The sky trembled, for something that should have died had begun to breathe again.
Above Azure Cloud City, the clouds did not drift—they collapsed, spiraling inward as though Heaven itself were recoiling. The air thickened. Sound dulled. Even the wind seemed afraid to move.
A low hum spread through the mountains, not loud, but absolute, vibrating through stone, and spirit veins alike.
In the Lin Family's ancestral hall, several elders froze mid-discussion.
"What is that?" one demanded, rising abruptly.
Another elder's face darkened. "The heavens are unsettled. This isn't weather."
Formation lights flickered along the city's perimeter. Ancient wards buried deep beneath the Lin estate cracked with faint, unseen fractures.
"A bad omen," someone whispered.
"Something… Or someone that shouldn't belong in this world has been awakened."
Across Azure Cloud City, cultivators paused. Disciples faltered mid-spar. Ordinary citizens looked up uneasily, hearts pounding without knowing why.
Then the ground trembled.
And in the Lin Family's lowest, forgotten courtyard—
"He's still breathing."
A boot slammed into Lin Xian's chest.
A kick to his ribs jolted him awake with a stab of pain. Air burst from his lungs in a hoarse gasp.
"Tch. How annoying," another voice muttered. "Didn't Tianhao kick him half to death already?"
"He was bleeding everywhere," someone replied. "Should've finished it."
The earth shuddered faintly beneath their feet.
One of the youths frowned, glancing around. "Did you feel that?"
"An earthquake?" another scoffed. "Relax. It stopped."
They laughed and ignored it.
Lin Xian opened his eyes.
The morning sun revealed a ruined courtyard: cracked stone and patches of moss, rotting leaves soaked with yesterday's rain. Three blurry figures loomed above him, their outlines wavering as his vision swam.
His chest burned.
His head throbbed.
And someone was standing on him.
"…Move," he rasped.
The boot pressed harder.
"You still know how to talk?" the youth sneered. "Impressive for trash."
Laughter followed. Familiar laughter.
Something twisted inside Lin Xian's skull—not pain, but recognition.
This body—
His breath hitched.
So I died.
No.
He was still here.
Worse—
He was alive in a body that remembered everything.
Then, a shiver ran down Lin Xian's spine—a memory surfaced, clearer and sharper than the rest.
Not his own memories, no—these belonged to the shattered soul that had once inhabited this frail body. He saw it all in vivid, blood-soaked flashes: the jeers of his kin echoing in the family's shadowed training hall, their faces twisted in contempt for the "trash" who couldn't cultivate.
Lin Tianhao's sneering visage loomed largest, his fists descending like hammers forged from malice.
"You dare call yourself a Lin?" Tianhao's voice snarled in the memory, each word accompanied by a brutal strike. Fists pummeled his ribs, cracking bone with sickening snaps. Boots followed, stomping down on his chest, his arms, his face.
Servants watched from the corners, making fun of him with mean laughs, while elders turned blind eyes, letting it off as a "necessary discipline" for the family's shame.
Blood filled his mouth. He remembered curling into a ball, whispering pleas that fell on deaf ears, his dantian already crippled and useless against the onslaught. Tianhao's final blow—a savage kick to the temple—had sent him spiraling into darkness, his last thoughts a whirlwind of rage and despair: Why me? Why this endless torment? Then he thought he was dead. Yet here he was, alive—reborn in the ashes of that brutality.
He let the memory flood wash over him, then whispered, voice raspy but steady.
"So this… is mortality."
"Just kill him," one of them said impatiently. "If the elders ask, we'll say he crawled out here himself."
A foot lifted.
The ground trembled again—slightly stronger this time.
Dust slid from the eaves.
Instinct surged.
Not this body's instinct—
His.
Something ancient stirred, furious at being dragged into such filth.
Lin Xian's fingers twitched against the cold stone.
Far above the courtyard, lightning crawled soundlessly through the spiraling clouds.
"…Interesting," he whispered.
The youths froze.
"What did you say?"
He didn't answer.
Because above them—far above Azure Cloud City—the sky cracked open for a single heartbeat.
Then it sealed.
The tremor faded. The clouds loosened. Formation lights stabilized.
Up there, the city slowly breathed again.
Down here, a man who should have died was being kicked awake.
A cold, controlled fury burned in his chest—quiet, but absolute.
His surroundings felt heavy, painfully real. This body was weak, bruised, half-broken from neglect. Yet even in ruin, the truth was clear: this was no ordinary vessel. This was the remains of Lin Xian—eldest son of Lin Yuan, once a respected elder of the Lin Family's old sect branch. Once, their bloodline had been bright as fire. Now, it was ash.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips—more irony than amusement.
"How fitting for Nirvana's rebirth—to begin in ashes."
He pushed himself upright. Pain spread through broken ribs, sharp and unforgiving, but he welcomed it—it reminded him he was alive.
His pale fingers shook from blood loss, elegant even covered in blood. Once, those hands had shattered stars and silenced gods. Now they trembled like those of a starving mortal.
Even so…
"Weak, yes," he murmured. "Temporary… but temporary is enough. These hands will kill mortals and immortals the same—soon."
---
A harsh shout broke the peace in half.
"The trash is alive?!"
Lin Tianhao stood at the front, handsome but cruel, his aura rippling with smug confidence. Peak Mid-Stage Mortal Vein Realm at his age—he flaunted it like he already owned the world.
He smirked down at Lin Xian.
"You should've stayed dead, brother. Now I'll have to bury you twice."
Lin Xian brushed dirt from his sleeve, voice soft but sharp enough to kill:
"Twice is inefficient. A true assassin only kills once."
The three paused. Confusion flickered—then Tianhao's sneer deepened.
"Still spouting nonsense. You couldn't kill a chicken even if it begged you."
He raised his hand.
Heat surged.
A crimson rune flared across his palm.
The Phoenix Ember Palm ignited, flames swirling into a blazing wing.
Stones beneath their feet cracked under the heat.
The old Lin Xian would have begged.
This one simply watched the flames approach—expression still, gaze cold.
Then—
The God Eye Awakens
A golden radiance surged beneath his eyelid, then burst open like dawn tearing through eternal night. In the heart of his left iris, a tiny sigil—an ancient burning sun—slowly revolved, casting ripples of light that made the air tremble. The world around him dimmed, yet his gaze blazed brighter, divine and oppressive, as though a forgotten god had opened its eye through him.
Time… slowed.
The phoenix flame froze mid-leap.
The embers hung in the air like suspended rubies.
The sound vanished as if swallowed whole.
Lin Tianhao's sneer stretched into a thousand distorted reflections—each one a twisted version of his own fear.
Then the illusion shattered.
A silent shockwave rippled outward—pure golden force.
The phoenix flame recoiled violently, spiraling back into Tianhao's chest.
His robes ignited.
His eyes widened.
He saw himself kneeling—bleeding—dying—over and over—thousands of variations of his own defeat compressed into a single heartbeat.
The illusion lasted only a second.
To Tianhao, it was eternity.
The flames died. He stumbled back, gasping for air.
His two companions stared in horror. The stones beneath Lin Xian had cracked in a perfect circle.
"W-what… what is this?" Tianhao shuddered.
Lin Xian tried to open his mouth—but agony stabbed through his skull.
The golden eye snapped shut.
Blood streamed from his nose.
"Nothing," he rasped. "Just… a petty trick."
Tianhao hesitated, fear quivering behind his anger—until he suddenly convulsed and spat a mouthful of blood, his eyes wide with a terror he couldn't name. The profound backlash from the shattered illusion had ravaged his spirit. He fled then, like a beaten dog. His followers scurried after him.
Silence fell.
---
The Crippled Vessel
Lin Xian remained kneeling, chest heaving. The shimmering pain behind his eye finally receded, leaving dull throbbing in its wake.
"One second," he muttered. "And this body nearly shattered."
He pressed his palm to his chest. His heartbeat fluttered unevenly, meridians frayed from years of damage.
"A crippled dantian… no wonder this boy couldn't sense qi."
His smile was faint but sharp.
"It doesn't matter if my dantian is ruined. The Nirvana Scripture is rebirth itself. To rise stronger from complete destruction—strong enough to crush the heavens."
He leaned back against a cracked wall, exhausted yet strangely alive. Memories of cosmic wars flickered—empires turned to ash, star realms collapsing under his will.
Up there, he had been unstoppable.
Here?
A single kick almost killed him.
"A crippled vessel," he whispered. "But the will of a god remains."
---
Moonlight washed over the ruined courtyard. The estate was too quiet—too still.
Lin Xian lay against the cracked wall, breathing shallowly, when a voice surfaced in his mind. Soft. Familiar.
"Big Brother, don't skip breakfast again!"
The sound struck deeper than pain ever could.
A childish laugh followed, light as wind chimes. Lin Xue'er—twelve years old, brave to a fault. The only ember of warmth in a family that had long since gone cold. She used to sneak pastries into his hands after her lessons, whispering promises she was far too young to keep.
"When I grow up, I'll protect you."
Even when the clan mocked him, when they called him trash and looked through him as though he did not exist, she had never once wavered.
His chest tightened.
The old Lin Xian had died choking on blood—alone, humiliated. But his last thoughts had been of her. That alone had been enough to keep him breathing now.
Soft footsteps crunched against damp stone.
"Big Brother?"
The memory dissolved.
Lin Xian's eyes opened.
She stood just beyond the broken gate, clutching a small basket to her chest. Moonlight caught in her hair, tied with a crimson ribbon, her eyes bright and anxious as she hurried to his side and knelt beside the bed of straw.
"You're awake!" Her voice wavered. "They said you… they said you were dead…"
He let out a weak chuckle.
"Seems I disappointed them."
She puffed her cheeks, fighting tears. "Don't joke about that! I—I brought you steamed buns and some meat. Cook says you're not supposed to have them, so I… um… borrowed them."
Warmth spread through his chest, slow and unfamiliar. He reached out, fingers trembling, and brushed her cheek.
"Thank you, Xue'er. But you shouldn't be here. If Father or the elders see—"
"Father's always scolded for protecting you," she said quickly. "He won't mind this time."
Her voice softened.
"He argued with the elders today. They said you were a disgrace. Father fought back and hit the table so hard it cracked."
Guilt flickered through Lin Xian's gaze.
"Tell him," he said quietly, "not to waste his strength. This trash will take care of himself."
Her eyes shimmered.
"You're not trash."
He smiled—faint, tired, but real.
"One day," he said, "perhaps the world will agree with you."
He tousled her hair gently. When she finally left, humming softly as she disappeared into the night, the courtyard felt less lonely than it had any right to be.
---
The Forgotten Past
Lin Xian exhaled slowly, letting the moonlight settle over his bruised body.
The courtyard was quiet again—
A faint ringing pulsed behind his left eye.
Then it sharpened.
A whisper—distant, broken, yet unmistakably familiar—echoed through his soul.
"Master… run…"
Lin Xian froze.
The golden sigil in his God Eye trembled violently.
His breath hitched—not from fear, but from the weight of something far more ancient than this mortal flesh.
A forgotten scent rose in the wind—
blood, ash, thunder, shattered stars.
His heart dropped.
Not this place.
Not this weak vessel.
This was the echo of a battlefield that did not belong to this world.
His vision blurred.
Moonlight distorted.
The ruined courtyard dissolved like smoke.
The cold earth beneath him melted into molten stone.
The sky split open above him—
bleeding constellations and howling void.
A single order tore through the darkness:
"SEVEN SINS—DEFEND THE THRONE!"
Lin Xian's eyes snapped wide as the past devoured the present—
dragging him back into the final moment of his former life.