In the shadow of the great capital of Ju Luo, on the last day of the Lunar New Year Festival.
The village streets were still adorned — crowded, vibrant, and joyful.
Yet through those colorful streets staggered a shadow, one that bled into the festive light, indistinguishable from the capital itself.
The black aura.
A boy, his eyes as dark as the abyss.
He carried the weight of his dirt-stained body, his face marked by bruises.
The once-cheerful street turned into a battlefield, filled with whispers and insults — and he, the child, was the one losing the war against the vast army.
Each word, like an arrow, pierced him with a pain deeper than divine punishment.
And among all of them, one word echoed again and again, like a blade tearing into his skin:
Die.
Die.
Die.
The stones thrown at him did not wound as deeply as the words that pierced his soul.
Die!
His mind screamed. His once-black eyes now glimmered with a darker light — a light that devoured.
Darkness consumed his sight, spreading through every corner like a disease, swallowing both his pain and the people who once sang and danced.
The demons, thirsty for blood, continued hurling curses. Their scarlet eyes gleamed with the hunger for more.
Monster.
Curse.
Monster!
As if from a distant bell, his mind snapped from its trance.
Then — a voice.
Familiar. Monstrous. A voice he knew better than the blasphemies sown like seeds around him.
"A monster?"
A sarcastic smile curved on his lips — dark, distant, concealed.
"Try to bring me down, humans. I will devour every piece of your soul."
That sinister thought enveloped his body for a moment...
And everything stopped.
The stones, the curses, the insults — all of it.
A chill ran down their spines, freezing them where they stood.
The child who had once lost the war now triumphed — like a phoenix, reborn from chaos, fear, and power.
With his head lifted and a smirk painted upon his face, he showed them:
For the first time in years, since the day he had first learned to walk —
Yes. He was the one who ruled this world.
Like an emperor of darkness, he did not bow his head — and never would again.
The same gaze that once trembled with fear was now the reason the village itself quaked.
The sweet scent of fear, once emanating from his body, now filled his lungs like a fine meal.
His smile deepened.
One step, then another.
The crowd that once mocked him parted, opening a path. Like a phoenix, he moved — graceful, powerful, sovereign. Upon his back lay the weight of a reign strong enough to shake a hundred kingdoms, defeating enemies with a single motion.
The uneven grace of his steps came to a halt. His eyes fixed upon the only residence not adorned with decorations — the one radiating wealth and superiority.
The Yu Residence.
With a long sigh, he pushed the doors open. The cold wind brushed his face, making him shiver. But as he stepped inside, his aura of superiority crumbled to dust.
"Xiu Zhao."
A woman's voice — soft, sweet, wrapped in silk — made his spine tremble.
His body turned, even against his will.
And there she was — his mother.
A woman who, even in middle age, looked pure as porcelain. Yet behind those blue eyes, bright as a sunlit sky, hid a coldness veiled beneath a serene mask.
"Xiu Zhao."
It was not a name — it was a command.
"Yes, Lady Yi?"
His voice came out small — like that of a frightened cub.
"How many times have I told you not to leave the house before finishing your tasks?"
Her gentle tone carried a sharp chill.
"I have finished my tasks."
A faint whisper — confident, detached — enough to threaten her authority.
Her gaze flickered for just a moment, but the next instant her expression was calm once more.
"Go bathe."
...
Steam rose like mist, embracing Xiu Zhao's wounded body. Each droplet that touched his skin burned like acid — yet he remained silent, still as the midnight river.
Immersed in the water, he finally allowed his turbulent soul to rest.
...
At the dinner table, seated obediently like a porcelain doll, Xiu Zhao waited for the meal.
The silence of the night filled the room — suffocating, heavy. Soon, the aroma of countless dishes drifted through the air.
The table was set with care; servants stood motionless in the corner, shadows in the monotony of his life. Across from him sat Lady Yi — elegant, imperial, tasting each dish with delicate disdain.
The young master, appetite gone, stared into his bowl. His reflection in the lotus soup — blurred and lifeless — made him almost laugh.
What a joke.
He thought bitterly.
With a final sip, he finished the now-cold soup, rose, and without looking at his mother, walked away — vanishing into the corridors like a ghost.
Behind the closed door of his room, a quiet sigh escaped his lips.
He went to his small study table and sat upon a silk cushion.
A book with a rich, pale cover lay before him — its title written in blood-red ink:
"The Fall of the Three Kingdoms."
Xiu Zhao turned the pages until he reached the new chapter:
"The Great Calamity."
...
Humans, ghosts — even celestial beings felt the tremor of the three kingdoms.
None knew why, until...
From the blood-red sky, from the distant mountains, it emerged — The Great Calamity.
Not a war, not a rebellion, but something born of fear itself.
Wherever it passed, the air reeked of terror and blood.
It came in a single day — and since then, the heavens and earth trembled beneath its feet.
Even the celestial deities, worshipped by men, bowed before The Great Calamity.
Its name spread through the wind, and with it came horror — Yu Sheng, the blood-thirsty demon, The Calamity of Guang Chi, death incarnate.
He slaughtered all within the Guang Chi Sect — the children, the animals, the pregnant women, the elderly, even the widows. None were spared by the Calamity.
Each step he took made the King of the Underworld tremble; with every breath, more sects fell; with every heartbeat, the world wept tears of blood.
But nothing lasts forever.
A savior arose — the great cultivator, honored that day as the Hero of Guang Chi—
Furious, the boy slammed the book shut.
"Lies! Father would never be defeated!"
"He never lost."
His chest swelled with pride.
He knew well that Yu Sheng — his father — could never lose to the so-called hero of Guang Chi. He was proud of his father's power, even knowing his past. After all, it was not every day that a man could make the three kingdoms tremble.
The scent of tea and sweets perfumed the air in the pavilion.
Xiu Zhao and Lady Yi enjoyed their afternoon tea.
"Madame Yi."
A servant spoke, bowing.
"What is it, Dai Zhi?"
With grace, Lady Yi set her teacup down, lifting her chin as she looked upon the servant.
"The garments you ordered are ready."
The madame nodded slightly and rose, adjusting her winter cloak.
"Let us go."
Her voice — cold, commanding — made Xiu Zhao flinch.
...
The sound of the bustling street, the laughter of children — all vanished the moment he set foot on the market road.
No one dared to look at him.
Yet like a plague, the air filled with murmurs, insults — some even dared to call the phoenix who fought alone an aberration.
Xiu Zhao's eyes trembled for a moment, and the corner of his lips shone faintly, like a star. But realizing his weakness, he blinked away the tear that threatened to fall.
His pain deepened when his mother — the one who should have loved him above all, the one meant to protect him — remained silent, watching her son's humiliation.
The whispers grew into a roar.
Xiu Zhao, long used to their venom, who once refused to be shaken by their cruelty —died.
His only living light, his final hope that flickered faintly within the dark —was devoured by his own shadows.