The mountain slept once more, but Wang Chung did not.
He sat before the corpse of the Silent Heaven Emperor, motionless, blood still crusted at the corner of his lips. The morning sun barely reached the summit, its faint light breaking against the endless mists.
Within his dantian, the golden bead pulsed faintly — slower than before, yet each beat sent waves of energy through his body. The fragment of the Silent Heaven Art now rested within his soul, its presence like a distant storm — vast, unfathomable, and ancient beyond comprehension.
He could not fully understand it yet.
Each rune that appeared in his mind carried meaning older than language itself. When he tried to comprehend them, his consciousness trembled on the verge of collapse.
Still, he persisted.
Days passed. The mountain remained silent, the air heavy with the pressure of forgotten battles.
Then, on the seventh day, the bead in his dantian began to tremble.
The runes in his mind glowed faintly, forming a single, blazing line across his soul sea.
A voice — cold and ancient — whispered once more.
> "To walk the path of silence, one must first face the noise within."
Before he could react, Wang Chung's vision shattered.
---
He stood in darkness.
An empty world stretched infinitely, devoid of sound, air, or life. His body felt weightless, yet his heart pounded like thunder.
Then the silence broke.
From the darkness, shadows began to rise — thousands of them. Each one had his face.
Each one was a reflection of him — the boy who once dreamed, the youth who bled, the man who killed.
They surrounded him, eyes glowing crimson, whispering in voices that were his own.
> "You killed them all."
"You left your brothers to die."
"You train for vengeance, but vengeance will consume you."
"What are you without hatred?"
Their words pierced his mind like blades.
Wang Chung gritted his teeth, trying to summon his qi — but there was nothing. His body was empty, powerless.
He looked around as the shadows drew closer, forming a sea of his own sins. Each step they took filled the air with whispers of regret, fear, and despair.
He knew what this was — a soul trial.
The inheritance was testing him, weighing the strength of his will.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time in years, he allowed the memories to surface.
The smiling faces of his sect brothers.
The sound of laughter echoing through the training courtyard.
The warmth of his master's hand on his shoulder.
Then —
the flames.
The screams.
The blood.
It all came back like an endless tide.
Wang Chung fell to his knees, clutching his chest.
He wanted to scream, but no sound came out. His soul was shaking — not from fear, but from the unbearable truth that every word the shadows spoke was real.
He had become a monster.
But as his consciousness wavered, something flickered deep within his soul.
A light — faint and cold.
The golden bead appeared in his soul space, spinning slowly. Its surface shimmered with the runes of the Silent Heaven Art.
At that moment, Wang Chung understood.
He raised his head, his expression calm, almost serene. The shadows paused, their whispers fading into silence.
> "You are right," he said softly. "I killed. I abandoned. I became what I hated. But it was the world that pushed me into the dark."
His voice deepened, carrying power.
> "If the heavens wanted me silent, then I will be the silence that devours heaven itself."
The bead pulsed.
A golden light exploded outward, tearing through the darkness. One by one, the shadows screamed and disintegrated, their voices fading like dust in the wind.
The void trembled, then shattered completely.
---
Wang Chung's eyes snapped open.
He was back on the mountain, drenched in sweat. The air around him rippled with faint golden light, and his qi flowed smoother than ever before — deeper, denser, alive.
Inside his soul, a new space had formed — a Soul Sea, vast and calm like an endless lake.
The first step toward Foundation Establishment.
The Silent Heaven Art's fragment glowed faintly in his consciousness, and a single sentence engraved itself in his mind:
> "The heavens may judge all things — but silence judges the heavens."
Wang Chung slowly rose to his feet.
His expression was cold, but his eyes shone with newfound clarity.
The man who once sought strength for revenge had now glimpsed something beyond —
a path that did not beg the heavens for power,
but one that defied them.
The path of the Silent Heaven.
He looked once more at the skeleton of the long-dead immortal and bowed deeply.
Then, without hesitation, he turned and began his descent down the mountain.
His footsteps were quiet, yet each one echoed like thunder in the distance.
The Silent Heaven Art had accepted him —
and the world would soon tremble for it.
---