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The Line Between Greatness And Madness

Darkly_Li
7
chs / week
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Synopsis
Born under ash, raised in silence. Forgotten by gods, but not by fate. They say the fire god turned away when Baishen Qigai entered the world. That the temple bells rang not in blessing, but in warning. His birth left the queen broken, the skies blackened, and the kingdom of Yanhuang reeling. Deformed and powerless in a clan that worships divine flame, Qigai was hidden in a tower like a ghost that refused to die. He bears no spark of the fire god’s blessing, no flame, no strength, not even a flicker of magic. Only a twisted body, a golden mask to hide the ruin of his face, and a mind full of voices and visions no one understands. Mocked by servants, forgotten by blood, Qigai drifts through the world like a cursed shadow, unloved and unreadable. But monsters left in the dark do not always stay silent. When the Emperor’s court is shaken by war, betrayal, and prophetic unrest, Qigai’s name—once buried—rises. By trick, by force, or by madness, he will carve his place into a world that never wanted him. Not for glory. Not for vengeance. But because he has nothing else. No gods. No family. No soul left to lose. He was not chosen by fire. So he’ll become something else entirely.
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Chapter 1 - Prologue: When Gods First Breathed Upon the Earth

In the beginning, the gods did not whisper. They roared.

Their voices cracked open the heavens, spilled light into the void, and shaped the world from fire, ice, stone, and dream. Ten gods. Ten blessings. Ten divine pillars placed across the mortal realm like the fingers of a celestial hand. And at the heart of it all rose the Empire of Tianxuan, a crown forged to unite them, a throne raised not from conquest, but from the will of the heavens themselves.

From the highest peaks of the east, where the air grows thin and time slows in reverence, one can see the capital of all things. Xuanjing, city of clouds, carved into the bones of a mountain that kissed the stars. Golden towers pierce the sky like spears of light. Waterfalls pour from its upper levels and vanish into the mist below, catching sunlight as they fall. It is a place where dragons sleep beneath the stone, and the wind carries the prayers of millions.

It is here the Emperor rules. Xuandi Shengli, the Profound Emperor of Sacred Order, sits beneath a canopy of heaven. They say he was born with the mark of all ten gods upon his back. They say he speaks in dreams, and that the stars themselves bow when he walks. Whether that is truth or tale, none dare question his right to rule. For every god, every blessing, every kingdom, bends the knee to Tianxuan.

But the world is not whole. Not truly. Not in peace. For no family sits still when power is divided. And each kingdom, while bound in oaths of loyalty, guards its secrets as fiercely as it guards its pride.

So listen now, traveler. Open your eyes. The wind will carry you. Let it take you across rivers of light and through forests of silence. Let it show you the lands born from divine breath.

Let it begin.

First, to the west. To flame.

The land of Yanhuang, where the air tastes of ash and iron. Volcanoes rumble in the distance, not in rage, but in rhythm, like the heartbeat of a slumbering beast. This is the cradle of fire, blessed by Huoshen, the god who taught mortals to forge steel and burn away weakness. The people here dance upon coals. Their warriors pray to embers. Fire is not a tool. It is a god in motion.

Ruling over this furnace is House Baishen, a lineage of bladesmith kings and red-robed monks. But not all flames burn bright. And not all children of fire are loved.

To the north, where the world falls silent beneath frost.

The kingdom of Binglan stands like a dream frozen in glass. Mountains of crystal stretch into the auroras, and palaces shimmer beneath sheets of ice. Bingshen, god of winter and stillness, watches over this realm. His followers speak in riddles and reflections. They say prophecy lives in the cracks of a frozen lake, and that the dead walk among the living in whispers of snow.

House Xueyao rules from a throne of ice, with blood cold as the winds that surround them. In Binglan, time does not pass. It waits.

Now to the golden plains, basked in sunlight.

This is Riguang, kingdom of light and vision. Here, the sky is always clear, the sun always radiant. Temples rise like mirrored pyramids, each one built to reflect the heavens in perfect symmetry. The people walk with heads high, their eyes fixed on stars even during the day.

Rishen, the god of light, is worshipped not through fire, but through clarity, truth, and order. House Jintai, noble astronomers and crystal-blooded seers, rule this radiant land with poise and pride. Their banners shimmer like daylight on water.

But where there is light, there must be shadow.

Enter Yueyin, the moon's chosen, veiled in mists and the soft rustle of unseen feet. This land blooms at night, when silver lanterns float on the rivers and illusion dances through every leaf. Yueshen, goddess of shadows and secrets, hides her face behind a silver fan. Her voice is heard only by those who listen with more than ears.

House Heiyue, masked and silent, command armies of ghosts and spies. In Yueyin, the truth is a coin, and lies are the currency of power.

Thunder roars where mountains break the sky.

The kingdom of Leiting is a jagged crown of stone and storm. Lightning splits the sky with reckless joy. Sky-drums boom from citadels perched on cliffs. Leishen, god of thunder, does not bless the gentle. He chooses the bold. The fierce. The ones who stand on peaks and scream into the storm.

House Zhanshi rules with iron fists and tempest hearts. They speak in challenge, not diplomacy. In Leiting, even the sky must earn its place.

Below the ground, where roots dig deeper than ambition, lies Diyuan.

Stone cities stretch into caverns that hold entire civilizations. Glowing moss replaces stars. Pillars older than memory hold up temples built for Dishen, god of earth and depth. He is silent, unmoving, vast. The people here speak slowly, walk deliberately, and build for eternity.

House Muyan, strong and unmoving, govern with a patience that unnerves faster hearts. Their wisdom is in silence, their strength in stillness.

Let the wind lift you now, high and higher, to the cliffs of Fengliu.

Cities float on gliders and air bridges, swaying gently above cloud forests. Chimes ring in the breeze like laughter. The people here speak in riddles and dance on wind-swept platforms. Fengshen, god of air and freedom, blesses those who fly, not those who cling to the ground.

House Qingxuan rules with elegance, their words as soft as feathers, and their politics as sharp as a falling star.

Follow the river south. Let the water sing.

The kingdom of Shuihua blossoms like a lotus in full bloom. Water flows through every courtyard, every chamber, every dream. Floating palaces drift through canals. Gardens bloom on lily pads the size of rooftops. Shuishen, goddess of purity and flow, moves through song and ceremony.

House Lianhe, graceful and deadly, rule like water itself. Gentle on the surface. Deep beneath.

In the shadows of the west, darkness stirs.

Yamikaze, cloaked in secrets. This is the kingdom of forgotten names and masked blades. Forests here do not whisper. They watch. The god known as Kurai no Kami grants no light. Only the power to remain unseen.

House Takamura serves from the dark, their faces known only to those they intend to kill. They do not fight wars. They end them before they begin.

And finally, where reality frays, and dreams slip into waking, lies Kitsuhana.

Fox spirits dance in gardens that were not there yesterday. Markets sell illusions. The moon changes shape when no one is looking. This is the domain of Kitsune no Kami, goddess of trickery, spirit, and wild magic.

House Hanakawa wears no crown. They wear masks. They rule a land that cannot be mapped, cannot be conquered, cannot be understood. In Kitsuhana, everything is real. And nothing is.

These are the ten kingdoms. Ten gods. Ten paths.

And yet only one throne. Only one Empire.

And far to the west, in the land of flame, a boy is born without a god's blessing. A boy the gods rejected. A boy locked in a tower.

He does not shine. He does not burn. He does not bloom or rise or drift.

But he watches. And the world will come to know his name.