Chapter 1
Shen POV
The wind howled through the peaks of Mount Qingshen like it had something to mourn.
Shen Rui's breath fogged the air as he knelt before the ancient flame altar, his fingers blistered from hours of silent meditation. The stone beneath him was cracked, stained with the sweat and blood of a thousand disciples who came before.
He should have felt proud.
Today was supposed to mark his ascension—official recognition as an Inner Disciple of the Azure Dragon Sect. Years of bruises, broken bones, sleepless nights, and blind loyalty were about to pay off.
But something was wrong.
The Sect Masters hadn't shown. The ceremonial drums hadn't sounded. And the silence hanging over the altar felt like a trap closing slowly.
He opened his eyes.
At first, nothing. Just shadows flickering against the torchlit pillars of the temple cave. Then a figure stepped forward—Grandmaster Hai Yunjin, his white robes stained with dust.
Rui bowed instinctively. "Master."
The old man's gaze was unreadable.
"You were always... talented," Hai Yunjin said, voice low and tired. "But talent invites eyes. And eyes see things they shouldn't."
Rui frowned. "I—I don't understand."
More figures emerged from the shadows. Elder Tian. Sect Guardian Wu. Even his own master, Jiang Fei, stood among them.
But none of them wore smiles.
"You've opened the Dragon Pulse Technique, haven't you?" Elder Tian demanded, stepping closer. His sword flashed in the firelight.
Rui's heart stuttered.
"No! I would never! That technique is forbidden—"
"But you found the scroll," Master Jiang Fei interrupted coldly. "And you didn't tell us."
"I didn't open it!" Rui's voice cracked. "I only... looked. I was curious, that's all. I swear it!"
Hai Yunjin raised a hand. "Curiosity is a luxury our enemies will use against us. You've become a threat, Shen Rui."
He took a step back. The edge of the altar dug into his spine.
"No... no, I'm loyal. I've given everything to this sect. You raised me!"
Hai Yunjin's eyes burned. "And now we must bury you."
Before he could react, a surge of force struck his chest like a collapsing mountain. His body flew backward, crashing into a stone column with a sickening crack.
Pain exploded down his spine. Blood filled his mouth.
He blinked. The figures were already walking away.
"Seal the altar," Jiang Fei ordered.
"You're making a mistake," Rui gasped, trying to lift his head. "You're killing one of your own!"
Elder Wu paused at the exit, then muttered without turning, "No. We're destroying what doesn't belong here."
Then the world shook.
Stones collapsed from the ceiling as a burial formation activated. Flames flared around the altar, forming a prison of living fire.
And Shen Rui was left alone—to die.
---
He didn't.
He couldn't.
Hours—or maybe days—passed in darkness. He lost track. Pain became the only constant. His right leg wouldn't move. His fingers were broken.
But his heart still beat.
He remembered every strike he took. Every time he defended the sect from bandits, rival clans, assassins. The missions. The blind faith. The praise.
Lies. All of it.
They had feared him long before today.
> And fear makes monsters of men.
The Dragon Pulse scroll still sat in his robe. Intact. Unopened.
Rui stared at it through blurry eyes. His breath shallow.
"I didn't betray them," he whispered. "They betrayed me."
And with shaking hands—he unsealed the scroll.
---
Pain came first.
The moment he touched the ancient calligraphy, his veins turned to fire. His vision burned white. Symbols writhed across his skin like living creatures.
The scroll disintegrated into ash.
And then... silence.
He lay still for hours, expecting death.
But something woke inside him.
A heartbeat that wasn't his. A growl that echoed in his mind. A pulse—deep and ancient—roared through his chest like the beating wings of a dragon.
He sat up.
The fire prison had turned cold.
His leg—he could move it.
His hands—unbroken.
But something in the mirror of the fallen pillar caught his eye.
His irises were glowing. Gold.
---
He wandered for three nights through the mountain, wounded but alive.
On the fourth night, the rain fell. Hard and bitter.
He collapsed outside a village inn, coughing blood, barely clinging to consciousness.
Voices floated above him.
"Should we take him in?"
"He's bleeding out."
"Look at that tattoo on his chest—dragon flame. That's Azure Sect, isn't it?"
"No one from Azure Dragon walks alone unless they're cast out."
A woman's voice, calm but edged with something sharper: "Then maybe he's exactly the kind we should help."
---
He woke in a small wooden room, wrapped in clean bandages, the scent of herbs and steamed rice in the air.
A young woman sat by the door, sharpening a curved dagger.
She noticed him stir.
"You're lucky I found you before the wolves did," she said without looking up.
He tried to sit. His ribs protested.
"Who are you?"
She met his gaze. Her eyes were gray. Cold. "Nobody."
"Then why help me?"
"Because I know what betrayal looks like."
She stood and tossed him a small packet of painleaf.
"Eat. Sleep. Then decide if you're going to run again… or fight."
---
That night, Rui sat beneath the moonlight, the packet unopened in his hand.
The scroll was gone, but the power remained. Buried in his blood. Humming beneath his skin.
And in the distance, firelight flickered on a distant hill—Azure Dragon scouts, searching for something.
Or someone.
> They think I'm dead.
> They think I'll stay buried.
He clenched the packet and dropped it into the fire.
His eyes burned gold again.
"No," he whispered. "I'm not done."
But as he turned from the flame, he didn't see the shadow watching him from the rooftop—eyes glowing red, lips whispering his name.
> "The last disciple... has awakened."