Zhenyu's hands clutched his father's tattered robe, his voice trembling as he begged,
"Father… please… don't make me leave you."
But Jiang Wuyu's expression changed. His one remaining eye sharpened as a faint hum pulsed through the air—the distant vibrations of an array coming to life. He felt the pressure shift, the subtle currents in the ground tightening like a net.
They're already here.
He turned to his son with urgency.
"Zhenyu… as your father, my last wish is simple: live. Run from here and never look back. Abandon the Jiang name, abandon even the name I first gave you. If one day you want revenge, take it. If you don't, I won't care. All I ever wanted was to see you strong… and to see your smile. That's enough for me, my son."
Zhenyu's tears poured freely, blurring the figure of the man who had given up everything for him. He stepped forward and hugged his father with all his strength, his sobs shaking his shoulders.
Wuyu embraced him one last time, holding him as though he could carve the memory into his soul. Then, with a reluctant breath, he guided Zhenyu to a narrow tunnel carved into the stone—a hidden path that would let him escape unnoticed.
Zhenyu hesitated at the threshold, his voice cracking.
"You told me to abandon my name… and I will. But… you must give me a new one. As my father."
For the first time that day, Wuyu's face softened into a true smile.
"Zhūniǎo Zàishēng… The Vermilion Bird reborn, crowned in the fire of its own ruin. A sovereign of the skies, defying the emperor's will itself. Each fall only forges its wings anew—sharper, stronger, destined to pierce the firmament again and again like a Phoenix.That, my son… is who you are now."
Zhenyu bit down hard, forcing back the fresh wave of tears. He opened his mouth to speak, but Wuyu could see it—he was only trying to stretch the time they had left.
"No, Zàishēng… know this instead: I am already proud of you. Proud that you bore all that pain, all those years of suffering, and endured to reach this moment. That is enough for me."
Before Zhenyu could utter another protest, Wuyu pushed him into the passage. The stone door slid shut, sealing the path—and then the sound of it collapsing echoed through the tunnel, cutting off any way back.
The last thing Zhenyu saw was his father's smile. The last thing he heard was a single word—
"Goodbye."
Zàishēng fell to the ground, his hands pressed against the cold stone, his breath ragged with grief. For a moment, he wanted to stay there, to let the sorrow drown him. But then… he forced himself to rise.
If he stopped now, he would betray his father's last wish.
One step.
Then another.
Then he was running, the wind carrying the tears from his face as his father's final gift—the will to keep going—burned in his chest.
Jiang Wuyu stood deep beneath the earth, his thoughts a storm of grim calculation. I'll make them think I failed… that my plan crumbled in my hands. If they believe I have nothing left, they'll simply kill me. But I must be hateful enough—make them certain I've lost all reason.
The air was heavy with stillness, broken only by the faint rumble above. He could feel it—footsteps, Qi pressure, the unmistakable weight of their presence. They're here.
He waited, expecting them to force their way through the tunnels, but what came instead shook the very ground beneath him.
A sudden, bone-shaking crack split the chamber as dust rained from above. The stone ceiling groaned under invisible force, spiderweb fissures racing outward in every direction. Then—like the jaws of some colossal beast—the rock was ripped apart.
Slabs of earth the size of houses tore free and rose into the air, suspended by sheer spiritual power, revealing a gaping wound in the world itself. Blinding daylight poured in, stabbing into the darkness, and Jiang Wuyu found himself staring straight up into the outside world.
Far above, silhouetted against the sky, stood figures clad in armor engraved with the golden emblem of the Empire. Their presence radiated authority, their formation precise, and at their center was a man who seemed to dwarf the others in sheer presence.
Qi surged from him like a rising tide, the very air warping under its weight. One look was all Wuyu needed to know—this man was an Emberwake realm cultivator. There would be no escape. No victory. Only the end.
The man stepped forward, his voice rolling down like thunder, amplified with spiritual power.
"I, Zhao Tianxun, General appointed by the Emperor himself, stand here to judge you, Jiang Wuyu. I will say this only once—surrender yourself, and you will be granted a fair trial."
Jiang Wuyu's face twisted into a mask of raw rage and sorrow, his eyes glistening with tears that burned hotter than fire. Madness danced in them, but behind it lay a deep, festering grief. He raised his voice, each word laced with venom.
"Zhao Tianxue! YOU THINK I CARE ABOUT YOUR EMPIRE?!" His roar tore through the air like a beast in its death throes. "YOU THINK I CARE ABOUT YOUR SO-CALLED 'FAIR TRIAL'? I DO NOT GIVE A DAMN ABOUT ANY OF THAT!"
His voice cracked, but the fury only grew sharper. "IT'S BECAUSE OF YOU—BECAUSE OF YOUR DAMN EMPIRE—that I failed! You forced my hand! You drove me to rush my plans! YOU STRIPPED ME OF EVERYTHING I HAD LEFT! AND YOU DARE STAND THERE AS IF YOU ARE RIGHTEOUS?!"
His teeth clenched, his chest heaving. "You're no better than me. You wanted the Demonic Core for yourselves—to use it, not destroy it! But now it's gone—DESTROYED! Lost forever… all because of you… you bastards!"
His expression was a storm of grief, insanity, and rage, tears streaking down his face like blood from a wound.
With a wild glint in his eyes, Jiang Wuyu leapt—bounding from wall to wall with reckless speed, ascending toward the light. He wasn't afraid of an Emberwake cultivator. Why should he be? His fate was already sealed; this was all an act to save his child's life and bury the truth of his survival.
Zhao Tianxue, watching the broken man close the distance, saw the truth in his eyes—the hollow resolve of one who had lost everything. Xie Tianhun was right, the general thought. This was a man driven into madness. With a wave of his hand, Zhao ordered his soldiers to retreat, unwilling to waste their lives on someone already condemned.
Jiang Wuyu reached him, striking with everything he had. His blows landed but did nothing—each impact breaking more of himself than his opponent. Zhao Tianxue caught him mid-lunge, lifting him effortlessly before slamming him into the ground. The earth cracked under the force, a thunderous sound echoing in the open air.
But Jiang Wuyu only laughed—low, bitter, and hateful. The stage was set for his final act. His Qi began to spiral inward, his body trembling as he prepared to self-detonate.
In those last moments, his thoughts slowed. He remembered the man he used to be—before cruelty became his armor, before loss became his constant companion. He saw his wife's face, her absence the wound that had never healed. He saw his son, frail and dying, and the darkness he embraced to save him.
He had become a terrible man to the world—a demon in the eyes of all—but to one boy, he was still a father. And that was enough.
Zhenyu… live like the phoenix. Rise from every failure, every loss. Let nothing—not even death—be your end. Rise again and again… That is why I gave you the name Zhūniǎo Zàishēng.
Radiant light began to blaze from within him, heat and spiritual energy churning like a newborn star. Zhao Tianxue, expecting the explosion, leapt back and hurled Jiang Wuyu into the gaping hole below.
As he fell, Wuyu smiled—not with bitterness, but with quiet satisfaction. His story ended here… but it was the beginning of his son's. The tale of a phoenix.
And then, in a blinding flash, he was gone.