Moonlight spilled across the floor like silver water, washing over Luo Hao's pale face as he sat by the window. His dark eyes reflected the distant moon—calm, cold, unreachable—as though he was speaking silently with that celestial sphere. When he finally tore his gaze away, the lifeless walls of his room welcomed him back.
It was a chamber fit for the young master of a prestigious family. Fine decorations, rare wood furniture, silken curtains. Yet the place felt hollow—like a mausoleum built for someone still breathing.
A soft knock preceded the entrance of a young maid. She wore an expensive green gown meant to accentuate beauty she didn't truly possess, at least not in her expression. Her smile was perfectly crafted, her makeup flawless, but her eyes remained distant.
"Young Master Hao," she said gently, placing a tray beside him. "Your dinner. It was prepared especially for your sixteenth birthday tomorrow."
He didn't respond immediately. His gaze settled on the food: pickled rice, a thick piece of beef, a bowl of honey-butter sweets, and a glass of red wine. A feast… an unnecessary feast.
"Thank you," he replied flatly.
She bowed and turned to leave, relief quietly slipping into her shoulders—until his voice halted her.
"Ming Yue."
She froze. "Yes, Young Master?"
"Where is my uncle?"
"The master went to meet Chief Xuan," she answered quickly. "To discuss the awakening ceremony for you and Young Master Luo Jin."
"Master…" Luo Hao echoed softly. A curve that might have been mistaken for a smile touched his lips—cold, unseen by the maid. "Alright. You may go."
Another bow, then the door clicked shut.
The moment she left, the room regained its suffocating quiet.
He chuckled under his breath. "So he's already asked the servants to call him 'master'… Not even pretending anymore."
A sharp cough seized him. He covered his mouth, body trembling. When he pulled his hand away, dark red blood stained his palm. The metallic taste lingered on his tongue.
This was his reality.
Born with a frail, terminally weak body. At eight years old, a powerful cultivator judged his fate: He will die before twenty. His body cannot withstand cultivation.
That verdict shattered his childhood dream of becoming like his father—Luo Wei, the mighty cultivator on the verge of breaking into the Nihility Realm.
Then came the nightmarish news at age twelve. His parents were killed during a journey—only his uncle survived. A miracle, they said.
But Luo Hao had done the math long ago.
His father, soon to breach the walls of legend.
His uncle, barely stepping into the Soul Fusion Realm.
Only the weaker man crawled back alive?
Impossible.
His uncle killed them. And since that day, he had been slowly tightening his hold on the Luo Family—waiting for Luo Hao's short life to end naturally, letting time finish what murder began.
Luo Hao stared at his meal, fists tightening.
Tomorrow's awakening ceremony… The final nail in the coffin.
If my Spirit Soul cannot heal this body, I will die.
The Luo family's bloodline always awakened plant-type spirits: his father's Sky-Piercing Vine, his uncle's Razor Grass Vines. If he could awaken something—anything—that could prolong his failing body… it might give him the time he needed.
Time to pursue the only thing that mattered.
Immortality.
Once, he had dreamed of being strong like his father. But dreams withered the moment he learned he wouldn't live long enough to chase them. His parents' deaths carved the truth deeper:
Dreams are luxuries of those who expect a future.
His thoughts sharpened. His heartbeat slowed.
People love dreams. They claim dreams give life meaning—wings for the soul.
They celebrate them with songs, toast them with wine, cling to them like children fearing the dark.
But dreams fade with daylight.
Dreams comfort the weak.
Dreams forgive failure.
Dreams die when reality arrives.
Goals… goals survive.
He raised the glass. The wine reflected his eyes—empty, merciless.
A dream consoles you.
A goal demands you move.
A dream asks for patience.
A goal asks for sacrifice.
His dream of being a proud cultivator died years ago. What replaced it was a goal that did not allow doubt.
Never die.
If the righteous path demands I kneel, I will crawl. If the demonic path demands I devour souls, I will open wide. Rivers of blood, mountains of bones—let them be the road beneath my feet.
I would not hesitate.
For only those who accept death can afford dreams.
He could not.
He drained the wine in one motion.
"I do not have a dream," he whispered to the moon.
"What I have… is a goal."
He set the cup aside and returned his gaze upward, eyes fixed on the cold, distant moon. Not worshipping it. Challenging it.
The moon was eternal. He would be too.
Far away, in the grand chamber of the Town Chief of Jingsing, two rows of chairs lined the polished floor. At the center sat Chief Xuan, an elderly man of influence and authority.
Before him stood Luo Zhen—Luo Hao's uncle.
"What brings you here at this late hour, Luo Zhen?" Chief Xuan asked, waving him to a seat.
Luo Zhen bowed politely, then sat with the humble smile of a snake. "Tomorrow is my son Luo Jin's sixteenth birthday… as well as my late brother's son, Luo Hao. I am here regarding their awakening ceremony."
"Yes, yes!" Chief Xuan brightened. "Two young masters of the Luo family coming of age. A fine day."
"We request the Primeval Spring for the ceremony," Luo Zhen continued.
"Of course," the chief nodded. "Though I must say… your family has always been peculiar. Others awaken at twelve, yet you wait until sixteen."
Luo Zhen laughed, the sound warm and relaxed. "Foundation, Chief Xuan. We temper body and mind for four extra years. The spirit soul awakens stronger; the initial surge of Primeval Energy is denser. A small delay for a lifetime of advantage."
Chief Xuan stroked his beard. "No wonder the Luo produce monsters. An excellent tradition."
Their discussion drew on late into the night—while moonlight continued to illuminate the quiet figure staring back at it, eyes burning with a resolve the heavens would one day regret provoking.