultivation world, Wang Ren would climb until he stood above him.
Even if it took a hundred years.
Even if it took a thousand.
He would have his revenge.
Then, one day, he would discover the truth behind the ancient spiritual energy that had drawn those monsters to his village.
For now, however, he had only one thing left to do.
Survive.
Wang Ren rose unsteadily to his feet and carried his parents away from the burning ruins. He buried them beneath the old tree where he had once sat with his father, listening to stories about the world beyond the mountains.
He placed two smooth stones upon their graves.
Then he knelt before them one final time.
"I promise," he whispered. "I will never forget this night."
The wind moved through the branches above him.
Far away, thunder rolled across the mountains.
Wang Ren turned toward the eastern horizon, where the first pale light of dawn had begun to appear.
He had entered the night as an ordinary village boy.
He left it carrying a hatred that would shape the rest of his life.
The cultivation world was vast.
The immortals were powerful.
And Wang Ren was nothing.
But from that moment onward, he had a destination.
Revenge. Power. Immortality.
He would pursue all three.
And one day, the heavens themselves would remember his name.
Wang Ren.