The city of Azure Cloud City woke with the sunrise.
Mist drifted between tall pavilions; the scent of spirit herbs floated from the surrounding peaks.
From the highest tower of the Lin Family estate came the clang of swords—disciples training before dawn.
And far below, in an abandoned courtyard where moss crept over cracked stones, lay a young man in torn robes.
Lin Xian.
Or rather, the body that once belonged to the most worthless scion of the Lin Family.
The wind stirred dust across his face as he slowly opened his eyes. For a long while he didn't move. The chill of the earth pressed against his back—solid, heavy, mortal.
> "So this… is mortality," he murmured.
Memories not his own poured in—humiliation, drunken laughter, sneers.
The original Lin Xian had been the eldest son of Lin Yuan, once an elder of the family's now-fading sect branch.
But his father's cultivation had stalled, his influence declined; their bloodline had fallen out of favor among the clan's great halls.
Lin Xian was born without spiritual roots, mocked as the family's shame.
His cousin Lin Tianhao awakened a high-grade spirit vein at ten and entered a sect at twelve.
And he? He couldn't even sense qi.
Beaten by servants. Betrayed by friends.
Poisoned by a jealous concubine's son—for a woman who never even looked his way.
He had died choking on blood, cursing heaven for its cruelty.
> "So… that's the story of this vessel," the true Lin Xian whispered, voice dry with irony.
"How fitting for Nirvana's rebirth—to begin in ashes."
He sat up slowly. Pain lanced through his ribs, but he ignored it. His hands trembled from blood loss—pale, slender fingers elegant despite the grime.
Once, those hands had plucked the strings of a guqin after slaying gods.
Now they shook like those of a starving mortal.
Still, his lips curved faintly.
> "Weak, yes. But this is just temporary.. this hands will kill mortal and immortal the same soon. "
---
A small voice flickered through the inherited memories—
"Big Brother, don't skip breakfast again!"
A bright laugh, soft as wind chimes.
His younger sister, Lin Xue'er, only twelve, sweet and fearless—the lone ember of warmth in that cold manor.
She used to sneak spirit pastries into his sleeves after her lessons, whispering,
> "When I grow up, I'll protect you."
Even when the clan mocked him, her faith never wavered.
The thought brought a fleeting warmth before the ache of reality returned.
---
A shout shattered the quiet.
> "The trash is alive?!"
Three youths in dark training robes strode into the courtyard like wolves scenting blood.
The Lin crest, a silver phoenix wing, gleamed on their chests.
Lin Tianhao led them—handsome, cruel, aura rippling with heat.
He was already at the Peak Mid-Stage Mortal Vein Realm, and he flaunted it like a king
He looked down with mock pity.
> "You should've stayed dead, brother. Now I'll have to bury you twice."
Laughter followed. One youth kicked a clay jar toward him; it shattered, spraying red dust through the air like blood mist.
Lin Xian brushed the dirt from his sleeve and said softly,
> "Twice is inefficient. A true assassin only kills once."
They blinked—confused. Then Tianhao sneered.
> "Still spouting nonsense. You couldn't kill a chicken even if it begged you."
He raised his hand.
The air screamed.
A crimson rune flared on his palm—Phoenix Ember Palm, a mid-grade technique.
Flames coiled into a blazing wing. The courtyard blackened, stones cracking under the surge of heat.
The old Lin Xian would have panicked, begged.
This one simply looked up.
For one heartbeat—his left eye blazed gold.
Time fractured.
The phoenix froze mid-leap; every ember hung like rubies in glass.
The sky above splintered into mirrored shards.
Tianhao's sneer twisted into a thousand screaming faces—all of them his own.
Then the illusion burst.
A golden shockwave rippled outward—soundless, yet deafening.
The phoenix flame reversed, spiraling back into Tianhao's chest. His robes ignited; his pupils dilated as he saw—
himself kneeling, bleeding, dying—a thousand deaths in an instant.
The illusion lasted one second.
It felt like eternity.
The world snapped back.
Tianhao stumbled, gasping. The phoenix flame vanished, leaving scorched silk and terror.
His companions backed away, eyes wide. The stones beneath Lin Xian were cracked in a perfect circle.
> "W-what… is this?" Tianhao's voice trembled.
Lin Xian's lips parted—then pain stabbed through his skull.
The golden light guttered out.
He fell to one knee, blood spilling from his nose, flecked with tiny sparks that hissed and vanished.
> "Nothing…" he rasped. "Just… a petty trick."
Tianhao hesitated, fear warring with fury—until a servant ran up, breathless.
> "Young Master Tianhao! The Patriarch summons you!"
Snarling, Tianhao shot Lin Xian a venomous glare and left with his followers.
Silence returned.
Lin Xian knelt there, trembling, breath ragged.
The shimmer in his eye was gone, leaving only pain behind his brow.
> "One second… and this body nearly shattered."
He pressed a palm to his chest; his heart hammered erratically, meridians torn.
> "A crippled dantian… no wonder this body couldn't sense qi."
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips.
"But that won't stop me. The Heaven-Slaughter Nirvana Scripture feeds on ruin—
even a broken vessel can burn the heavens."
He slid down the wall, exhausted. Memories of cosmic battlefields flickered—stars burning, gods falling.
In Nirvana, he had turned galaxies to dust with a thought.
Here, a single spark almost killed him.
> "A crippled vessel…" he whispered, eyes half-closed.
"But still—the will of a god."
Deep within, a faint pulse stirred—space itself quivering around his heart.
Thunder rolled in a cloudless sky.
And somewhere unseen, a golden ripple spread—
like an eye slowly opening after a long slumber.
---
Evening
Moonlight spilled over the courtyard's broken stones.
The estate was silent—save for the cautious footsteps of a child.
"Big Brother?"
Lin Xue'er pushed open the half-rotted gate, a small basket in her hands. Her soft hair was tied with a crimson ribbon, her eyes bright as starlit water.
She hurried to him, kneeling beside the bed of straw he had dragged under the eaves.
> "You're awake! They said you were dead again…"
He gave a faint chuckle.
> "Seems I disappointed them."
She pouted.
> "Don't joke about that! I—I brought you steamed buns and honey water. Cook says you're not supposed to have them, so I—um—borrowed them."
Lin Xian took the basket, his hand brushing her small fingers—warm, alive.
For a heartbeat, the silence of the ruined courtyard didn't feel so empty.
> "Thank you, Xue'er," he said quietly. "You shouldn't be here. If Father or the elders see—"
She puffed her cheeks.
> "Father's always scolded for protecting you. He won't mind this time."
Her voice dropped.
"He argued with the elders again today. They said you were a disgrace. Father hit the table so hard it cracked."
A flicker of guilt touched his eyes.
> "Tell him… not to waste his strength. This trash will take care of himself."
Xue'er's eyes shimmered.
> "You're not trash."
He smiled faintly.
> "One day, perhaps the world will agree with you."
He tousled her hair, a soft gesture foreign to his blood-stained hands.
When she finally left, humming quietly, the courtyard seemed less cold.
Lin Xian watched the moon rise, its pale light catching the edge of his faint golden iris.
> "A crippled dantian… a broken world…" he murmured.
"Let's see how far delicate this body can climb."
The night wind stirred.
Somewhere deep within him, the Heaven-Slaughter Nirvana Scripture began to stir—
and the path to godhood whispered awake once more.