The Immortal Realm was vast beyond imagination, its skies woven with rivers of stars and its lands carved by mountains that touched eternity. Palaces of jade floated among the clouds, divine beasts roamed valleys of light, and immortal clans schemed endlessly beneath heaven's gaze.
Yet hidden in the shadow of that brilliance was a place untouched by outsiders—an ancient human clan, long forgotten by history, sealed away within snowy peaks where even celestial diviners dared not pry.
On one fateful night, the moon dimmed. The stars shivered, their light flickering as if the heavens themselves held their breath. It was the night of the Silent Moon, a phenomenon spoken of only in the clan's oldest records—an omen of birth or destruction.
Within a modest hall deep inside the sacred mountain, a cry pierced the air.
A child was born.
Her hair glimmered with silver radiance, as though woven from strands of moonlight. Her skin was flawless, pale as fresh snow. But it was her eyes that silenced the room—clear, cold, and piercing, like twin shards of eternal ice. The moment they opened, even seasoned cultivators trembled, for in that gaze lay the stillness of time and the weight of countless paths.
The infant's cries were not frantic. They were calm, sharp, resonant—like the hum of a divine sword unsheathed for the first time.
The clan elders gathered, their robes heavy with ancestral authority. They gazed at the newborn with awe and fear.
"She was born beneath the Silent Moon," one whispered, his voice unsteady.
Another elder's face paled. "Look—do you not feel it? The snow answers her."
Indeed, the blizzard outside had stilled. Snowflakes hovered midair, unmoving, then slowly spiraled toward the infant's cradle, circling protectively. In their delicate patterns, faint ripples of Dao resonated—Ice, Sword, Time, Space, Water, even the breath of Death itself. And beneath all of them pulsed something deeper, vast and unfathomable—Origin.
The Grand Elder's body shook. "Seven Daos… and an echo of the Beginning. This child… she is not mortal. She is beyond what heaven permits."
The hall grew heavy with silence. The elders exchanged glances—some with awe, others with dread. For in the Immortal Realm, such anomalies were not tolerated. Heaven's will crushed what it deemed unacceptable, erasing them before they could bloom.
"We must hide her," an elder urged. "If the Immortal Courts learn of her birth, they will descend upon us without mercy."
But even as those words left his lips, the sky roared.
A rift opened above the mountain. Black clouds gathered, lightning danced silently within their depths, and an unseen pressure descended—a cold decree from heaven itself, demanding erasure.
The elders panicked, unleashing their protective formations. Yet deep within the cradle, the infant Feixue did not cry. She gazed upward with those silver eyes, her tiny body wrapped in moonlight.
And the storm… faltered.
Snow burst forth from the mountain, rising like countless swords of frost, weaving a barrier around her. For the briefest instant, heaven's will hesitated. Then, as though retreating from something it did not understand, the rift sealed, the clouds dispersed, and the night returned to silence.
The elders collapsed to their knees, drenched in sweat.
"Heaven… retreated."
The Grand Elder stared at the infant, his voice hoarse yet reverent. "This child will either bring calamity upon the realms… or carve a path beyond them."
And so, beneath the Silent Moon, a child named Feixue was born—one whom heaven itself could not erase.
Her journey had only just begun.