Chapter 1: The Day the Sky Turned Black
The forest smelled of pine, sweet moss, and sunlight.
Mingye sprinted through the trees, laughter bubbling out of him as he ran. His small feet kicked up leaves as he did so, arms spread wide as if he were a great bird soaring through San Tianjie.
"Fan-ge! Hurry!" he called over his shoulder.
Qing Fan burst from the bushes, hair full of twigs, cheeks flushed. "You cheated! You left before counting to ten!"
"I did not!" Mingye yelled back, even though he absolutely had.
"You did!"
"I did not!"
They collapsed into giggles, rolling on the forest floor, leaves sticking to their clothes. Qing Fan lifted a rock and poked at a fat beetle hiding underneath.
Mingye leaned in, eyes glowing with excitement. "Look! Its shell is golden today."
"That means it'll rain tomorrow," Qing Fan declared with absolute confidence—even though he made up a new rule about bugs every week.
They kept exploring—picking strange mushrooms, seeing who could throw stones farther, daring each other to climb trees taller than they should.
As the sun dipped lower, Qing Fan dusted dirt from his robes. "I have to go. Mother will scold me again if I'm late."
"Me too," Mingye said, pouting dramatically. "We didn't even find a snake today."
"Next time," Qing Fan promised. "We'll come back tomorrow, same place."
"Tomorrow," Mingye echoed.
They waved at each other, walking backward just to keep waving longer. When they finally turned away, both boys snorted with laughter as if they shared a private joke with the wind.
Mingye spun around with his arms out, making whooshing noises.
"Whooooosh! I am the Cloud Sovereign! Fear me!"
He raced down the mountain path, already imagining how his immediate older brother, Hanquan, would be waiting at the entrance of Lingxu Castle with his arms folded.
"You're late, Little Bun," Hanquan would say with that smug smirk of his.
Little Bun… Mingye still didn't know why his brother called him that. Something about his cheeks being round when he was a baby. Hanquan never stopped using it.
Mingye grinned at the thought and ran faster.
But as he got closer to the village, he slowed down, his steps faltering. He saw smoke and wondered if someone was burning firewood for dinner.
But then he smelled it properly. It didn't smell like wood, not the kind he recognized. It was something else entirely.
He stepped forward.
And the world shifted.
His heart stuttered. It began to pound so loudly he could hear it in his ears.
Lingxu Village was burning.
"W—what…?"
Stalls he passed every day were reduced to skeletons of charred wood. A place that should have been filled with laughter, the call of vendors, the clang of pots was silent. And not the kind of silence that came with nighttime. No, this was worse.
A body lay sprawled across the road. Mingye froze.
It was Old Uncle Tuo, who always gave him candied hawthorn.
His throat tightened painfully.
"Uncle…? Uncle Tuo?" he called out, but there was no answer.
He turned and saw another body, then another. They seemed to multiply with each glance. Someone's leg. Someone's arm. A child's toy stained red.
Mingye's breath hitched. His feet moved on their own, faster and faster, slipping on wet ash. He stumbled past more burning homes, more corpses, more memories twisted in fire.
"No… no no no no—"
He reached Lingxu Castle's outer walls and practically slammed into the gate. The massive wooden doors were cracked open. One hung at an angle, sliced through by a blade that could cut mountains.
Mingye pushed the door with shaking hands and stepped inside.
His sandal hit something wet.
He looked down and saw only blood.
A river of it. Everywhere. Splashes across stone pillars. Trails leading deeper inside. A handprint smeared across the courtyard tiles as if someone had crawled while trying to escape.
Mingye swallowed a cry.
"M–mother? Father? Hanquan-ge? Sisters…?"
His voice trembled as he called out to them.
He walked toward the inner courtyard, each step heavier than the last.
Then he froze.
A tall man in a long cloak stood in the center of the courtyard. His face was completely hidden by a mask. He held someone by the hair, letting the limp body dangle cruelly.
The body dripped blood in slow, heavy drops.
Mingye's vision blurred.
"H—Hanquan…?"
Lingxu Hanquan raised his head weakly. His face was pale, drenched in blood. One eye was swollen shut.
But he still smiled.
A soft, pained smile.
"L…Little Bun," he whispered. "You're late."
Mingye's lips parted, a trembling breath leaving him.
Then—
BOOM!
Hanquan's head exploded.
There was a splash of red everywhere as something wet hit Mingye's cheeks.
His brother's body fell to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
For a moment, Mingye's mind emptied. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't see anything.
Then a scream tore from his throat.
"You!!!"
He charged forward blindly, tears streaming, fists clenched even though he had no strength, no qi, nothing at all. He had been nicknamed the mortal of the Lingxu Sect because of this.
He slammed his hands against the cloaked man's leg.
The man didn't even flinch.
A second cloaked figure emerged from the shadows. He had a long tail flicking behind him, shifting under the cloak. Mingye had heard enough from his siblings to know the man was a demon.
"So this is the weakest brat?" the demon chuckled. "The mortal one?"
Mingye trembled but glared at them with all the fury he had.
"I'll kill you!" he screamed. "I'll kill all of you! Every one of you! You'll pay! I swear—"
The demon laughed so loud the courtyard echoed.
"You? A mortal child with no cultivation? Don't make me laugh."
He nudged Mingye with his foot, and Mingye flew back several meters, rolling across the ground.
A third cloaked figure approached. His mask was different, etched with swirling runes. If Mingye had paid attention when his brother had been teaching him about the sects, then maybe he would have known what sect this person belonged to—but he had no idea.
"So troublesome," the masked man said. "Just kill him. He's useless anyway."
The demon looked disappointed. "Aw? I was going to play with him."
The third voice cut in. "No. I have a better idea."
A fourth cloaked figure stepped out, carrying something.
Mingye's stomach churned.
It was his sister's head.
Still wearing the hairpin Mingye made for her last month.
She seemed to be smiling.
His scream broke the air.
The third man crouched in front of Mingye. "Let's see how long a mortal lives without limbs."
The demon grinned. "Yes. Let's."
Mingye tried to crawl away.
Tried to scream for help.
Tried to fight.
But a heavy boot pinned him to the ground.
"Don't worry," the demon whispered. "It'll be over before you know it."
Mingye's world spiraled into ringing, darkness, and pain.
He felt cold steel touch his skin.
Then—nothing.
Not really nothing. He heard himself screaming. Heard bones crack. Heard tearing. He felt agony so bright it was almost light. His vision flashed white again and again. He tasted blood. He tasted dirt. He tasted despair.
When it was over, he couldn't feel his hands.
Or his feet.
Or anything below his shoulders.
His breath came shallow and filled with pain.
The demon lifted him by what remained of his shoulder and slung him over a long metal spike in the courtyard center.
Mingye screamed, but no sound came out. Only a hoarse rasp.
They hung a wooden signboard around his neck, heavy and cold.
The painted characters dripped red:
TRAITOR.
The cloaked men marched out, carrying Mingye displayed above their heads like some cursed banner.
People in nearby villages turned away. Some spat. Some whispered.
"That child… from the Lingxu traitors."
"He's still alive? Monster."
"They should have killed them all."
Displayed in shame. Displayed as a warning. Displayed as humiliation.
Mingye's tears ran endlessly until they dried. Until no more could come.
The sky grew darker.
The nights colder.
The pain never stopped.
But he didn't die.
The world moved. People passed. Seasons shifted.
But he didn't die.
He remained on that spike.
Breathing.
A fragile, thin breath of a boy who should have died long ago.
A breath stubborn enough to keep living.
A breath fueled by only one thing:
Revenge.
The day the sky turned black, Lingxu Mingye died.
What remained hanging on that spike was no longer a child but someone whose very existence was revenge.