After nightfall, Xiao Chen followed Han Bo's advice and sat quietly in the village house to rest.
Han Bo had gone out alone to observe the stars. Xiao Chen had intended to meditate, but the more he closed his eyes, the more the words from earlier resurfaced—Ten Seals of Fate, the Seven-Tiered Tower, the shifting star chart… each phrase was like an invisible tide, crashing against the shores of his heart. It wasn't mere shock—it was a bone-deep sense of the unknown.
He had once believed himself prepared. But he hadn't imagined that "fate" could be so real… and so heavy.
And that one line—"Once fate chooses you, there is no turning back"—clamped onto his heart like iron pincers. No matter how he tried, he couldn't find peace.
The bright moon hung high. Outside, the insects' chirping had grown sparse. The star chart loomed overhead, and a cold wind brushed his face.
Xiao Chen quietly rose to his feet, intending to step outside—only to find the starlight outside flickering, as if whispering. Han Bo sat alone by the stone table, gazing silently at the sky.
The wind passed through the doorway like a voiceless sigh.
Han Bo looked toward the heavens, and in his heart, his master's words echoed:
"When the Fate Mark reaches its peak, it returns to nothing. Heaven's fate is unknowable, and so is man's… that is true freedom."
He lifted his gaze toward the faint light at the edge of the sky, as if lost in memories long buried.
Softly, he murmured,
"Never thought… someone would walk that path again."
He sighed gently, then shifted the topic, patting the stone bench beside him.
"Do you know that this continent is divided into four regions, each centered around a city?"
Behind the door, Xiao Chen froze slightly—clearly surprised that Han Bo had known he was there. After a brief moment of awkwardness, he pressed his lips together, steadied himself, and stepped forward to the stone table. Sitting down calmly, he offered a respectful bow.
"I am ignorant, Elder. I ask for your guidance."
Han Bo nodded with a smile, as if pleased by the youth's humility. He continued slowly,
"The East holds Ziyun, the South Yan Feng, the West Xuanlei, and the North Lingfeng—four cities like pillars, supporting the fate of this land."
As he spoke, Han Bo's withered finger traced seven names into the earth. Each stroke seemed to carry the weight of memory and reverence:
Xinghen Sect: The former ruling sect, masters of star fate.
Star-Seizing Palace: Cultivates through celestial arts, seizing opportunity from the stars.
Crimson Refining Gate: Supreme in body cultivation, unmatched in physical refinement.
Shadowpierce Flow: A sect of assassins—one sword, one death.
Fateweaver Gate: Predicts the flow of destiny, walking the path of yin and yang.
Xingta Temple: Uses sacred chants to suppress demons, ferrying karma through dharma.
Starkeeper Pavilion: A scholarly sect, cultivating through calligraphy and ink.
"Though each holds its own domain, they all root their paths in fate—and their rivalries, both open and hidden, never cease."
Han Bo paused, his gaze returning to Xiao Chen, voice growing heavier.
"And the Fate Mark Tower… is the oldest trial of destiny in this world."
He paused again, then continued:
"Legend says it predates even the ancient era, housing the source of Fate Seals and the legacy of the star chart. Its gates remain sealed, unopened for a hundred years—unless… a person of rare fate appears."
He looked at Xiao Chen, a flicker of complexity in his eyes.
"Recently, the star chart has shifted. Fate patterns rise and fall. I knew then—the aura of the Fate Mark Tower had been stirred. And now you appear here… Could it be… that it has chosen you?"
A tremor surged through Xiao Chen's heart, as if something deep within him was quietly responding. He looked into Han Bo's eyes—eyes that seemed, in that moment, capable of seeing through his very soul.
"…The Fate Mark Tower?" he repeated softly, his brows slightly furrowed. A nameless premonition began to stir.
Before he could react further, Han Bo spoke again.
"Your fate is no longer bound to the ordinary path," he said quietly. "Once fate chooses you, there is no turning back."
His gaze held steady on Xiao Chen, voice firm and unwavering.
"This is not fortune—it is the beginning of a price. The fact that you emerged means the tower… has acknowledged you. But the tower does not choose lightly. Once it does, it demands repayment."
"Though the Fate Mark Tower is a place of trial, do you know—there are seven levels, each one a hardship, each one a tribulation?"
Xiao Chen tried to remain calm, but a surge of unease rose within him.
The Fate Mark Tower… seven trials…
Had he truly been chosen to walk such a path?
Han Bo tapped the stone table lightly, his tone deepening.
"Those who reach the seventh level not only earn the title of Fate Sovereign… they may even reconstruct their own fate chart."
He lifted his teacup, pausing briefly as the rim touched the table, sending out a faint ripple. That sound seemed to awaken a long-dormant memory.
"A hundred years ago, the Xinghen Sect stood as the foremost among the seven. Its sect master commanded the path of star fate and was once recognized by the tower itself… Yet sixteen years ago, the sect was wiped out overnight, vanishing without a trace. Some say only a scattered remnant of fate survived."
Xiao Chen's expression shifted sharply. Fragmented images surged through his mind—lightning flashing, flames roaring, voices calling from the depths of night… but no one answered.
He asked cautiously,
"Do you… know who that remnant was?"
Han Bo shook his head.
"No one knows the true name. Only that their Fate Mark was called: Star-Reversed Sequence."
Xiao Chen fell silent for a long time, then finally spoke in a low voice:
"What if… that person was me?"
Han Bo froze, his eyes flickering, words caught in his throat.
"You… are the last ember of that fate?"
"It doesn't matter," Xiao Chen replied, his tone cool.
Han Bo's voice softened, as if recounting a tale buried by time.
"It's said the sect master once sought to trade stars for fate, defying the heavenly order. That act drew the wrath of other sects, who joined forces to destroy him… Even the Fate Registry was rewritten because of that battle. It seems the rumors from back then… were not without truth."
Xiao Chen stood, his gaze sweeping across the night sky.
"You say fate chose me… But what if I choose to reject it?"
Han Bo looked at him and gave a bitter smile, his voice hoarse.
"Then you must understand—choice… comes with a price."
That sentence fell like a seal upon the night, silencing even the wind.
Xiao Chen lowered his head, saying nothing. His expression was calm, yet within it lay a quiet stillness that defied description. He knew—fate never asks if you're willing. It simply arrives… and stands before you.
Though the conversation had not ended, lights flickered across the village. Those who had returned home earlier now quietly peeked out once more. The villagers who had obeyed Xiao Chen's earlier request to go home now opened their doors again, seeing the fire still burning and the two men still speaking in the courtyard. They stepped out in small groups, forming a loose circle nearby.
Some were curious.
Some were concerned.
And some simply couldn't suppress the urge to know—who was this young man, truly?
In the wind, someone whispered,
"This child is no ordinary soul… Someday, he may do great things…"
That voice rippled outward like water. The subtle fear and suspicion from earlier began to shift—into reverence and quiet deference beneath the night sky and starlight.
Some brought dry rations and medicine, saying, "You'll need these for the road," though their eyes avoided his. Xiao Chen accepted the offerings with a nod, saying little.
A child tried to approach, only to be pulled back by an elder.
"Fated ones… must not be approached lightly."
That sentence made Xiao Chen's brows knit slightly. He looked into the child's eyes—wide with longing, yet shadowed by fear—and felt a chill rise within him.
In this world… anything could be revered.
And anything… could be feared.
Han Bo stepped beside him, gazing at the night sky.
"You've come this far because fate chose you. But every step from here… is your answer."
Xiao Chen kept his head lowered, silent. His eyes were calm, yet within them spun a hidden star chart. He understood—fate never asks if you're willing. It simply places itself before you, cold and unyielding… and waits to see if you dare to take it on.
After hearing the two men's conversation, a villager suggested,
"It's late. Let them stay another night. We can prepare more food for their journey tomorrow."
Han Bo said no more, simply nodded in agreement. He looked up at the night sky and murmured,
"Sometimes, fate isn't in the tower—it's beneath your feet."
Xiao Chen gave a faint nod, his expression unchanged.
As the villagers gradually dispersed, a young couple hesitantly approached.
"Young master… our home is nearby. The child is still small and afraid to meet you. But… we made extra porridge tonight. If you don't mind, would you rest at our place?" The man spoke sincerely, while the woman shyly held a small basket of wild yams and coarse rice from their field.
Han Bo had intended to decline, but seeing the couple's eyes—free of calculation, filled only with honest gratitude and respect—he nodded, leaving the choice to Xiao Chen.
Xiao Chen hadn't planned to linger in the village. Yet for reasons he couldn't explain, he found himself unable to refuse the couple's gaze. He gave a quiet nod.
Their home was modest, but meticulously clean. The woman reheated the porridge and served it to Xiao Chen, saying,
"We'll head to the back hill to dig up something fresh for you to take on the road tomorrow. The child's asleep in the inner room—we'll leave shortly."
"No need," Xiao Chen replied softly. Seeing their sincerity, he didn't offer further courtesies. After finishing the warm porridge, he sat cross-legged in the outer hall, regulating his breath and resting quietly as the faint lamplight flickered beside him.
—Until midnight.
In the eastern corner of the village, at a dim alleyway, several dark figures gathered silently. The night wind stirred dust and sand, muffling their footsteps and whispers.
Oil barrels were being overturned. The thick, black liquid spilled across haystacks and beneath eaves, its pungent stench nauseating. A young man whispered,
"Isn't this… going too far? What if the village gets caught in it?"
Mei Lisheng's eyes were bloodshot. He kicked the young man to the ground, the torch nearly searing his face.
"Shut up! Afraid now? When he humiliated me in front of everyone, where was your voice then? Now you grow a conscience? If I don't burn him, I'll never swallow this shame!"
The young man clutched his face, silent. The others looked grim, but none spoke up. This grudge—Mei Lisheng had long clenched his teeth over it. They were already in too deep. There was no turning back.
Under the torchlight, the madness in Mei Lisheng's eyes grew fiercer. He licked his cracked lips, raising the torch high, as if already seeing that hated figure writhing in the flames, begging for mercy.
"Is everything ready?"
A low voice echoed from the darkness.
"The oil's been poured. Just waiting for that orphan to sleep like a log."
"Hmph. This time, we'll make sure he dies for good. Burn him to ashes—let's see how he plays the hero then!"
Mei Lisheng grinned viciously, eyes gleaming with the thrill of revenge and madness. He swung the torch in a wide arc and hurled it into the haystack soaked in oil.
"Die! Let's see you act tough now!"
The torch sliced through the night and landed in the oil-soaked straw. In an instant, flames roared to life. The blaze surged, blinding in its intensity. The village, built mostly with straw roofs and wooden beams, was vulnerable—houses separated only by thin fences. The fire spread faster than wind. In the blink of an eye, flames leapt to the rafters and raced with the breeze, transforming into a sea of fire.
Those who had come to watch with smug satisfaction now turned pale. One cried out in panic,
"Wait… the fire's too fast!"
The flames jumped over the walls, licking at the neighboring rooftops. A muffled boom rang out as another house erupted in sparks, thick smoke billowing skyward.
"This is bad… the villagers' homes are burning too!" someone shouted.
"It's spreading—it's spreading!"
"Boss, the fire's out of control—this isn't right!"
"What happened? Why are the villagers' houses catching fire too?"
"We're finished… it's out of control!"
Panic swept through the group. Some stumbled, others screamed—but none dared approach the blaze.
Mei Lisheng's face stiffened. Realization struck, and fear finally flickered in his eyes. He gritted his teeth and growled under his breath,
"Run!"
The group turned and fled into the dark alleys, not daring to look back at the inferno consuming everything.
The night was deep. Most villagers were already asleep. The smoke rolled thick, but no one had noticed—until an elderly man, coughing from the fumes, awoke and saw the crimson glow outside his window. He rushed out, shouting,
"Fire! Help—fire!"
His cry was like a stone dropped into a still pond—ripples exploded outward.
One house after another lit up. Children cried, women screamed, men ran with buckets. Panic spread like the flames themselves. In moments, the entire village was thrown into chaos.
Inside the house, Xiao Chen sat cross-legged, regulating his breath. He sensed a faint disturbance outside. Before he could rise, a burst of red light exploded through the window, smoke rushing in with the wind.
The fire surged like a beast attacking the city, devouring doors and windows in an instant. Every exit was sealed.
He frowned, preparing to break through the window—when he heard it.
A faint cry.
—A baby?
Xiao Chen's heart jolted. He turned and rushed into the inner room. He didn't know the child's name. He didn't know if he'd survive the night.
But in that moment, he knew his choice.
To save.
To bear the weight.
Smoke filled the room. A wooden bed sat against the wall. In the corner, the infant curled up, crying weakly.
Without hesitation, Xiao Chen scooped the child into his arms, shielding the small body with his sleeves. Energy surged into his palms as he prepared to shatter the wall—
Crack—
The beam above gave way, collapsing with fire and debris.
Xiao Chen twisted his body, taking the full impact on his back, shielding the child in his arms.
Hiss—
Flames scorched his skin. The force crushed down. He groaned, crashing to the ground. His consciousness blurred—but his arms never loosened. Not even an inch.
The fire lit up the night sky.
And it lit up his clenched jaw… and trembling frame.
"Fate grants no choices. Yet man may always choose how to carry its weight. And in that moment—he chose the cost."