Four years passed since the night the crimson moon painted the heavens. To the world beyond the Azure Wind Peaks, that night had faded into half-forgotten rumors—an omen for drunken scholars, a ghost story for restless children. But within the Feng estate, the truth lay hidden beneath jade tiles and white sandwood doors: the child born under that cursed light.
Feng Xieyun.
At an age when other children tumbled through the courtyards laughing, their hands sticky with honey cakes, he sat in silence beneath an ancient pine tree. His posture was too straight, too still. His eyes—dark irises flecked faintly with crimson—followed the drifting pine needles as though tracing something invisible.
To the servants, he was uncanny.
"The young master never cries," one whispered while pouring water at the well.
"Never laughs either," another muttered, glancing around nervously. "Even as a babe, he was… quiet."
"Hush," an older servant scolded, casting fearful eyes toward the manor hall. "Do you want your tongue cut? The Patriarch forbade idle words about the child."
So the household spoke no more. But silence could not erase unease. Whenever they looked into those steady, unblinking eyes, they felt not the warmth of a child but the weight of something watching them in return.
Only Lin Fei, his mother, saw both the strangeness and the fragility. Many nights she lingered by his bedside, watching his tiny chest rise and fall, her hand brushing his cheek. Her heart swelled with love, but dread coiled beneath it like a serpent. The Heavenly Demon Dao Bone is sealed, she reminded herself. So long as no one provokes its awakening, he can live as any other child.
But deep within the boy, another soul stirred.
Xieyun was no child—not truly. He was Feng Yu, heir of a great corporation in another world, betrayed and burned, reborn with memories sharper than blades. His small body was weak, his voice soft, but his mind remained as keen as the moment he died.
And he was no longer alone.
Each night, as the household slumbered, a cold voice whispered in his consciousness:
> [DING — Host has completed 12% of 'Survival Protocol.' New Sub-Task issued.]
[Quest: Awaken Qi Sense before the age of five.]
[Reward: Heavenly Demon Scripture, First Seal.]
The System. Bound to his Dao Bone, it was both teacher and gaoler, issuing commands with neither warmth nor malice.
So he obeyed.
On moonlit nights, he sat cross-legged upon his bed, tiny hands attempting mudras his body could barely form. His breathing was clumsy at first, uneven like a broken bellows. The meridians of a child were narrow, fragile. Each thread of Qi that seeped into him burned like molten iron, leaving his limbs shaking, his lips streaked with blood.
He endured. Pain was nothing compared to the memory of betrayal—the laughter of his false friend, the cold kiss of the woman who had sold him for power, the flames consuming his body as everything he built turned to ash. Compared to that, nosebleeds and fainting spells were nothing.
Bit by bit, he succeeded. Threads of Qi responded to him, faint and pale as morning mist. They curled into his dantian, fragile yet steady. At four years old, Feng Xieyun could sense what most mortals failed to touch in their entire lives.
But power was a double-edged sword.
One evening, as he sat beneath the pine tree cultivating, a servant approached carrying a tray of tea. The man froze mid-step. The moonlight fell across Xieyun's face, and for a brief moment, his irises shimmered with an unnatural crimson glow.
The servant's breath caught. "Young master… why do your eyes look like that?"
Xieyun blinked. His concentration had slipped, letting the Dao Bone's aura leak through. For an instant, the child's mask slipped, and the weight of another lifetime settled upon his face.
Slowly, he turned his head. His voice, though high and childish, carried an unsettling gravity. "You saw nothing."
The servant trembled. "I—I—"
Then the System chimed softly:
> [Minor Illusion Art Unlocked.]
A warmth flickered in Xieyun's eyes. Power surged from his Dao Bone, weaving into a haze that wrapped around the man's senses. The servant blinked once, then again. His fear melted into confusion. He looked down at the boy and saw nothing more than a quiet child gazing at falling pine needles.
He staggered backward, shaking his head. "Forgive me, young master. My eyes must be failing me."
He turned and hurried away, his memory already unraveling into haze.
Xieyun exhaled, his small body trembling with exhaustion. The illusion was crude, weak—barely enough to cloud a mortal's senses. Yet it had worked.
A smile, faint and chilling, curved his lips.
This time, he thought, I will not be the prey.
---
That night, as he lay in bed, his mother entered quietly. Lin Fei sat by his side, her fingers brushing his hair. "Xieyun," she whispered softly, "why do you always sit alone beneath that tree?"
He looked at her with innocent eyes, the illusion of a child returned. "Because I like the wind, Mother."
Her heart trembled. His voice was sweet, yet there was a steadiness, a weight no child should carry. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, pretending not to notice. Pretending she could protect him from the storm she knew would one day come.
Outside, the old pine swayed in the night wind. The moon, pale and watchful, hid behind drifting clouds.
In the heart of the Feng estate, a boy slept, his small fists clenched upon the sheets. And in his dreams, skyscrapers burned, steel towers crumbled, and betrayal whispered through the smoke.
When he woke, only the System's cold voice remained.
> [Progress toward Awakening: 87%. Time remaining: 356 days.]
The countdown had begun.
And though the world still believed him a silent, harmless child, Feng Xieyun's true path was already unfolding—one step, one breath, one deception at a time.