Far in the East, where the sun scorched the earth and the wind carried the taste of dust and history, the Sands of Xuánròu whispered secrets long buried beneath its golden dunes. This was an arid region — cracked plains and ancient rock rising from the ground like broken bones of a forgotten beast.
At the heart of this desolate landscape, life had returned.
A massive excavation site buzzed with controlled chaos. Dozens of men and women dug into the earth with practiced intensity, their tools chipping away at the sand-caked stones of a once-forgotten kingdom. Unearthed relics—cracked vases, golden trinkets, faded wall etchings—glimmered beneath the desert sun, whispering tales of royalty, war, and betrayal.
Overlooking the scene was a tall, armored figure. His bronze armor shimmered despite the dust, a long red cape trailing behind him. General Wei Duan, a man known across provinces for his unbending command and ruthless efficiency, stood with arms crossed and a brooding gaze.
At his side, a stark contrast: Lady Yu Miaohan, a high-born aristocrat of jade robes and silk fans, looked down with mild amusement. The sun touched her cheekbones like a kiss. Rings of green jade adorned her fingers. Her eyes shimmered with curiosity, but it was not the artifacts that held her attention—it was the power they might grant.
"Another relic," she murmured, twirling her fan, "another stepping stone."
But then—
BOOM.
A deafening explosion cracked through the site. The earth rumbled, birds scattered, and a violent plume of sand shot into the sky like a geyser.
A commotion followed. Screams. Tools dropped. Men scattered as something burst from beneath the excavation pit, scattering debris and dust in all directions.
From the crater, a figure emerged.
A man—covered in sand and sun-glow, cloaked in remnants of ancient robes, his long hair wild like a lion's mane. He rose from the crater with a dramatic shout of pure relief.
"I LIVE!" he howled, as if his voice was declaring it to Heaven itself.
The workers stared in horror. The man blinked, then suddenly grinned, falling to his knees and kissing the sand.
"Sweet earth! Sweet cursed, hot, dry earth! Never leave me again!" he cried, rolling dramatically in the dust like a child reunited with a long-lost pet.
As the sun beamed down, the man shielded his eyes and looked up.
"Augh! What devilry burns so bright!?" he muttered, clearly unused to the light. "The heavens mock me!"
Then his nose twitched.
He sniffed the air like a bloodhound, pausing… and spun around toward the gathering of confused soldiers. With a cocked eyebrow, he asked sharply, "Who are you people? What year is it? Who rules the world now?!"
He didn't wait for an answer.
He marched up to General Wei Duan, eyes locked, and demanded, "You there! Bronze Bucket Man! Are you in charge?"
Wei Duan narrowed his eyes. "Do you know where you are, tomb rat?"
"I asked a question, beetle!" the strange man snapped back.
The General didn't respond—he simply swung a heavy gauntlet to push him aside.
Bad choice.
With the flick of two fingers, the stranger sent Wei Duan flying forty feet into the air like a ragdoll. He slammed into a pillar of stone and didn't get up.
The soldiers froze.
Lady Yu Miaohan dropped her fan. Her lips parted in disbelief.
Before anyone could react, the stranger vanished from where he stood and appeared—just a step away from her. Too close. Too fast.
"Ahhh," he said, bowing with a dazzling grin. "Finally, someone who bathes."
Yu Miaohan's eyes widened.
He cupped his chin and began to praise himself.
"Be not afraid, flower of jade, for I am not some lowly spirit risen from the grave. Nay—before you stands the fairest war prince ever to dance with death and dine with dragons. The cosmos themselves etched my name into starlight…"
She blinked. "...What?"
"I am he who shattered the sky. He who defied death. He who—" he looked around and frowned, "—has apparently been forgotten... Rude."
Suddenly, more soldiers charged forward. The General, enraged and bleeding, ordered them to attack.
The prince sighed.
"Oh, come now. Is that any way to treat your elders?"
He casually picked up a single stone, tossed it high, and slapped it with his palm.
WHAM. WHAM. WHAM.
The stone ricocheted like a lightning bolt, knocking down ten men like dominoes.
He cackled with joy.
"Oh! Oh, I missed this! You weaklings drop like mangoes in wind!"
Everyone backed off.
He looked down and realized he was still holding the terrified Lady Yu Miaohan in one arm. She hadn't dared to move. Her composure, once queenly, had vanished.
He set her down gently. "My apologies, petal. You'll bruise."
He stepped up to a high rock, placed a hand on his hip, and declared:
"Let it be known! I, Xu Lianzhen, the Celestial Blade, the Peach-Born Storm, the Cursed Phoenix of the West—HAVE RETURNED!"
He raised a fist to the heavens, basking in his own glory.
But then he paused. Something troubled him. His eyes narrowed.
He couldn't remember their faces.
His brothers-in-arms. His comrades.
He frowned, whispering to himself, "Where are they...?"
Three names echoed in his memory—not names, titles:
The Red Dragon.
The Silent Killer.
And their Leader... The Grand Phoenix of the Heavens.
He clenched his fists. His memory was fragmented, but his heart remembered the oath.
They were still out there. He had to find them. But where?
His eyes gleamed with sudden clarity.
"Where does one go when they seek the truths of the world? When they need answers, power, or destiny itself?"
He grinned.
"The Central Empire."
He threw his arms wide and let out a boisterous, theatrical laugh, composing a poem on the spot:
> "Beneath the sands I slumbered deep,
While Heaven wept and stars did sleep.
Now Phoenix wakes, the tale resumes—
I rise to shake the world's old tombs!"
With that, he commandeered the royal carriage, climbed aboard with flair, and declared:
"TO GLORY! TO CHAOS! TO THE CENTRAL EMPIRE!"
Lady Yu Miaohan sat frozen beside him, still unsure whether she'd been kidnapped or chosen.
As the carriage sped into the horizon, dust trailing like banners behind them, Xu Lianzhen laughed and sang all the way, blissfully unaware of how much the world had changed—and how much it needed him back.