The Azure Heaven Continent was a land steeped in legends. Sects towered like mountains, clans ruled like emperors, and cultivators soared through the skies as if they were gods. For those chosen by fate, cultivation was the stairway to immortality, the bridge to transcendence.
But not every child born beneath Heaven's gaze was destined to climb that stairway.
Some were born cursed.
---
The night sky burned red. A scarlet moon hung above the tiny village of Stone Willow, casting its ominous glow upon fields that should have been asleep beneath gentle starlight. Instead, the heavens wept. Blood-red clouds churned and lightning coiled like serpents.
And in the heart of this chaos, a woman's scream tore through the night.
Inside a humble hut, a child was being born.
Her arms trembling, the midwife caught the slippery infant and froze. "The cord—it… it's black…"
The baby's umbilical cord, the very thread of life connecting him to his mother, was pitch-black, writhing like a dead snake. And along his tiny chest, faint markings shimmered—lines like broken threads, frayed and cut, scattering light that refused to bind together.
The midwife's face drained of color. She clutched the child like one would cradle a venomous viper. "This… this child is cursed! Severed soul threads! Heaven itself has abandoned him!"
The mother wept weakly, but her tears carried no rejection. She clung to her son even as the midwife pulled away in fear. "No matter what Heaven says, he is my child. He will live."
But the father, a man hardened by years of tilling soil and bowing to Heaven's unfairness, turned his back. "A child without soul threads… he will bring calamity. You know what the village will say. You know what they will do."
The mother kissed her son's forehead, whispering as the storm raged.
"You are Luo Tian. Even if the heavens curse you, you will carve your own fate."
---
Years passed.
---
By the age of ten, Luo Tian had already tasted more bitterness than most men did in their entire lives.
Everywhere he went, disaster followed. When he stepped into the fields, crops withered. When he touched animals, they grew sick. When he tried to make friends, accidents struck those around him.
It wasn't long before the whispers grew into curses.
"He's the cursed one."
"Don't let your child near him—death follows his shadow."
"His threads were severed by Heaven itself. Best if he never reached adulthood."
The villagers avoided him. Children threw stones. Even his father vanished one night, unable to bear the shame.
Only his mother remained, though frail and coughing blood with every passing season. She would smile, stroking his hair, whispering:
"Tian'er, one day you'll prove them wrong. I believe in you."
But faith alone could not shield him.
---
On his twelfth birthday, fate revealed its cruelty again.
The Threadweaver Sect, one of the great sects of the Azure Heaven Continent, held its annual disciple selection. Cultivators descended from the skies, their robes shimmering with qi, their eyes gleaming with superiority.
All children of age were gathered at the village square, where a great crystal sphere stood. Each child would place their palm upon it, and the crystal would reveal the brightness of their soul threads—the hidden lines of fate that bound cultivators to their destiny.
One by one, children stepped forward. Golden light shone, silver brilliance dazzled, and even faint bronze glimmers brought pride. The villagers cheered as youths were chosen, their futures bright.
Then came Luo Tian's turn.
He stepped forward under a hail of whispers and mocking laughter. With trembling hands, he pressed his palm against the cold crystal.
The sphere shuddered. Light surged—then shattered.
Cracks spread across the crystal as black mist burst forth, filling the square with suffocating dread. Instead of golden or silver threads, broken crimson lines flickered weakly before dissipating into smoke.
The crowd gasped.
"Broken threads!"
"He's cursed!"
"Heaven itself denies his destiny!"
The sect elder's eyes narrowed. "This child… has no future. His soul threads are shattered. Heaven has already severed his path."
He turned away, dismissing Luo Tian as if he were dirt. The villagers spat, some even throwing stones at him as he stumbled back into the crowd.
But in that moment, as the laughter echoed in his ears, Luo Tian's gaze sharpened.
Because he had seen something no one else had.
Behind the elder, behind the children, behind the entire crowd—faint lines stretched into the air like glowing spiderwebs. Threads of light—golden, silver, bronze—connecting each person, binding them to futures unseen.
And where those threads tangled… misfortune stirred.
The elder who mocked him—his golden thread quivered, already fraying. The villager who spat—his silver thread dimmed, streaked with black.
No one else could see it.
Only him.
For the first time, Luo Tian smiled.
---
That night, under the scarlet moon, Luo Tian sat alone by the riverbank. His reflection trembled on the water, broken by faint ripples. He traced the markings on his chest, those frayed lines that had cursed him since birth.
"So… my threads are broken. Heaven severed me. But if Heaven weaves threads…"
His hand reached into the air. And there, just faintly, a thread shimmered. Golden, taut, stretching into the distance.
"…then why can't I cut them?"
With a thought, his finger brushed the thread. Pain seared through his soul, like molten fire. His vision blurred. But the thread quivered—and snapped.
A scream echoed in the distance. Back in the village, a bully who had always tormented him collapsed, vomiting blood. His cultivation dissipated, as though his fate had been rewritten.
Luo Tian gasped, clutching his chest, trembling with both fear and exhilaration.
"I… I can touch them. I can cut them."
He looked up at the scarlet moon. His eyes no longer held despair, but defiance.
"If Heaven denies me a path, then I will weave my own!"
---
The following weeks were chaos.
Luo Tian experimented in secret, pulling at threads, cutting them, weaving them together. At first, the effort nearly killed him—blood poured from his nose, his vision swam with shadows. But slowly, he learned control.
He discovered that threads weren't just fate—they were karma, destiny, and life itself. By severing a thread, he could ruin someone's fortune. By weaving, he could create coincidences that saved lives.
One night, his mother's coughing grew so violent that he feared she would die. Desperate, he reached out and found her faint silver thread, nearly snapped. Carefully, painstakingly, he wove it together with strands of his own broken crimson lines.
Her breathing eased. The coughing stopped. For the first time in years, she slept peacefully.
Luo Tian wept silently.
But Heaven was not blind.
---
Three nights later, the sky split open.
Bolts of black lightning rained down upon the village, striking huts, fields, even the river itself. A voice echoed across the heavens—cold, merciless.
"A mortal dares defy threads? A curse dares weave destiny? Calamity shall follow you, Luo Tian."
The villagers screamed, blaming him. They dragged him to the square, bound his hands, and cast stones.
"You cursed demon!"
"Because of you, Heaven punishes us!"
"Die! Die and take your calamity with you!"
Even as blood streamed down his face, Luo Tian lifted his head. His lips curled into a smile that sent shivers down the mob's spine.
Because above them, threads blazed brighter than ever before—each villager's destiny laid bare before his eyes.
"You think I bring calamity?" His voice rang clear, defiant. "No. Heaven brings calamity. I… cut it."
And with a thought, he pulled.
Dozens of threads snapped in unison.
The villagers collapsed, screaming as their fates unraveled. The black lightning above hesitated, as though Heaven itself was startled.
Luo Tian stood amidst the chaos, eyes burning crimson, broken threads swirling around him like wings.
"For twelve years, you spat on me. For twelve years, Heaven cursed me. But tonight…"
He raised his hand. Behind him, the scarlet moon blazed, threads shimmering like rivers of fire.
"…I sever my fate. From this moment on, I walk my own path!"
---
Thus began the legend of the boy cursed by Heaven, the youth abandoned by fate—
and the cultivator who would one day stand at the peak as the Heavenly Thread Emperor, weaving and cutting the destinies of all beings.