While the entire village — from the youngest child to the oldest elder — stood frozen in place, an awe beyond words took hold of their hearts. Faces once familiar with toil and quiet peace now reflected shock and reverence. None among them had ever imagined that such a power could truly exist in this world — not in myths, not in old tales whispered by fireside, but here, before their very eyes.
For nearly a year, the heavens themselves had raged above their village. Every month, thunders more violent than the last descended from the clouds, shattering the sky as though the will of heaven sought to erase one soul — Yunkai Tao. Each bolt that fell should have reduced the land to ash, and yet, though he stood at the center of that storm, he endured.
When the villagers thought the heavens would finally claim him, a sight beyond comprehension unfolded. Two radiant forms appeared amidst the tempest — one crimson as burning blood, the other pale as the morning sun. They were not flesh, not spirit, but energy itself — the remnants of lives far beyond mortal reach. Even as they began to fade, their presence alone was enough to make every living being tremble. It was like children glimpsing true masters for the first time, their hearts stripped bare of pride and doubt.
In their vanishing moments, those figures did not speak — and yet, the villagers felt as though the entire world had whispered to their souls. The air grew still. The storms fell silent. The light of heaven dimmed. And there, at the center of that silence, Tao still stood — neither dead nor alive, neither mortal nor divine. His very existence had become a question that none dared to answer.
While the villagers still stood in stunned silence, their hearts struggling to grasp what they had witnessed, another tremor rippled through the air. It was not thunder this time — but something deeper, older, as though the heavens themselves drew a long, shuddering breath.
From the fading brilliance above, two new energies descended together — one soft and white as moonlight upon snow, the other crimson and deep as living flame. The moment they appeared, the world seemed to still. The villagers' eyes widened in awe as they recognized the familiar forms emerging from within that radiant storm — the figures of Luo Tang's parents. Once they had seemed no different from any other aging couple in the village, their hair silvered, their backs slightly bent from years of labor and quiet devotion. Yet now, their presence felt boundless, vast, and immeasurable — beings of pure essence, half seen, half felt.
For nearly a full year, the heavens had poured down endless thunder upon Tao. During that time, the Luo couple had silently borne a burden none could see. To suppress the dark essence within Tao's blood — the corruption that threatened to consume him — they had poured out their very life force. Month after month, they offered their blood essence, piece by piece, until their bodies grew frail, their hair turned white, and their once-bright faces dimmed into the weary grace of age. They had given everything, knowing that each heartbeat spent in that sacrifice carried them closer to the end.
Yet now, as the two energies descended, their final offering returned — not as loss, but as rebirth. The essence that once sustained Tao now flowed back toward its source, carrying with it traces of the divine light that had shielded him through the storm. When the crimson and white energies touched their fading forms, the entire world seemed to glow.
Before the eyes of all, the change began. The withered lines upon their faces softened, the dull gray of their hair shifted, threads of silver giving way to black once more. The faint color of life returned to their skin, and their backs straightened as though centuries of wear had lifted in a single breath. It was not youth stolen from time — it was renewal granted by will.
Luo Mother's aura shimmered softly, her once-green life force now infused with threads of white light, flowing like living mist within her veins. It was not merely energy — it was will itself, gentle yet unyielding, like a spirit that would guide her path long after this day. The faint white luminescence danced around her, pure and silent, breathing warmth into the air.
Beside her, Luo Father's transformation burned with steadier force. Around him coiled a faint red radiance, deep and calm like embers hidden beneath ash. His aura carried the scent of blood and flame, but not destruction — rather, the essence of endurance and strength. It was the mark of a protector reborn, the living echo of sacrifice made whole again.
To the villagers watching, it was as if time itself bowed its head. Two souls who had once seemed ready to fade into the dusk now stood renewed, their presence commanding reverence. They were not simply stronger — they were changed in essence, as though the heavens, moved by their devotion, had returned what they had given and more.
And though none could name it, all could feel it — this was no mere miracle of cultivation. It was destiny unfolding. The energies that had protected Tao did not vanish into the air; they had become a promise, a silent key that would one day open the path meant for both the Luo couple and the child they had chosen to protect.
While the storm of light still rippled through the skies, the younger generation stood frozen—unable to speak, unable even to breathe. Their hearts pounded wildly, their minds caught between disbelief and awe. Just hours ago, they had known Luo Tang's parents as kind, quiet villagers—gentle people who smiled easily, spoke softly, and spent their days tending herbs or guiding the young through simple breathing techniques.
To them, the Luo couple were the very image of modesty. They joined in daily meditation, traded herbs with the other four main families, and lived without ambition—content within the peaceful rhythm of the Hidden Land. Never once had they shown power or pride. Never once had they revealed even a hint of the depth now unfolding before everyone's eyes.
Yet what the youngsters saw now was no illusion.
The two figures who stood bathed in the light of heaven were not the mild, aging villagers they thought they knew. The air trembled around them, rippling with divine energy that even untrained hearts could feel. Every breath carried the weight of ancient strength, and even the earth beneath their feet seemed to pulse with reverence. The same couple who once smiled while carrying water from the well now stood as beings beyond comprehension—guardians who had disguised themselves among mortals.
Luo Tang himself could not speak. His eyes widened, trembling as if afraid the vision before him would vanish if he blinked. His mind spun with disbelief—how could the people he called father and mother be these radiant beings? He remembered the warmth of his mother's hands when she healed his bruises, the sound of his father's laughter when he failed his early meditation exercises. There had never been a hint, not even once, that such unimaginable power rested within them.
His lips parted, but no words came—only the faint whisper of a question that echoed soundlessly in his heart.
"Who… are you truly?"
Yet even without an answer, something deep inside him stirred. A memory—perhaps not his own—awoke in his blood. For the first time, he felt the faint call of something ancient and familiar, a resonance between their newly revealed auras and the unawakened energy within his own soul.
Around them, the other youths Yan Rui, Yeotu, and the rest—could do nothing but stand in silent awe. Their instincts as mortals screamed that they were standing before a power that should not exist within this small world. Even the eldest among them bowed their heads unconsciously, their bodies reacting to the unseen majesty that pressed upon the air.
Meanwhile, the rest of the village watched with hearts heavy and reverent. The humble farmers, craftsmen, and guards—those who had always greeted the Luo couple as equals—now lowered their heads deeply, as though welcoming a king and queen who had hidden among them all along. Their gazes were filled with reverence, but also guilt—a guilt that none could explain aloud. For how long had they failed to see the truth before their eyes? How many times had they spoken casually to those who once carried the weight of worlds?
And among them, standing near the gate, the Four Great Elders felt that guilt more sharply than any other.
Tong Chen's usually unshakable calm faltered. His eyes, sharp as steel, now softened with rare sorrow. He understood—perhaps better than anyone—the depth of sacrifice the Luo couple had made. He had once sworn to protect them, to preserve their anonymity for the sake of the village's peace. Yet even he had not realized how much of their strength they had given away for Tao's survival.
Beside him, Yan Zhi Lan's crimson robe fluttered in the wind. Her proud, discerning gaze dimmed with regret. "So this was the price…" she whispered under her breath, almost to herself. "They carried the burden of the forbidden blood all along—and bore it in silence." Her tone was calm, yet a faint tremor lingered within it.
Liang Shan stood rigid, his fists clenched tight at his sides. "We made them live as mortals," he said in a low, rough voice. "Made them hide what they were—for the village, for peace. And still… they never once complained." The old warrior's eyes glistened faintly, his jaw set in painful respect.
Madam Xiao Ling, who had long been the gentlest among the four, pressed her hand against her chest. Her eyes followed the Luo couple's glowing forms with a mixture of admiration and grief. "We thought we understood the meaning of sacrifice," she murmured softly, "but theirs… theirs was beyond duty. They gave everything—not for power, not for pride, but for love."
The elders exchanged no more words. None were needed. Each of them knew that the reappearance of the Luo couple's true selves would not only shake the village—but perhaps the balance of fate itself.
For a long while, the world held its breath beneath the twin lights of crimson and white. The two energies spiraled softly around one another, their glow weaving through the air like the dance of twin stars ascending toward eternity. The villagers, young and old alike, stood frozen—some trembling, others weeping without knowing why. It felt as though time itself had bowed before what it witnessed.
And then, at last, the brilliance began to fade. The storm of light slowly folded into itself, and within that quiet heart of radiance, the Luo couple stirred. Their eyes opened.
The air trembled gently as their gazes lifted—calm, steady, and filled with immeasurable depth. The waves of divine energy that had wrapped the land now dissolved into their bodies, vanishing completely without leaving a trace. But though the storm was gone, its echo lingered within their veins. The refinement was incomplete—their mortal shells could not yet contain the full purity of what they had drawn in. They would need time—time to merge that power, to let it settle into the rhythm of their souls.
Yet even so, their presence alone commanded reverence.
The first to react were the villagers. From the outer edges inward, every person fell to one knee. The sound of their movement was like a rolling tide sweeping through the fields. No one ordered them to kneel; it was instinct, a recognition deeper than words. Even the elders—Tong Chen, Yan Zhi Lan, Liang Shan, and Xiao Ling—bowed low, their foreheads nearly touching the ground. The sight before them was not merely of strength—it was of sovereignty. It was as if two long-hidden rulers had reclaimed their thrones, and all creation paid its silent tribute.
Luo Mother stood at the center of that reverence, her figure wrapped in faint, mist-like light. Her expression was unreadable—neither joy nor sorrow, only serenity, as though she had already transcended mortal emotion. Without a sound, she lifted her gaze toward the still form of Tao lying not far away. The next instant, her body dissolved into a gentle beam of silver-white light that drifted through the air, passing silently across the kneeling crowd.
The light reached Tao, whose body trembled violently upon the ground, his unconscious form shuddering under the unbearable pressure of conflicting energies. Veins pulsed dark beneath his skin, threads of black essence writhing in resistance. His breath came in ragged bursts, his very soul caught between awakening and collapse.
The white light entered him quietly—like a mother's hand soothing a fevered child. It spread through his meridians in slow, rippling waves, calming the turmoil within. The violent tremors eased, the color of his blood essence flickered and steadied, and his breathing grew smoother, though his consciousness remained distant—lost somewhere between this world and another.
Then, as the villagers still knelt in reverent silence, Luo Father finally moved. His eyes, deep and calm like the dusk sky, softened with a faint smile—one filled not with pride, but quiet farewell. He raised his right hand gently, and a subtle red glow followed the motion, like flame trailing through the wind. With that single wave, the crimson radiance surrounded both him and Tao, merging faintly with the lingering white light of his wife.
"The path ahead belongs to him now," his voice whispered faintly across the air, though no lips moved. Only the heavens seemed to hear it.
He turned once, his gaze passing over the kneeling crowd, over the village that had been their home and sanctuary. For an instant, the crimson glow in his eyes reflected countless memories—of peace, of sacrifice, of the years they had lived as ordinary people among ordinary lives. Then, without another word, he stepped forward.
In that same heartbeat, the air rippled.
The crimson light met the white, merging into a single, blinding radiance that swallowed the three figures—Luo Father, Luo Mother, and Tao. The ground quivered softly, the trees bowed with the wind, and then—
They were gone.
Not a trace remained—no sound, no shadow, not even the faintest hint of energy in the air. It was as though they had never stood there at all, leaving behind only the whisper of power and the weight of destiny heavy upon every heart.
For a long time, no one rose from their knees. The villagers dared not speak; even the wind seemed to hesitate before brushing past the stillness that hung over the land. The heavens had fallen silent once more. Only the faint hum of lingering energy drifted in the air, like the last echo of a song fading into eternity.
Gradually, the world began to breathe again. The crimson and white glow that had painted the skies was gone, leaving behind the familiar blue of day. The elders lifted their heads first, their expressions solemn and unreadable, before silently turning away. They understood what had occurred—knew that the Luo couple's path had entered a realm beyond mortal interference. For now, nothing could be done; no words, no prayers, no efforts could aid them.
One by one, the villagers followed suit. Quietly, reverently, they rose and dispersed. Farmers returned to their fields, guards to their posts, craftsmen to their tools. The market resumed its slow rhythm, but the laughter and chatter were gone—replaced by whispers carried gently on the wind. Every soul carried the same understanding: this was not an ordinary day. Something sacred had passed through their world, and to linger would only disturb its balance.
Soon, the entire Luo Peak stood nearly empty. The once-bustling paths lay still under the sunlight, and only the distant rustle of leaves broke the silence. Among the many who had bowed, only one remained—Luo Tang.
He stood before the quiet courtyard that had always been his home. The familiar house of carved wood and stone seemed unchanged, yet everything felt different. The same trees still swayed in the wind, the same flowers bloomed near the gate—but the air itself carried a weight that made his heart heavy.
For as long as he could remember, this had been a place of warmth. Here, his mother's voice called him in for supper; his father's laughter filled the evenings with comfort. But now, the house felt vast, hollow, almost foreign—like a shell that had lost the souls that gave it meaning.
Luo Tang's breath trembled as he looked around. The scent of herbs still clung faintly to the air, mixed with the metallic trace of thunder that had yet to fade. He felt as though the walls were whispering, asking him to remember—but all he could feel was the ache of absence.
"Is this… still home?" he murmured under his breath, his voice breaking softly. For a moment, his young heart wavered between grief and confusion. The truth that had been hidden all his life was now laid bare before him—his parents were not who he thought they were. And yet, deep within, that revelation did not fill him with fear anymore. The mystery was no longer a shadow; it was light—harsh, blinding, but real.
Slowly, Luo Tang exhaled, steadying himself. The storm within him began to settle. "They did all of this… for him," he whispered, remembering Tao's trembling figure amid the lightning, the pain etched into his brother's face. "Big Brother… you were the reason they endured everything."
The realization cut deep—but it also gave him purpose. His parents had vanished, but their will remained. Their path, their choice, all pointed toward one thing.
With renewed determination, Luo Tang turned and sprinted toward the inner courtyard. His footsteps echoed sharply against the stone path, his pulse racing not with fear but with urgency. The image of Tao lying unconscious burned in his mind—the faint glow that had swallowed him, the violent tremors wracking his body.
"I have to see him," he said aloud, his voice firm now. "I have to make sure he's still breathing."
He burst through the doorway into Tao's room, the wooden door slamming against the frame. The air inside was thick with the faint residue of divine energy—neither warm nor cold, but alive, pulsing with quiet rhythm. Tao lay motionless at the center of it all, his chest rising and falling in shallow, steady breaths.
Luo Tang froze for a moment, heart pounding. Then he stepped closer, kneeling beside his brother.
"Big Brother… can you hear me?" he whispered, his hand trembling as he reached toward Tao's arm. The moment his fingers brushed Tao's skin, a faint pulse of warmth spread through his palm—a whisper of life, fragile but persistent.
Relief washed over him like a tide.
"You're still here," Luo Tang said softly, tears blurring his vision. "I don't know what they've done, or what's happening inside you… but I won't leave you alone."
The boy sat beside Tao in silence, guarding him as the light beyond the window shifted from gold to red. Outside, the village returned to its fragile calm. But atop Luo Peak, beneath the quiet sky, two brothers remained—one unconscious, carrying the weight of a world's power, and the other awake, carrying the weight of hope.