WHOOOOOO—!
The wind screamed through the jagged peaks of Blackwind Mountain, shrill and feral, like the death cry of some ancient beast. At the edge of a sheer cliff, where clouds were torn apart by violent gusts, a lone figure knelt on rain-slick stone.
Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
Ling Xiao's tattered gray robes clung to his thin frame, soaked through with rain and crimson. He raised his head slowly. Wet black hair plastered itself to his forehead, partially veiling eyes that now burned with a restrained, crimson-tinged fury—eyes that had long since learned how to hide pain behind indifference.
Seven figures surrounded him.
Seven outer disciples of the Flowing Cloud Sect, their swords drawn, postures relaxed, faces twisted with smug delight.
The leader stepped forward.
Zhao Hu—broad-shouldered, thick-necked, his cultivation aura solid and oppressive—lifted his boot and slammed it into Ling Xiao's ribs.
CRACK!
The sound rang sharply across the cliff.
Another rib shattered.
Ling Xiao's body jerked, breath driven from his lungs in a strangled gasp—but he did not scream.
He refused.
"Tsk." Zhao Hu sneered, grinding his heel deeper before withdrawing it. He wiped his sword lazily against Ling Xiao's sleeve, staining it red.
"Trash like you dares to covet Senior Sister Li's affection?"
Ling Xiao's fingers trembled—but dug into the stone.
"An orphan." Zhao Hu continued, voice dripping contempt. "No background. No backing. Spirit roots so pathetic they're barely worth mentioning. You should've stayed in the dirt where you belong."
HAHAHAHA!
Laughter burst out from the others.
One of them—thin, sharp-featured, with a weasel's eyes—stepped forward. Wang Lin spat onto the ground beside Ling Xiao's face.
"We've been tolerant long enough," he said coldly. "Today, you fall into the Forbidden Abyss. Even if you survive the drop, the demonic beasts down there will tear you apart."
His lips curled.
"No one will ever know."
Ling Xiao's nails bit into the rock.
For three years, he had endured.
The stolen spirit stones.
The sabotaged missions.
The beatings hidden behind closed doors.
The endless humiliation.
All because, once—just once—he had helped Senior Sister Li carry spirit herbs when she was injured.
A single act of kindness.
And these dogs had marked him for death.
Ling Xiao forced himself upright onto his knees. Blood slid down his chin, but his voice—though hoarse—remained steady.
"The sect rules forbid private killings," he said. "Aren't you afraid of punishment?"
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then—
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Zhao Hu's laughter exploded, echoing wildly against the cliffs. He leaned in close, his breath foul, eyes glittering with malice.
"Punishment?" he mocked. "Who will believe the word of a dead man?"
He lowered his voice, venomous.
"Besides… Elder Liu is my uncle."
Ling Xiao's pupils constricted.
"Your disappearance will be recorded as an accidental fall during herb gathering," Zhao Hu whispered. "Clean. Simple."
Hands seized Ling Xiao's arms.
RIP—!
He was dragged toward the edge.
Below them yawned the Forbidden Abyss.
A bottomless chasm drowned in eternal black mist, swallowing sound and light alike. Legends whispered that it led straight to the underworld. Even Core Formation elders avoided flying too close, fearful of the strange, irresistible pulling force emanating from its depths.
Ling Xiao struggled—but weakly.
His cultivation was only at the third layer of Qi Condensation.
Pathetic.
No powerful techniques.
No treasures.
No backing.
Nothing.
As they heaved him forward—
Time slowed.
Is this how it ends?
The world tilted.
WHOOM—!
The wind roared into his ears as his body plunged into darkness. Jagged rocks scraped past him. The black mist surged up—
—and swallowed him whole.
Pain exploded as he struck something solid—not stone, but a jagged outcrop halfway down the cliff face.
CRUNCH!
His left arm snapped.
White agony detonated through his vision. Blood sprayed as his body slid, tumbled—
—and vanished into the true depths.
Cold.
Endless falling.
Until—
SPLASH!!!
Water.
Freezing. Black.
The impact drove the air from his lungs as he sank, deeper and deeper, until his back struck soft silt.
Darkness claimed him.
He didn't know how much time passed.
Consciousness returned in fragments.
Cold.
Pain.
The metallic taste of blood.
Ling Xiao's eyes snapped open.
Underwater.
Impossible. He should be dead.
Yet his chest burned—not with pain, but with a strange, rising heat. As though something buried deep within him had awakened.
Instinct took over.
He kicked upward. His broken arm screamed in protest, but—
GASP!
He burst through the surface.
He was inside a vast underground cavern. A dark lake stretched endlessly before him, its waters unnaturally still. Crystalline formations embedded in the cavern walls emitted a faint blue glow, illuminating the space with an eerie, otherworldly light.
Ling Xiao dragged himself onto the rocky shore, coughing violently.
Every breath was agony.
Broken bones.
Internal bleeding.
"I'm going to die here anyway…"
He laughed bitterly. The sound echoed hollowly through the cavern.
"Why struggle?" he muttered. "No one cares if trash like me lives or dies."
The moment the words left his mouth—
BOOM.
Something stirred in the depths of his soul.
A searing pain erupted in his chest—not injury, but something far deeper.
KRRRRAAACK—!
It felt like chains snapping.
Golden runes flared across his skin, blazing through his torn robes. Ancient symbols—twisting, wrathful, alive.
Bloodline awakening.
Ling Xiao's eyes widened as, within his dantian, a crimson vortex spun violently, devouring the thin spiritual energy saturating the cavern.
At the same time—
An ancient voice thundered inside his mind.
Majestic.
Furious.
Suffused with endless sorrow.
"Child of my blood… at last, you have returned to me."
The lake trembled.
RUMBLE—!
From its depths rose a colossal azure dragon, its immense body coiling through the water like living lightning. Scales shimmered with divine radiance. Eyes like twin sapphire stars locked onto Ling Xiao.
Yet it was translucent.
A spirit remnant.
The dragon lowered its massive head until it hovered inches from Ling Xiao's face.
"I am Qinglong, progenitor of the Azure Dragon Clan."
Its voice echoed like a bell of heaven.
"Ten thousand years ago, the heavens betrayed us. Our bloodline was scattered, sealed, hunted to extinction in the Dragonfall Cataclysm."
Its gaze sharpened.
"You… are the last inheritor."
Ling Xiao's mind reeled.
"I—I'm just an orphan," he said weakly. "I have no clan."
The dragon's voice softened.
"Your memories were sealed to protect you. But blood calls to blood."
"The Asura Mark upon your soul—the twin paths of dragon supremacy and demonic slaughter—has awakened because death loomed."
A flood of memories crashed into him.
Soaring through the nine heavens on azure wings.
A palace in the clouds, filled with dragon kin.
Betrayal—gods and immortals uniting to slaughter his people for the Dragon Emperor Throne.
And finally—
A desperate sealing.
The last pure bloodline placed into a newborn and cast into the mortal realms.
The newborn…
Was him.
Agony lanced through his skull as the memories fused.
CRACK—CRACK—!
Broken bones knitted together. Flesh regenerated. Crimson Asura runes merged with azure dragon scales beneath his skin.
His cultivation surged.
Fourth layer.
Fifth.
Sixth—
BOOM!
Straight into Foundation Establishment.
When it ended, Ling Xiao stood.
He was no longer the same.
His eyes burned with twin lights—crimson on the left, azure on the right. Phantom dragon claws manifested behind him, sharp enough to rend space itself.
Qinglong's spirit smiled faintly.
"The path ahead is bathed in blood, my heir."
"Vengeance. Ascension. The rebirth of our clan."
"Will you walk it?"
Ling Xiao clenched his fists.
Zhao Hu's sneer.
The sect's indifference.
The world's cruelty.
His voice was ice.
"I will climb over mountains of corpses if I must."
He lifted his gaze toward the distant speck of light—the mouth of the abyss far above.
"Those who wronged me… those who destroyed my clan…"
"They will all kneel."
Far above, on Blackwind Mountain, Zhao Hu and his group were already walking away, laughing about their successful "herb gathering accident."
None of them noticed—
The faint tremor beneath their feet.
Or the murderous intent rising from the abyss like a storm on the verge of breaking.