That night, the sky did not roar.There was no thunder. No light.Only a silence that suffocated.
The world felt like a tomb.Snow fell like veils, hiding the stars and the moon.The wind howled through the mountains,but lacked the strength to scatter the lone shadow climbing the slope.
She walked slowly, her wounded feet sinking into the thick snow,her body trembling — but she did not stop.In her arms, she carried a baby —too small, too fragile.But still alive.Alive, and silent,like an ember too stubborn to fade.
She did not cry.There were no tears,only a fixed gaze — pained, hardened.
It felt as if the whole world was against her.Yet she never looked back.
— Just one more step...
— One more...
The woman could no longer feel her fingers.Her torn cloak fluttered in the wind like a banner of disgrace.With each step, she left behind a trail of blood and snow.
The child in her arms did not cry.Did not move.But he breathed.And that was enough.
She had once been a disciple of the renowned Sect of the Spiritual Star.She had everything — name, lineage, promises.But she committed an unforgivable sin:She loved someone she shouldn't have.
A foreigner.A swordsman from a rival sect.
She believed him.Believed in love.And for that, she was punished.Expelled. Branded a traitor.Hunted as if she were a cursed spirit.
But the baby... the baby still lived.And for him, she kept walking.
After climbing the final stone of the mountain,she saw the ruins of an ancient temple.Forgotten by centuries.Abandoned by the heavens.
There, she fell to her knees.With numb fingers,she laid the baby upon a snow-covered stone.Looked at him one last time.Touched his frozen face with cracked lips.And whispered:
— Forgive me, my child…May you live, even if the world wants you dead.May you hide, until no one sees you.Or… may someone find you, and save you.
She rose.Stepped back.She did not cry.Did not scream.Did not hesitate.
She turned and disappeared into the night —like a dried leaf, carried away by the wind.
And the baby...remained there.In silence.Like a flame unseen, yet still burning.
On the third day, at dawn,the silence of the mountains was broken.
An old woman with white hair,a bamboo basket on her back,walked through the thin mist and melting snow.
They called her Grandmother Yu.It was said that, centuries ago,she had been one of the greatest masters of spiritual alchemy —but had renounced the world and its power,choosing solitude among the mountains of Chendao.
She lived surrounded by herbs, dry leaves,roots hanging from the ceiling,and moldy scrolls.
She received no visitors.Spoke only to the birds,the winds,and the stars.
As she passed near the ancient temple,she stopped.
What she heard was barely audible —like the sigh of a fallen leaf.
She bent down.And among snow, stone, and silence,she found the baby.
His eyes were open.His lips, parted.But no cry.
She knelt down and placed a hand on the child's chest.
— There is still warmth… — she murmured.
— And fire.
Without another word,she wrapped him in her own cloak and took him with her.That silent, forgotten life now had a new shelter.
She gave him a name: Hei Liang.The Black Flame.
Because even without light…he burned.
For twelve years, Hei Liang lived among medicinal roots,bitter vapors, and forgotten tales.
He learned to harvest.To boil.To wait.
He learned to listen to the snow.To hear the silence.
The village children avoided him.Some spat near him.Others called him "empty husk" or "grave-less ghost."
He never responded.Only looked down and kept walking.
Grandmother Yu used to say:
— Not all power shines.Some lie buried, waiting for the right time to be found.
At night, she told him stories —of the Seven Great Sects,of ancient wars,of dragons sleeping beneath the earth,and of heavens that only open to those who dare.
— Never wish to rise too quickly, — she said.
— Those who rise without preparation… fall deeper.
Once, Hei Liang found a wounded fox in the forest.Its leg was broken, blood staining its fur.
He carried it back to the hut,and cared for it for days.
— Why are you so insistent? — Grandmother Yu asked.
— Because it didn't give up, — he answered.
From that day on, the fox never left.It slept at his door on cold nights.
At fourteen, Hei Liang held his grandmother's hand as she died.
She gave him an old talisman,woven from dark lotus threads,and whispered:
— When the world cannot see you…you will still be fire.
She passed with a smile.And left behind the only home he had ever known.
In the spring that followed,the Celestial Assessment arrived.
A legendary event.
The Seven Great Sects would descend from their mountains,carrying banners, masters, and spiritual stones,to choose new disciples.
Everyone in the village spoke of it.It was the day when fate could change.The day even a farmer's son could touch the heavens.
Hei Liang didn't want to go.But he did.For the promise he made to his grandmother.And for something he couldn't name —an ancient spark, restless, alive.
He wore the talisman over his chestand walked to the village square,where the other youths had already gathered.
The crowd was large.Robes were luxurious.Perfumes, fans, and swords adorned their backs.
He was alone.And everyone noticed.
— Him? — someone murmured.
— The bastard from the wilds?
— I heard he doesn't even have a spiritual root… not even a single spark.
Hei Liang stood in line.Saying nothing.Waiting.
The fire inside him… still silent.
Then came his turn.
The Patriarch of the Crimson Lightning Sect, Lei Tianzhao (雷天昭),a tall man with a ruthless gaze and wrapped in violet lightning,raised his hand in disdain.
— Touch the Origin Crystal.
Hei Liang took a deep breath.He stepped forward.
For the others, the crystal pulsed with golden light.But when he touched it…
Nothing.Not a spark.Not a tremor.Not even a breath.
The crystal remained dark.Dead.
The silence that followed was sharper than the mountain wind.
And then… the laughter.
— Is this a joke? — Lei Tianzhao sneered, openly mocking.
— Even corpses have more spiritual presence, — remarked Han Xueqin (寒雪琴),Mistress of the Frozen Lotus,covering her lips with a glacial silk fan.Her gaze, cold as the peaks of Xuehua,rested on Hei Liang as if she were observing a frozen insect.
— Maybe he should dig graves, not reach for the Dao, —chuckled Mu Zhonghai (穆重),Elder of the Eternal Stone,his voice like rocks collapsing down ancient cliffs.
Behind them, the other leaders watched in silence:
Yu Qingyun (玉清云),Patriarch of the Hidden Heavens Sect,kept his hands folded in his sleeves,his eyes half-closed,as if Hei Liang weren't even worth a breath.
Rong Zhiyao (容芷瑶),Mistress of the Floral Mist,simply turned her face away,long lashes trembling faintly —as if avoiding the sight was crueler than meeting it.
Zhao Liehan (赵烈寒),Master of the Blazing Sun,let out a muffled laugh,the heat around him wavering as if mocking too.
Meng Wuxin (梦无心),Leader of the Silent Abyss,opened his eyes for only a moment —eyes so dark they seemed to see through lifetimes.
Hei Liang said nothing.He lowered his head.
But inside…something trembled.Something clenched.Something nameless.
The selection continued without him.No one chose him.Not a single word was spoken in his defense.
His name… became mockery.His dream… dust.
That night, hungry and alone,he wandered the slopes of Mount Chendao,where even the wind seemed to ignore him.
And then… the attack.
Three rogue cultivators —former disciples expelled for their crimes —surrounded him in the forest.
— Even if he's useless, his eyes are good, — said one.
— We can sell them to a blind alchemist in the black market.
Hei Liang ran.He threw stones.He bit. He screamed.
He bled.
But he was only a boy.
He stumbled and fell along a forgotten trail.Tumbled over rocks and dry rootsuntil he reached a clearing where even the wind could not enter.
There, in the heart of the mountain,was a fissure.Almost invisible.Surrounded by ancient symbols and corroded runes.
An ancient barrier vibrated in the air —a celestial seal woven from vows of forgotten eras.
Any cultivator who touched it would be disintegrated instantly.
But Hei Liang...had no aura.No flow.No root.
The seal did not react.
The world did not recognize him as a threat.Because to the heavens...he was nothing.
And so...he fell.
The fissure swallowed him.
He descended through an endless tunnel,where light did not existand time hid from itself.
Even thought echoed in reverse.It was like falling into the void of his own being.
The entrance closed.No sound.No trace.No name.
No sect dared speak of that place.But the oldest among them knew:
It was the Celestial Abyss of the Dragon King.
Sealed ten thousand years ago.Forgotten out of fear.Avoided by choice.
Down there, the air did not breathe.The earth did not whisper.The Dao did not respond.
And now...
A flame the heavens had rejectedhad crossed the gates of the impossible.
Hei Liang —the child with no bloodline,no cultivation,no heavenly favor —had become the only one capable of enteringwhat even the gods dared not touch.
And his story...
was only just beginning.