The valley lay shrouded in twilight, mist curling between jagged peaks. Liang Chen crouched on a cliff, staring at the ruins below.His black hair drifting like ink in the twilight.His face was calm yet sharp, as if carved by sorrow and resolve.
In his dark eyes flickered a quiet fire—grief and will bound together.
His robes, plain and dark, fluttered against the mountain air,
yet around him lingered a quiet grace,
the kind that made one pause, as though looking upon a man fated for something greater.
Handsome, yes—but not the gentle kind.
His beauty was edged with shadow,
like a blade hidden in silk,
like a lantern burning in the storm.
Even in silence, he seemed to whisper of trials endured
and of a path that could no longer turn back.
Broken statues leaned against blackened pillars, faces frozen in silent screams, their mouths open as if silently screaming for help no one would ever hear. This was a place where Heaven had punished the proud—and where secrets waited for those daring enough to seek them.
Liang Chen's chest tightened. The air here was different, heavier than the Spirit Realm below, tinged with ozone and decay. He could feel the faint pulse of something ancient, something waiting. His eyes traced the ruins carefully. Every crack in the marble, every shattered pillar, seemed deliberate, as though the place itself had been arranged to hide what was most precious.
On a cracked marble pedestal, a book rested. Black as a moonless night, silver inscriptions rippling like living threads. Liang Chen's fingers trembled as he reached out. His mind screamed caution, yet curiosity pressed him forward.
A whisper brushed against his consciousness, soft and distant, yet impossible to ignore: "So…someone have come after thousand of years."
Liang Chen froze. He glanced around, heart hammering. No one was there. Only the book. Only the cold, silent ruin.
He swallowed and lowered his hand again. The air seemed to thrum in response, the mist curling more tightly, as though forming a barrier between him and the rest of the world. It was as if the ruin itself held its breath, waiting for what was to come.
He opened the cover. The first page shimmered, silver words flowing like water, each line clear as if written for him alone:
*"This is the Heaven's Black Ledger. Whoever takes it shall become its master. Each soul written within these pages shall vanish, erased from the wheel of reincarnation. No cultivation stage, no power, can save them.
Rules of the Ledger:
1. The wielder must know the target's true face while writing their name.
2. Each use consumes lifespan and fortune, stronger targets taking more.
3. The user will suffer misfortune and danger, increasing with each life taken.
4. The Ledger may not be shared, lent, or destroyed; it exists beyond mortal law.
5. Should the wielder's true name ever be written in this book, they will die and there remaining lifespan will shallow by Warden.
Roles:
Book master can take anyone lives.
The Warden is your guide and jailor, warning of consequences but bound by the Ledger, unable to interfere.
Consequences:
1.Every stroke drains life energy.
2.Misfortune follows like a shadow.
3.Each death echoes, rippling through destiny.
The true purpose of this book is to allow the author to eliminate enemies without suspicion.All the person who killed by this book their remaining lifespan will get by Warden"*
Liang Chen's breath caught. He read the words again, tracing each line with trembling fingers. The final sentence lingered in his mind, an invisible thorn. He did not yet understand its full weight, but the warning whispered to him in dreams even as he stood in the ruin.
Created only for killing someone without suspicion… He repeated it silently, testing the words on his tongue. Is it really possible that I can kill anyone by writing his name in this book.Even with less cultivation?
His mind drifted back to his family. The memory of his father's hand, cold and broken. The screams of his mother and sister. The corrupted sect elder who had destroyed everything with impunity. Justice had never come for them. He had grown up with nothing but mockery, weakness, and the bitter taste of injustice. Tonight, he would see if the Ledger's words were real.
Yet even as he thought this, a shadow of doubt crept into his heart. What if this book is a trick? What if I am being manipulated? The words on the page seemed almost alive, curling subtly around his thoughts. Perhaps it is already trying to bend me toward it.
He picked up the brush, dipping it in the ink the Ledger provided, thick and black, absorbing light like a void. He stared at the first name he had chosen: the overseer of the Outer Sect, the one responsible for endless suffering. His hands shook. Could he really do this? Could he really take a life with nothing but ink and thought?
The Warden materialized then, shadows coiling into a figure with white eyes and broken chains, floating silently beside him.
"You have found what many never will," the Warden said, voice hollow yet resonant, like the echo of a forgotten bell. "The Ledger does not lie. But understand this—your first stroke is the smallest step. Every soul you touch will draw threads from your life, every action will ripple beyond what you can see. You may believe it is justice. You may believe it is right. But do you truly understand what you are holding?"
Liang Chen swallowed, voice catching. "I… I want justice. For my family. For those who suffered. I—I will not fail." "
Yet even as the words left his lips, a tremor ran through his heart. Resolve and fear warred within him, as if the Ledger itself breathed doubt into his chest.
The Warden's eyes glimmered faintly. "Justice… perhaps. Every name you write will consume a part of your heart, and in time, you may not see the difference."
The words lingered like smoke, unsettling, yet he could not turn back. His hand moved, guided by a mixture of fear and resolve, and wrote the overseer's name. Each stroke felt heavier than lead, as if he poured his very essence into the Ledger.
The moment the brush lifted, the room seemed to sigh. Shadows writhed, curling like snakes, forming tighter and darker shapes around the pedestal. The Warden remained silent, merely watching.
Suddenly he fell dizziness and after some time it gone.He asked the Warden,"what happened with me?"
Warden replied,"A part of your life span has shallow by ledger and your luck decreased so you fell dizziness for some time.
Liang Chen staggered backward. The first test was done.The ruin felt impossibly still, the mist pressing against him like a living thing. He slept poorly, dreams haunted by whispers, flickering shadows.
---
When he awoke, the sky was pale with morning light. A soft wind stirred the valley. He reached for his satchel, and then the report arrived: a messenger from the Outer Sect, breathless and pale, hands trembling as he handed over the morning news.
The overseer… dead. Suddenly. During meditation. No cultivation shield had worked. No healer, no antidote, no intervention could have saved him. His soul was gone.
The overseer's life ended the moment the last stroke was written. But Liang Chen only learned of it with certainty the next morning, when the sect announced his sudden death.
Liang Chen's chest tightened. His eyes went wide. His hands shook. Every line, every warning, every consequence on the Ledger flashed through his mind. The power was real. His hand had drawn life from the world.
And yet… a small shadow of doubt lingered. The Warden's words replayed, echoing in his thoughts: "You can kill anyone by writing his name and remembering his true face."
Liang Chen pressed his hands against the stone wall of the ruin, trying to steady himself. "Could it be true?This artifact really work?He closed his eyes, trying to silence the voice in his head that whispered doubts, yet the whisper only grew stronger in the silence of the valley.
He thought again of his family. Father, mother, sister. The faces of innocent villagers tormented by the overseer. The injustice of the world weighed on him like a mountain. I can't stop. I have to continue. If this is the hand of fate, I will guide it myself.
Yet a part of him trembled. The ink he had touched, the name he had written… it had been too easy. Too silent. He could not see the overseer's soul as it vanished, could not hear the screams. All he had was a report, a confirmation. What if the next stroke draws not only a life, but a piece of me that I cannot reclaim?
The Warden's eyes glimmered faintly at the edge of his vision, white and unyielding. "You feel the first weight. It is only the beginning. Do you understand yet what it truly takes to hold this power?"
Liang Chen did not answer. His heart was caught between exhilaration and terror. He stared at the Ledger. It seemed almost alive, waiting for him to write again, its silver inscriptions faintly twitching like a heartbeat.
Perhaps it is justice… perhaps it is a trap. Liang Chen's mind spun. Every choice he would make from now on would ripple unseen, every stroke of the brush a thread tugged in a web he could not yet see.
The fire inside him burned—not for glory, not for fame—but for justice. Yet, deep within, a shadow coiled around his resolve, twisting, whispering secrets, hinting at a far older, far darker design. He had taken the first step into a world that would shape him, consume him, and test him beyond mortal measure.
Above, the stars shone cold and distant, indifferent witnesses to the rise of a mortal who believed he wielded justice.
Liang Chen drew a deep breath, gripping the brush tightly. A mortal had taken the first stroke. A thread had been pulled. The journey had begun.
---