The palace was silent that night, yet the king's halls overflowed with guests who refused to leave. Laughter, music, and clinking cups echoed through the corridors long after midnight.
The chief maid, exhausted but determined, moved between the kitchen and the banquet hall, ordering servants left and right. Sweat clung to her skin as she sent someone to fetch her assistant, who had wandered off to enjoy the festivities.
She hurried down the dim passageway—then stopped.
A tall figure stood ahead.
Her breath caught. She tried to avert her gaze, telling herself it was nothing... yet her heart pounded uneasily. Before she could blink, the figure vanished.
She spun around.
A violent force wrapped around her like invisible claws—dragging her back.
She screamed as the world blurred, and suddenly she was thrown into a pitch-dark room. The air was thick, suffocating. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed, gasping for breath.
"W-Who... who are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
A sharp pain shot through her chest. She coughed, blood spilling over her lips. The air trembled as a terrifying surge of power rippled through the room. Her skin burned. Her bones ached. She grabbed at her clothes, tearing them as the pressure crushed her body.
"Aahhhhh—!"
The figure stepped forward, calm amidst the chaos, and crouched before her. An icy hand gripped her chin, forcing her face upward.
She tried to see his features—but a sudden flash of sharp energy sliced through the air.
She jerked too late.
A thin, deadly arc cut across her neck. Warm blood gushed, her body trembling uncontrollably. Her head drooped, helpless, as sweat streamed down her face.
A low voice hovered near her ear.
"Which hand did you use?" he asked softly, almost mockingly. "Ah... you touched what belongs to me."
The figure straightened, its silhouette towering over her.
"This warning should be enough."
She blinked hard—once, twice, and the dark room vanished.
Suddenly, she was back in her chamber.
Her body crumpled to the ground as consciousness slipped away, blood pooling beneath her.
Her personal maid was inside, quietly preparing the bed for the night. When she turned around, she froze. A shadow lay on the floor where no one should have been.
Slowly... cautiously... she stepped closer.
The scent of blood hit her first.
Her eyes widened as she bent down, recognizing the assistant chef maid's face—pale, drenched in sweat, barely clinging to life.
Shock flickered across her expression... then faded.
Her mouth curled into a small, vicious smile.
She nudged the body with her toe, then kicked it lightly.
"You wicked soul," she hissed under her breath.
"You finally got what you deserve...!"
She bent down to pull the body up—
—but something wet slipped onto her hand.
She looked.
And saw the assistant maid's entire arm dangling ... her shoulder joint severed, hanging by nothing.
"AHHHH!" The maid screamed and threw the body away from her, stumbling back so fast she almost tripped.
Her heart hammered as she spun and bolted out of the room, running down the hallway with trembling legs.
She didn't stop until she burst into the palace hall, breathless and shaking.
"C-Chief Maid!" she cried. "Something is wrong—something terrible!"
The night breeze was chilly as it swept through the palace mansion.
The crown prince sat motionless in his room, deep in meditation, when a strange pulse tore through the quiet of his room. His eyes snapped open. Something was wrong.
He rose, stepped to the window, and saw the full moon hanging heavy in the sky. Without hesitation, he vanished and reappeared on his palace roof, settling cross-legged as he inhaled deeply.
His calm aura expanded at once—power blooming through the night air like a silent explosion.
That was when he saw it.
A dark figure gliding across the sky.
The King of Death.
The same entity he had fought in the south, inside Mò Lián's chamber.
The prince disappeared, moving after him invisibly. His third eye opened, revealing the king of death's thoughts as clearly as spoken words.
"How long will you run from me, Lián...? How long will you choose the wrong path?"
The prince's heart clenched. His jaw tightened.
Then he saw her.
Mò Lián, alone in the cemetery.
His fury ignited.
He appeared before her instantly.
Mò Lián, shaking hands, lifted her hairpin.
"Mother... I'm tired..." she whispered, ready to end everything.
Her hand froze mid-air as she heard a familiar voice.
"Lián...!"
The pin slipped from her fingers.
She turned—only to see the crown prince hurled backwards as a violent force struck him. He arced through the air before regaining balance.
"What do you want?" he demanded, hovering above the ground.
"I didn't come for reconciliation," the King of Death said coldly, drifting closer. "Move."
"Stop," the crown prince warned, stepping into his path.
The King of Death finally lifted his gaze, but something powerful blurred the prince's face.
"Imposter..." the King of Death growled, slashing at him.
"OUT OF MY WAY!"
The prince dodged effortlessly.
The ghost king turned toward Mò Lián.
His arm crackled—pure lightning gathering in his palm.
Mò Lián watched, helpless on the ground, as the lightning shot toward her like a spear.
The crown prince moved, already half-transformed—eyes glowing crimson, ethereal power trembling around him—
But someone else intervened first.
A surge of power shot across the night.
The military general appeared out of thin air, catching the lightning with his bare hands. It passed through his body harmlessly, then he redirected it back toward the King of Death with terrifying precision.
The King of Death gasped, trying to vanish, but the general's lightning chased him relentlessly, following every movement.
He tried bending it, absorbing it, turning it away—
But the general sent another bolt.
This one was monstrous.
The King of Death summoned all his strength—but before he could retaliate, a force seized him and dragged him away.
The general bowed once to the prince and dissolved into the silent night.
At that exact moment, the temple bell thundered through the kingdom.
GONG — GONG — GONG—
A sign that something ancient had awakened.
The crown prince landed softly beside Mò Lián, gathered her trembling body into his arms, and vanished.
In the next heartbeat, they were inside his chamber—safe, hidden, and alone.
Mò Lián's body felt like water—weak, trembling, drained of every ounce of strength. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion. She blinked, trying to focus, trying to remember.
She was... in a room.
A quiet, unfamiliar room.
She pushed herself up slowly, one shaking hand pressed to her temple.
Where... am I?
A cold draft slipped through the space, brushing her skin. She pivoted. The window was far from the bed, yet the air that entered felt unnaturally cold—too cold.
Her heartbeat, which had been racing, gradually returned to normal.
Then, from the far corner of the room—where the shadows were thickest—a candle flickered to life.
Then another.
Then another.
A line of candles illuminated one by one, like soft fire awakening in the dark. Mò Lián's chest tightened.
She remembered the ghost, the cemetery. The voice that chased her.
Fear squeezed her lungs.
She shut her eyes tightly and covered her ears, trembling as the whisper of cold air curled around her again.
Lián.
She heard her name.
Her heart lurched.
She squeezed her eyes tighter.
Is the ghost back? No... no, please...
Lián.
The voice was closer now.
Footsteps approached.
Her breath hitched. Her mind screamed.
No...
"Please," she cried out, her voice cracking. "Please... leave me!"
She forced her eyes open.
A figure stood in the dim light. Tall. Familiar. A scent she knew better than her own heartbeat—but the aura... the surrounding aura was darker, heavier, fierce in a way she didn't recognize.
She lowered her trembling hands.
Her arm lifted slowly toward him, wanting to touch him—to confirm he was real—but he stepped back, avoiding her fingertips.
She tried again.
He moved away again.
Her chest tightened painfully.
But she knew that scent.
She knew him.
"Jùn..."
Her voice broke as she slid off the bed, unsteady on her feet.
"Jùn... where are you going?"
Her tears blurred her sight.
"Do you really want to leave me? Why won't you look at me?"
She stepped toward him, reaching, pleading, her entire body leaning toward his presence like a wounded soul searching for light.
The figure didn't move.
He only watched her—silent, unreadable.
"Jùn..." she whispered again.
Then everything went black.
Something struck her sharply, and the world tilted. She collapsed forward, falling into darkness as her voice cracked one last time:
"Jùn..."
The night stretched endlessly for King Tiān Lóngxuān.
Though the palace was alive with celebration, he left quietly, compelled by a force older than time—
a summons from his ancestors.
Alone in his chamber, he sat in stillness.
The air thickened, vibrating with ancient power.
His father appeared first.
Then his grandfather.
Then his great-grandfather.
Three generations of kings, their spirits towering in the dim glow.
"You are becoming soft-hearted," the eldest spirit declared, his voice like stone breaking.
"I will strip you of your human mind. Only then will your eye be open."
Lóngxuān remained silent.
"Lóngxuān...!"
No response.
He felt their presence pull away—yet something remained.
Watching. Waiting.
"Lóngxuān..." a softer voice called.
His eyes snapped open.
A figure sat on his window frame, moonlight outlining his silhouette.
His son. Or...
Was it?
"How are you?" the figure asked, voice calm but chillingly detached.
Lóngxuān's thoughts tangled.
Are you my son... or Tiān?
He couldn't tell. The aura was different—ancient, commanding.
The figure smiled faintly.
"You must watch your step. I haven't fully returned yet. Soon you will join my sons."
He stepped down from the window with inhuman grace.
"Raise."
Lóngxuān stood.
Before he could blink, the figure closed the distance—moving faster than light.
A thumb pressed firmly on Lóngxuān's forehead.
"Open your eyes... son."
Lóngxuān's eyes widened in shock as his vision exploded into brilliance.
The world shifted.
His body dissolved into mist—
then slammed back into physical form.
He collapsed onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling, gasping, trembling.
The spiritual realm—
The realm he visited only in meditation—it
was now wide open before him.
He could see it clearly.
He lay there unmoving, stunned and breathless...
until morning.
The morning sun crept gently over the kingdom, bright but merciful, warming the air without scorching it.
At the gates of King Tiān Lóngxuān's private mansion, the king's personal eunuch stood firm, turning away every visitor with composed authority.
King Hán Wáng Ān, however, refused to be dismissed.
"I must see the king," he said sharply, eyes cold with urgency.
"This matter cannot wait."
The eunuch, expression calm but unreadable.
Consider yourself fortunate the king even has business with you, he thought silently. Otherwise... hm.
Before he could speak, a shift in the atmosphere made him look up.
A presence—strong, and unmistakably royal—approached.
General Yán Lǐng.
King Hán Wáng Ān straightened immediately.
The general did not slow. He closed the distance between them, his sharp eyes fixed on the king with quiet scrutiny.
"Do you need help?" General Yán Lǐng asked, stopping right before him.
King Hán Wáng Ān swallowed, his fingers trembling slightly.
He hid his hands behind his back and lowered his gaze to the ground.
"I request an audience with the king," he said. "It is... urgent."
General Yán Lǐng watched him step backward, reading every twitch, every hesitation.
The general replied, "You will be summoned when the time is right."
The great gate opened on its own—silent, effortless—acknowledging him.
He stepped inside without looking back.
King Hán Wáng Ān exhaled deeply, tension coiling in his chest as he slowly turned away.
"I'm under attack, and it sounds like nothing. I need to leave...!"
Suspense followed him with every step he took.
General Yán Lǐng stepped into the king's principal residence, his boots echoing softly along the endless marble corridor.
The morning air inside the palace felt different—heavy, watchful, as though something unseen clung to the walls.
Halfway down the hallway, a chilling sensation brushed the back of his neck.
A presence.
Something dark...
His instincts sharpened. He released a small wave of power, letting it sweep through the corridor like a silent strike. The oppressive feeling evaporated instantly, withdrawing like a cowardly shadow fleeing in the sun.
Yet, his brows remained knitted.
Whatever it was, it wasn't ordinary.
He halted in front of the king's chamber. After a steady breath, he knelt and kowtowed three times—each bow firm, respectful, and filled with loyalty.
Before he rose, the heavy doors slid open on their own, responding to the king's energy.
Yán Lǐng entered.
His heart stopped.
King Tiān Lóngxuān—mighty ruler of the dynasty, the man whose power could silence armies—was lying motionless on the floor.
"My king... dawn has arrived," Yán Lǐng said, kneeling immediately, voice firm despite his shock.
The king blinked slowly.
Then again.
But the confusion in his eyes was unmistakable.
He opened his eyes fully—
—and his world remained pitch-black.
Before Yán Lǐng could react, the king dissolved into thin air, reappearing right in front of him like a whisper of wind.
"Yán Lǐng..." His voice trembled—not with fear, but with ancient dread.
"He is back. Do not go near him. Do you understand? He recognizes only those who share his blood."
Yán Lǐng froze, his forehead still nearly touching the floor.
His inner voice spoke—calm, commanding, a divine whisper.
Look up.
He obeyed.
"My king..." His breath hitched. "You cannot see."
King Tiān Lóngxuān exhaled shakily, the tension in his jaw betraying the fear he tried to hide.
"Tiān...! is back," he whispered, and the room seemed to darken with the weight of his words.
"My son... Prince Tiān Jùn. He is no longer just my child—he has awakened Tiān."
He gripped Yán Lǐng's arm suddenly, pulling him to his feet.
"Stand, son. Enough with the formalities."
He walked toward his throne with the confidence of a man who still possessed sight, though his eyes did not track a single thing around him.
Yán Lǐng watched him silently.
The king's blindness was real.
But what terrified him more was the tremor in the king's voice when he spoke of "Tiān."
The reincarnation...
The power that belonged to no mortal...
He followed the king from behind, his steps careful, his heart unsettled.
Something ancient had awakened.
And nothing in the kingdom would remain the same.
The morning sun rose slowly from the southeast, its golden rays spilling over Huǒyuán like warm silk. The capital remained hushed, wrapped in a cool dawn breeze, until the morning bell echoed across the rooftops.
Huā Yuán stirred at the sound, her lashes fluttering open. She had long become accustomed to waking at twilight. Still groggy, she stepped to her table—only to notice a fresh letter placed neatly atop it.
She opened it.
A soft smile touched her lips.
"Of course... I'll clean the king's room before he returns," she murmured to herself, setting the letter back down.
Outside her chamber, her personal soldier was already awake—just as punctual as she was. He stood waiting silently at her door, posture disciplined, senses alert.
Huā Yuán pushed the door open.
The soldier immediately bowed, head low.
She gave him a broad smile and waved her hand quickly, almost flustered. The formality still made her uncomfortable, no matter how many times it happened.
He straightened at once.
"My lady."
"I want to learn something new today," she said cheerfully as she stepped into the corridor.
"Are you free for a few tutorials?"
"Yes, my lady."
He followed three steps behind, always careful about his distance.
Huā Yuán stopped suddenly and turned.
The soldier froze.
"I heard you can teleport," she said, tapping her foot lightly. "Shall we? I'm already late."
He nodded.
"Very well, my lady. But you must focus on me."
Huā Yuán blinked at him.
So?
He held his sword.
And the wind swept past her cheeks. Colors blurred. Space folded.
Then—silence.
Huā Yuán opened her eyes. She saw through the magic, recognizing its flow instantly. A tiny smirk tugged at her lips.
This magic is easy... Why didn't I know about it earlier? Hmmm.
They arrived in an open field—the exact place she had wished to be.
"How did you know where I wanted to go?" she asked, spreading her arms to embrace the morning breeze.
"My lady," he mumbled, "your attention never drifted. I could connect with your intent and take you where your heart led."
She turned to him, curious.
"What is your name?"
"I'm Gù, my lady," he replied, bowing slightly.
"I heard you're from the East. Is that true?" she asked as she began practicing the steps Mò Lián had taught her.
"Yes, my lady. I'm from Wujia in the east."
His voice held a hint of pride—and admiration—as he watched her move.
Huā Yuán spun gracefully, the wind catching her sleeves. She caught Gù smiling quietly, his eyes following each step she made.
"Do you like my steps?" she asked with a teasing smirk.
"My lady," Gù replied, his voice almost reverent, "your footwork... it resembles The Walls of the Ancient War. It's a technique many soldiers respect deeply. You are truly gifted."
She listened, letting his admiration wash over her.
"The Lord blessed you richly," he continued. "I would be honored to learn from you one day."
Huā Yuán paused.
"Ask your question," she said.
"Your attention has been on it for a while."
Gù stepped closer. Not too close—but enough for his hesitation to show.
"My lady... were you able to face the eunuch?"
She laughed lightly. "Or the king?"
"I mean... yes," he admitted. "Both."
She stopped in front of him, her voice softening.
"I am a foreigner," she said, almost whispering.
"I've been curious about the sword ships of this land since I arrived."
Her gaze fell on the sword at his side.
"I want to learn swordsmanship."
She tilted her head, smiling.
"Can you teach me, Gù?"
His breath hitched—only slightly—but Huā Yuán noticed.