Arthur walked along a stone-paved path in the heart of a sprawling Qingmiao City (Azure Sprout City). He inclined his head to a group passing by. They had robes of differing colors fluttering in the wind, but all bore the same crest of the Duan Sect.
Some were just sect members sworn only by oath, not by blood. Most were family, but so distant that their greetings were polite masks rather than warm embraces.
Arthur returned each nod with quiet courtesy, letting the murmur of conversation and the rustle of sleeves fade behind him. The air carried a faint trace of sandalwood incense drifting from the sect's prayer halls.
He stopped before a courtyard and called out, his voice carrying across the tiled walls.
"Brother Ming Hao!"
Silence answered.
Arthur raised his voice again.
"Ming Hao!"
It had already been a month since Arthur opened his eyes in this world.
Inwardly, he exhaled a tide of memory and resentment roiling beneath the surface.
Reborn… not purely, but still reborn.
He still remembered the chaos, the Soul Eaters' hunt, and their interference tore the Realm of Purgatory apart. Five immortals perished while purgatory itself shuddered, and the blinding rupture that came with the shattering of its gates. He had tried so hard to purify himself, but the damage to the realm had been too significant. Something had gone wrong.
And now he was here.
He wasn't free, wasn't whole, and was tethered to a life that wasn't entirely his own.
Instead of awakening in a new vessel untouched by the past, he found himself in the failing body of a boy on the brink of death.
He clenched his jaw.
After all I endured… at least it could have erased my memories. To carry this hatred again — damn it all!
The courtyard door slid open.
A boy stepped out, eyes raking Arthur from head to toe, arrogance curling the corner of his mouth. He didn't greet him, just merely stood there as though he had been the one waiting.
"Morning, brother."
"Carry my bags," Ming Hao said evenly, tossing a satchel without warning.
Arthur's brows drew together in disdain, but he obeyed. Grudgingly, he hoisted the bags over his shoulder.
This sack of filth… supposed to be my brother? Who treats their own kin like this?
But can he blame him? At least he didn't murder trillions. The kettle was calling the pot black.
He knew the situation. His current father was a stern and unyielding man and a physician in this current world. He believed recreating certain events from Arthur's past life might "restore what was lost." And this arrogant boy had apparently been his constant companion before the accident.
Duan Ming Hao. The Duan Sect's newly favored young master.
Ming Hao took the bags back from Arthur's hands a moment later.
"I'll carry," he muttered, as though the burden had never been his to give.
Arthur turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.
And there stood his father.
The man's features bore the gravitas of the sect's senior generation. His expression was unreadable, his gaze flicking between the two of them like a silent judge.
Arthur inclined his head.
"Ming Hao Greets, Eldest Uncle."
"Greetings, Father."
His father's eyes lingered on him a heartbeat longer than on Ming Hao. Arthur felt the weight of a physician's scrutiny rather than a father's warmth in that heartbeat.
"Tian'er," he said at last, voice deep and steady, "your pulse seems stronger than yesterday. Good." His gaze shifted to the bags in Ming Hao's hands. "I trust you're not letting yourself be used as a porter for your brother's whims?"
Ming Hao's lips curled faintly, almost imperceptibly, but Arthur caught it.
"I volunteered, Father," Arthur replied evenly, lowering his head to conceal the smirk that wanted to surface. "It's only natural to lighten my brother's burden."
His father grunted, clearly unconvinced. He stepped closer, placing two fingers on Arthur's wrist again, measuring his qi flow. His brows knitted together almost instantly.
"Still… unstable," he murmured, half to himself. His fingers shifted to Arthur's temples, pressing lightly. "No headaches this morning?"
Arthur hesitated. "A faint one," he lied. In truth, his headaches had been relentless. The toll of his fragmented soul was still stitching itself to this unfamiliar vessel.
His father's gaze softened a fraction, though the lines of worry did not fade.
"Be safe, Tian'er," he said at last, the weight of his voice leaving no room for argument.
Then, without shifting his eyes from Arthur, he turned his head slightly toward Ming Hao.
"And you — take care of your brother. Make sure you pay attention to him."
Ming Hao bowed his head just enough to pass for obedience, the shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Of course, Eldest Uncle. I'll watch over him as if he were my own shadow."
The shrewd glint in his eyes told Arthur exactly how much those words were worth.
They both bowed, exchanged farewells, and left the courtyard together.
The morning sun was sharp but gentle, scattering golden light over the winding stone path that climbed toward the peaks. Their boots crunched against loose gravel as they trekked higher into the mountain's embrace.
It wasn't long before Ming Hao broke the silence. "You know, I was re-evaluated yesterday. My Whitefire Spirit Root shines brighter than ever. When I ascend to the inner sect, the Sect Master will surely grant me his personal blessings… and perhaps even the sect's rare pills and potion reserves." He glanced sidelong at Arthur, his tone dripping with the smugness of someone announcing divine favor. "After all, it is Heaven's will that I reach the heights of the Azure Corona. Unlike… someone else."
Arthur's lips curved, the laughter slow and deliberate.
"Brother Qing Tian, don't worry. Then I can keep an eye on you from far away. You won't have to worry about drowning… unless, of course, the heavens themselves push you under."
Arthur's brows twitched, but he said nothing, striding ahead with an extra flick of his robes.
He followed Ming Hao, hiding the rage in his chest. The mannerisms of this world were already beginning to grate on him. He could endure the arrogance of five ancient immortals; they were worthy, but this brat, still wet behind the ears, tested his patience in ways few ever had.
If not for understanding my current situation, he thought I would have thrown this pig down from these stairs.
He forced himself to speak polite flattery. "With such a root and Heaven's blessing, Brother Ming Hao's rise is inevitable. All of Duan Sect will remember your name."
Ming Hao hummed in satisfaction.
They walked for another half-hour before the path widened, opening into a terrace before an imposing structure. Tall pillars painted in vermilion rose into the sky, each carved with flowing characters of cloud and flame.
"Haah, finally," Ming Hao announced with theatrical pride, "we are at the Verdant Hall."
Arthur turned his gaze, but not to the hall. His eyes swept the world beyond.
Below the mountain's shoulder, the city sprawled in orderly streets and glittering rooftops, hemmed by a stone wall that caught the morning light. Beyond the walls, rivers coiled like silver serpents through fertile plains, vanishing into a haze of distant forests and jagged peaks.
And above it all, the sky stretched without end, its blue deepening until it touched the unseen edges of the Boundless Immortal Firmament.
Arthur thought that if there was a blessing in this new life, it was this view.
And even so… it was but a speck in the infinite.