The mountains of Sichuan, once the crown jewel of southern China, are now an open graveyard. The towering peaks that once hid behind clouds and natural mist are now bare, scorched, and cracked as if a giant hand had ripped them apart. The trees that once blanketed the slopes are now charred, blackened trunks, and the rivers that once flowed between the rocks have become poisonous, green streams, sluggishly running like the earth's own blood.
No birds fly, no insects crawl, no wind carries the scent of flowers. The sky is heavy, black as ink, as if it has decided to witness this massacre without participating. From amidst this devastation, the poisonous mist moves like a living organism.
Not ordinary mist, but a dark green cloud that twists and expands slowly, clinging to the skin, seeping into the pores, melting flesh in seconds. Whoever inhales it falls to their knees, clutching their neck, their eyes bulging from their sockets, blood gushing from their mouth and nose as they choke themselves before their bodies melt like wax under an invisible flame. Perched atop a horrifying mound of decaying, charred, and melted corpses,
Tang Guo yuan sat. His long white hair, stained with
blood that had dried to a lustrous, dark crimson, hung over his face like a crown of congealed blood. His elegant black robe, trimmed with thin green threads that glowed faintly, remained unchanged despite all the blood, holes, and burns.
His eyes were completely empty—no cold, no anger, no pain… just a profound emptiness, as if the whole world were nothing more than another failed experiment in his personal laboratory.
Before him stood more than twenty lords, the strongest offspring of both righteous and demonic sects. Their faces were deathly pale, their hands trembling on the hilts of their swords and spears, their breath ragged, sweat mingling with their blood. They knew they had won… but they felt no victory. Namgong Sanghal,
the lord of the Namgong clan, stepped forward, his family's famous spear, the "Blue Sky Spear," raised with all the strength he had left. "In the name of the Namgong clan… end your life today, you demon."
Tang Gu Yuan slowly raised his head. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly in a thin, twisted, poisonous smile. "Honor?" His voice was so calm, as if he were talking about the weather on an ordinary morning. "You don't know the meaning of honor. You're just… afraid that the Tang clan will become stronger than all of you." He looked at the pale faces before him—Shaolin monks, Muyong masters, Kunlun, Emei, and Qingcheng masters—and saw in their eyes only suppressed fear behind a mask of pride.
Then came the final blow. Swords, spears, fists, inner arts… all exploded toward him in a single instant
. He felt the blades pierce his chest, the spears penetrate his shoulder and stomach, the inner energy searing his organs from within.
He didn't scream.
He didn't groan.
He didn't beg.
He simply laughed.
A faint, intermittent, cold laugh, as if it came from the bottom of a dark well. "One hundred years… and you'll regret not killing me sooner." He closed his eyes, still smiling a thin smile. "The Tang family… will not end with me
.After that, Tang Gu Yuan felt his body begin to lighten. The pain gradually faded, then the sensation throughout his entire body. It was as if he were floating in an endless black void.
"Hmm... I didn't know death could be so comfortable." His inner voice was calm, mocking.
"But even in comfort, my heart will always remain with the Tang family." Then he paused for a moment, as if contemplating something he hadn't considered before. "What's the point of all this?"
"Yes... power. I don't regret anything I've done. But... if I had developed the family arts further, if I had truly made them invincible... perhaps they wouldn't have suffered the calamity I'm leaving behind."
"Young Master..."
A very faint voice, as if coming from afar. "Hmm... even on my way to hell, I hear voices."
"Young Master..." The voice was clearer this time.
A young girl's voice, trembling. "Hmm... am I imagining things? Or are there others on their way to hell with me?"
"Young Master Gu Yuan... wake up!"
Gu Yuan suddenly became enraged and shouted in a loud inner voice, "What the hell is going on?! Can't I even find peace after death?!"
"Ah... I'm sorry, sir!"
"???"
He slowly opened his eyes. The darkness had vanished. He was in an old wooden room, the scent of herbs and medicines filling the air.
Before him stood a young girl, perhaps 14 or 15 years old, dressed in a maid's robe, her eyes wide with fear
.
"Who the hell are you? Just a second ago, I was surrounded by darkness!"
The girl looked at him, frightened and confused. "S...Sir...what are you talking about?" He looked at her, trying to understand.
"I'm going to ask you questions...and answer honestly." "Who am I?"
"You are...the Seventh Young Master, Mr. Tang Gu Yuan...the son of Mr. Tang Lao Han."
"Huh?"
"What are the Tang family's circumstances now?" The girl looked at him, utterly bewildered.
"Sir...the Tang family has silently ruled Sichuan for a hundred years. Are...are you alright? Shall I bring you the family nurse?"
"??? Huh..."
He paused for a moment, then slowly raised his hand, as if to confirm his presence.
"Go." The girl ran out, terrified. Gu Yuan sat on the bed, his eyes empty again. "A hundred years..." A thin, slow, poisonous smile appeared on his lips.
After the girl left, silence hung over the room for a few moments. Tang Guoyuan stood up slowly, as if his new body was still learning to bear its weight.
He walked to the window with heavy steps, hesitant at first, then more steadily. He opened the wooden shutter with his right hand, and the cool night air poured into the room, carrying the scent of mountains, herbs, and ancient dampness. He looked out.
The Sichuan Mountains were still there. The same towering peaks, the same steep slopes, the same dense forests where the family secrets had been hidden for centuries. The moon was full, its silvery light bathing the valleys as it had a hundred years ago.
But something had changed، the fog was no longer as toxic as it once was, and the wind no longer carried the smell of blood and poison... but rather the scent of ordinary, quiet, and monotonous life. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs. The pure, cool, poison-free air he had grown accustomed to breathing with every breath.
A thin, slow smile appeared on his lips.
"Hmm... I'm back."
He looked up at the moon again, his bright green eyes reflecting its light like poisonous jewels. "One hundred years... and the mountains still stand. And the Tang family still exists." His inner voice was calm, but with a hint of dark satisfaction. "But are they still strong? Or have they become a mere shadow of what they once were?" He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to his newfound heartbeat. The body was weaker, younger, with less inner strength... but it was still his body.
The same spirit, the same memories, the same greed.
He opened his eyes and looked down at his right hand. He raised it to his face, clenching it slowly until the veins stood out.
"All right... let's start over." A wider, colder smile
spread across his face.
"The world that killed me... will pay twice over."