The sky bled pale light through its shattered cracks when Xu Yuan opened his eyes.
He had not slept.
He rarely did.
The bed was untouched. He sat instead on the floor of his chamber, back straight, legs crossed, breathing slow. A single candle burned before him, its flame thin and steady. Around the flame, five jade slips floated in the air, circling like pale moons.
They contained cultivation manuals, court records, intelligence reports—and lies.
Xu Yuan closed his eyes again.
Faces surfaced in the darkness of his mind: the King, weeping before the altar; Xu Qing, laughing by the pond; Xu Lan, watching him with cold suspicion; Xu Feng, whispering treason in hidden halls; Xu Lin, drowning in his own inferiority.
Each face came with strings attached—emotions, ties, expectations.
He cut them, one by one.
Love.
Pity.
Guilt.
Regret.
He watched each thread snap in silence, until there was only a still, black surface within him, as calm and deep as a frozen lake. Any ripple that appeared was observed, measured, and erased.
*A heart like still water.*
That was the foundation of his Dao.
Not compassion. Not righteousness. Not "humanity."
Only clarity.
Only utility.
Only his will.
The candle flickered, then went out.
The jade slips fell to the floor with soft clacks.
Xu Yuan opened his eyes.
The room was dark, but his vision was sharp. He rose, straightened his robe, and walked to the window. Outside, dawn crept over the city, washing tiled roofs and watchtowers in weak, grey light.
Another day of masks.
Another day closer to his true path.
***
Breakfast in the Xu Royal Palace was a performance.
Servants moved like well-trained spirit beasts, carrying trays of steaming food and fragrant tea. The long table glittered with porcelain and gold. The royal family sat in their designated places: the King at the head, the princes and princesses along the sides in strict order.
Xu Yuan arrived last.
He bowed to the King, to the ancestors' tablets behind the throne, then to his brothers and sisters.
"Yuan-er, sit, sit." The King's face brightened at once, as if his son's presence alone eased the weight of the crown. "You work too hard. A ruler must care for his body as much as his mind."
"Yes, Father." Xu Yuan smiled gently and took his seat.
To his left sat Xu Feng, the eldest prince.
Xu Feng's shoulders were broad, his expression cold, his eyes sharp in a way that would have intimidated most people. He cut his meat with a touch more force than necessary, jaw tight.
"Little brother," Xu Feng said, not looking up, "I heard you spent the night reading reports again. The court sings your praises. They say the Crown Prince never rests."
His tone was light, but the mockery beneath it was clear.
Xu Yuan's expression did not change.
"Second Brother exaggerates when he speaks of me," he replied calmly. "First Brother overestimates the value of rumors. Compared to your martial feats on the battlefield, my efforts are insignificant."
A servant at the side lowered his gaze to hide a smile. Flattery like that from the Crown Prince carried weight.
Xu Feng's grip tightened on his chopsticks, just for a moment.
He enjoyed being praised.
He hated being beneath anyone.
"Don't belittle yourself," Xu Feng said. "The scribes might faint if they heard the 'insignificant' Crown Prince's name taken in vain."
The King laughed.
"Feng-er, Yuan-er, no bickering during breakfast. We are family, not rival sects."
*Not yet,* Xu Yuan thought.
Outwardly, he lowered his head in apology.
"Yes, Father."
Across the table, Xu Lin flinched when the King's gaze brushed over him, then relaxed when it passed. He pushed his food around, not daring to speak.
Xu Qing chatted with a maid about flowers, occasionally glancing at Xu Yuan with open admiration. Xu Lan ate in silence, eyes downcast, yet Xu Yuan felt her attention like the point of a hidden blade.
He lifted a cup of tea, letting the warmth seep into his fingers.
This table was a battlefield.
Others fought with words and petty schemes.
He fought with patience.
***
After breakfast, court session began.
Ministers bowed, reports were read, disputes argued. The hall buzzed with carefully measured hostility, layered politeness, and the faint, constant fear that accompanied life under heaven's gaze.
The King listened, frowning at the mention of the worsening drought in the south.
"Your Majesty," a minister said, stepping forward, "if we do not open the royal granaries, there may be riots."
Another snorted softly. "Open the royal granaries for every hardship, and the people will grow complacent. Bandits already swarm the western mountains. We cannot show weakness now."
Murmurs broke out.
Weakness. Strength. Mercy. Severity.
Words.
All chains.
The King's eyes shifted to Xu Yuan.
"Yuan-er, what do you think?"
The hall fell silent.
Xu Feng's gaze sharpened.
Xu Lin lowered his head even further, as if dreading being called upon.
Xu Yuan stepped forward, robes whispering over the stone floor. He cupped his hands and bowed.
"Father, esteemed ministers," he said, his tone respectful yet steady, "both mercy and severity have their place. But neither can be applied blindly."
He let his gaze sweep the hall, measuring each expression, each flicker of hidden intent.
"In the south, the drought is severe. If we open the granaries fully, we strain our reserves and appear soft to neighboring powers. If we ignore their suffering, resentment festers and will be used by those same powers to stir rebellion."
He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully.
"I propose a third path. Issue limited relief in the most affected counties, enough to quell immediate unrest. At the same time, send investigators—quietly. Use this chance to root out corrupt officials who have been hoarding grain and exploiting the disaster."
Several ministers stiffened.
"You mean to say—" one began.
Xu Yuan bowed slightly toward him.
"I mean to say that loyal officials stand to be rewarded with the people's gratitude and the court's trust, while… others will reveal themselves by their fear."
A subtle tremor ran through the hall.
The King's brows eased.
"An elegant solution," he said slowly. "Relief without indulgence, mercy without losing control. And we cleanse corruption under the guise of compassion. Good. I approve."
He turned to the ministers.
"Prepare the decree as Crown Prince Yuan has advised."
A chorus of "Yes, Your Majesty" filled the hall.
Xu Yuan stepped back into his original place.
His expression remained mild.
Inside, his thoughts were cold and precise.
*One decree. Three gains. I ease the King's burden, earn the court's admiration, and draw out hidden enemies under a banner of virtue.*
*Humans are simple. Give them a moral reason, and they will accept any blade, no matter where it falls.*
His gaze brushed past one particular official whose ears had gone white with sudden blood loss.
*You first,* he decided.
***
Later, in a shaded corridor, Xu Feng caught up with him.
"Little brother," Xu Feng said, his voice tight, "you seem to enjoy speaking for Father more and more."
Xu Yuan halted and turned, eyebrows lifting slightly in polite confusion.
"First Brother jests. Father simply asked for my thoughts. You, of all people, know my words carry no authority without his decree."
Xu Feng stepped closer.
He was taller, broader, his aura that of a hardened warrior. To most, he was intimidating.
To Xu Yuan, he was a half-polished blade—a weapon that could be turned either way.
"You cultivate influence with that soft tongue," Xu Feng said. "Today it was the drought. Tomorrow, what will you 'advise' on? Military deployments? Succession?"
Xu Yuan held his gaze.
"I only wish to lessen Father's burdens."
"Then remember this." Xu Feng's eyes gleamed with suppressed hostility. "A crown prince who shines too brightly… often burns early."
He brushed past and strode away.
Xu Yuan watched him go, then allowed a ghost of a smile to touch his lips.
*Threats are the curses of the impatient. If he had true confidence, he would act, not warn.*
*Good. Let him simmer. Let him reach for allies beyond the palace walls. Only then will his fall be loud enough to serve as a warning to others.*
***
That night, Xu Yuan slipped out of the palace again.
The path to the ruins was becoming familiar—the narrow mountain trail, the twisted trees that looked like grasping hands, the scent of old blood and damp stone.
He moved without hesitation, steps light, heartbeat steady.
Fear?
That was for those who believed their lives had value beyond their use.
He arrived at the buried chamber, its entrance half-swallowed by rock and thorn. The runes on the walls still pulsed faintly, like the last heartbeat of a dying beast.
The black mirror stood in the center, unchanged.
But everything had changed for him.
He approached it, the memory of yesterday's single line still etched in his mind.
*11th Venerable True Inheritance.*
He reached out again, fingers brushing the cold surface.
This time, the mirror reacted instantly.
The chamber vanished.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
***
He stood in a void.
There was no up or down, no sky, no ground. Only endless black, broken by drifting fragments of scenes: mountains collapsing, rivers flowing backward, suns burning out, worlds spinning into ruin.
In front of him, a single stone platform floated, upon which a man sat cross-legged.
The man looked young—black hair, plain robes, ordinary features.
Yet his presence was like a blade pressed against the throat of reality itself.
His eyes were half-closed. When they opened, they were as calm and deep as Xu Yuan's—but older. Colder. More absolute.
They had seen five thousand years.
They had watched worlds rise and fall and remained unmoved.
Xu Yuan felt no awe.
No reverence.
Only a quiet, razor-edged curiosity.
The man regarded him for a moment.
Then spoke.
"So the next one has arrived."
His voice was flat. Not welcoming. Not hostile. Simply stating a fact.
Xu Yuan inclined his head slightly.
"You are…?"
The man did not answer directly.
"Name, identity, history… these are skins we wear." His gaze was like a dissecting knife. "What matters is will. Tell me, inheritor: what do you seek?"
Xu Yuan met that gaze without flinching.
"Power," he said simply. "Freedom. A path that belongs only to me."
A faint flicker—almost a smile—touched the man's lips.
"Many have said the same. They sought strength, immortality, escape from heaven's chains. In the end, they begged for mercy like all the rest."
"I will not beg," Xu Yuan said.
"You think so now." The man rose from the stone platform. The void trembled around him. "The heavens are not kind. They are a system. A mind that grinds all things into fuel. To stand against that… requires more than talent, more than cruelty, more than courage."
His eyes sharpened.
"It requires the willingness to discard everything. To use everything. To become something that even you would have once called a monster."
Xu Yuan's tone remained calm.
"Then we are in agreement."
Silence.
The man studied him, layer by layer, like dissecting flesh.
"What is your name, inheritor?"
"Xu Yuan."
"What were you before Xu Yuan?"
For a heartbeat, the darkness around them seemed to twist. Whispered echoes, half-formed memories, blood-soaked fields and countless lives flickered at the edge of awareness.
Xu Yuan's expression did not change.
"It does not matter," he said. "The past is a dead skin. Only what I will become is important."
This time, the man did smile—cold and faintly approving.
"Good. Attachment to one's own history is the first weakness most cannot cut away."
His gaze grew distant.
"In another world, another era, they called me many things. Demon. Monster. Calamity. Venerable."
He looked directly at Xu Yuan.
"But the title that matters here… is simple."
Behind him, the void rippled, forming an illusory throne of bones and broken stars. Countless shadows knelt and shattered like glass.
"Remember it," he said quietly. "For in accepting this inheritance, you accept enmity with heaven itself."
The fragments of collapsing worlds brightened, like torches before execution.
"I am the Eleventh Venerable."
His voice dropped, each word a nail hammered into fate.
"And this… is my true inheritance."
The void contracted.
A torrent of cold, ruthless will swept toward Xu Yuan—memories, methods, countless schemes, and a Dao that walked alone against the sky.
Xu Yuan did not retreat.
He opened his mind and soul without hesitation.
No fear.
No reverence.
Only hunger.
*If you are a demon that shook one world,* he thought, as the inheritance crashed into him like a collapsing heaven, *then I will be the law that devours all worlds.*
Far away, in the silent ruin, the black mirror's surface flared with a faint, eerie light.
In its depths, for a single instant, two figures overlapped:
A young prince in plain white robes.
And a man whose very existence was a declaration of defiance against heaven.
Then the light vanished.
The ruin returned to stillness.
Only a single, quiet whisper seemed to linger in the dark:
*"The Only Law begins."*