The first thing Xu Yuan felt was pain.
Not the crude, screaming kind that tore flesh and shattered bone, but a cold, precise pain that sliced through his soul like a surgeon's blade. It was pain with intention, pain that was not trying to break him—but to open him.
The void roared.
Memories that were not his cascaded through him: endless nights under foreign stars, blood-soaked snowfields, towers of light collapsing into darkness, faces twisted by fear as a calm, distant gaze watched them die.
For a moment, his sense of self wavered.
He was Xu Yuan, Crown Prince of the Xu Royal Family.
He was also someone else—someone older, colder, who had walked a path of selfishness so absolute that heaven itself had branded him a calamity.
The torrent slowed.
The darkness settled.
Xu Yuan stood again in the void, chest rising and falling. His robe was spotless. His body uninjured. But inside, something fundamental had changed. His thoughts flowed sharper, faster, deeper, as if his mind had been a stream and now remembered it had once been an ocean.
In front of him, the man from before still stood on the stone platform.
Black hair. Plain robes. Ordinary features.
Yet his presence was like a blade pressed against the throat of reality itself.
His eyes were half-closed. When they opened, they were as calm and deep as Xu Yuan's—but older. Colder. More absolute.
They had seen five thousand years.
They had watched worlds rise and fall and remained unmoved.
Xu Yuan felt no awe.
No reverence.
Only a quiet, razor-edged curiosity.
The man regarded him for a moment, then spoke.
"So the next one has arrived."
His voice was flat. Not welcoming. Not hostile. Simply stating a fact.
Xu Yuan inclined his head slightly.
"You are… Fang Yuan?"
The man did not deny it.
"Names, identities, histories… these are skins we wear," Fang Yuan said. "What matters is will. Tell me, inheritor: what do you seek?"
Xu Yuan met that gaze without flinching.
"Power," he said simply. "Freedom. A path that belongs only to me."
A faint amusement flickered in those ancient eyes.
"Many have said the same," Fang Yuan replied. "They sought strength, immortality, escape from heaven's chains. In the end, they begged for mercy like all the rest."
"I will not beg," Xu Yuan said.
"You think so now." Fang Yuan stepped forward.
The stone platform did not move; the void itself adjusted, shortening the distance in an instant. Up close, he did not feel like a person at all. He felt like an idea shaped into human form—a concept sharpened into a blade.
"The heavens are a mind that farms souls," Fang Yuan said. "Cultivation is a system of refinement. To stand against that… requires more than talent, more than cruelty, more than courage."
His eyes sharpened.
"It requires the willingness to discard everything. To use everything. To become something that even you would have once called a monster."
Xu Yuan's tone remained calm.
"Then we are in agreement."
Silence stretched between them.
Two demons, separated by five thousand years and a chasm of worlds, stood face to face.
Neither bowed.
Neither reached for the other.
Respect, for such beings, was not given through words.
It was measured in how firmly each walked his own path.
***
Fine cracks appeared across Fang Yuan's chest, spreading like fractures in glass. Another split ran down his arm. Pieces of his form began to flake away into motes of light.
Xu Yuan watched closely.
"Your time here is limited," he said.
"This fragment can only endure so long," Fang Yuan acknowledged. "I am not truly alive. I am a remnant, anchored to this inheritance. When you act in the world outside, I will sleep. When you shake the order of things, I will see."
He looked directly into Xu Yuan's eyes.
"What you received just now was not everything. I did not give you my full memories, nor all my methods. You would have broken. You are not ready."
Xu Yuan nodded once.
"Then what did I receive?"
"Foundations," Fang Yuan replied. "The understanding that heaven is a farmer, not a god. The awareness of countless traps hidden within cultivation. The first outline of my path."
His gaze deepened.
"And a seed."
Xu Yuan's pupils shrank slightly.
"A seed?"
"Inside your soul," Fang Yuan said, "I have placed a fragment of my will. Call it… a mark. A witness. A knife at your back, if you like poetic imagery."
"Why?" Xu Yuan asked.
"Because otherwise," Fang Yuan said calmly, "you are no more trustworthy than I was."
For the first time, Xu Yuan was silent for more than a heartbeat.
Not offended.
Not surprised.
But measuring.
"You fear I would betray your path?" he asked.
"I do not fear," Fang Yuan said. "Fear is for those with something to lose. I merely account for possibilities. You have your own will. Your own ambitions. Left unchecked, you might twist my inheritance into something… unrecognizable."
He paused, then allowed a thin, razor-edged smile.
"Or you might do exactly that. I am curious which."
Xu Yuan's fingers curled loosely at his side.
"So this seed allows you to restrain me?"
"Restrain?" Fang Yuan shook his head. "No. I am not your master, and you are not my servant. Think of it as… an eye. From time to time, when you reach certain thresholds—moments of breakthrough, crisis, or choice—I will see."
"See," Xu Yuan repeated softly.
"And speak," Fang Yuan added. "Briefly. Indirectly. I have no interest in guiding your every step. That would ruin the experiment."
Xu Yuan's gaze sharpened.
"Experiment?"
"You inherit my path in a different world, under a different heaven, with a different identity," Fang Yuan said. "Will you repeat my road? Surpass it? Fail it? I wish to know. But I do not need to interfere. Observation is enough."
"So I walk alone," Xu Yuan said.
"As I did," Fang Yuan replied.
The void pulsed once, as if acknowledging a shared truth.
***
The cracks spread faster.
Half of Fang Yuan's face turned to drifting light.
"You stand at the boundary of two fates, Xu Yuan," he said. "In one, you cling to illusions—family, kingdom, reputation—and die as a slightly sharper pawn. In the other, you cut everything and become something the heavens cannot easily digest."
He studied Xu Yuan's expression.
"Which will you choose?"
"There was never a choice," Xu Yuan said. "My father, my siblings, my kingdom—they are scaffolding. Temporary supports. Once I stand tall enough, I will not need them."
"And after that?" Fang Yuan asked quietly.
"After that," Xu Yuan said, "I will not ask whether I can escape this heaven. I will ask whether it is worthy to continue existing."
For a brief moment, genuine approval flashed in Fang Yuan's eyes.
"Good," he said. "You think not in terms of survival, but in terms of judgment. That is a step beyond most."
The last of his form began to crumble.
"Remember this," Fang Yuan said. "Trust no will but your own. Not heaven's, not mortals', not mine. Use everything. Suspect everything. Even this seed I left in you—dissect it if you can."
Xu Yuan dipped his head slightly.
"I do not hate tools," he said. "I use them."
Fang Yuan's remaining fragments scattered like ash in a wind that did not exist.
Only his voice lingered, faint and distant.
"Then use me well… Xu Yuan."
***
The void folded in on itself.
Cold stone met Xu Yuan's knees as he found himself back in the ruin, one hand still resting on the mirror. His breath came slow and even. No sweat beaded his brow. To any observer, it would seem he had merely touched an old artifact for a heartbeat.
Inside, a storm had passed.
New structures, new understandings, new instincts settled into place within his soul. Concepts that would have taken ordinary cultivators centuries to grasp lay quiet and obedient at the back of his mind, waiting to be applied.
In the deepest layer of his consciousness, something pulsed once.
A foreign presence.
Not controlling.
Not whispering.
Simply… there.
Watching.
Xu Yuan acknowledged it without resistance.
Then he wrapped it in layers of his own will—like a dangerous weapon carefully sheathed, like a guest ushered into a locked room with hidden exits.
*You watch me,* he thought. *Then watch clearly.*
He removed his hand from the mirror.
The runes on the walls dimmed.
Silence reclaimed the chamber.
Xu Yuan stood alone, but he felt less alone than ever.
Not comforted.
Not accompanied.
He was sharing space with another predator, one who understood the taste of defying heaven.
That was all.
***
The journey back to the city was uneventful.
Dawn had fully broken by the time he reached the outer districts. Merchants opened their stalls, children chased each other through alleys, cultivators in plain robes moved with quiet purpose, their auras carefully suppressed.
The world continued, unaware that its fate had tilted by a fraction.
Xu Yuan walked through it like a ghost wearing human skin.
As he approached the palace gates, a young guard hurried forward, bowing deeply.
"Your Highness! The King has been seeking you. There is news from the western mountains—bandit movements, and… rumors of a sect envoy."
"Sect envoy?" Xu Yuan repeated mildly.
"Yes, Your Highness. They bear the emblem of the Heavenly Law Sect."
The so‑called righteous dogs.
Enforcers of order.
Heaven's sharpened chains.
Xu Yuan's gaze cooled by a few more degrees.
"I see," he said. "Inform Father that I will attend him immediately. And make sure no word of my absence last night spreads."
The guard paled.
"Yes, Your Highness!"
He ran off.
Xu Yuan stepped through the palace gates.
As he crossed the threshold, a flicker passed through his mind—like the briefest brush of another consciousness.
A detached thought surfaced, not his own:
*Righteous sects, again.*
No comment.
No advice.
Only recognition, as one might give upon seeing a familiar kind of prey.
Xu Yuan's lips curved slightly.
"Watch closely," he murmured under his breath. "This world's chains are different from yours. I will break them in my own way."
By the time he entered the inner halls, the prince's mask was firmly in place: eyes warm, posture humble, aura calm.
Servants bowed.
Ministers whispered.
The King sat on his throne, face grim, a golden scroll clenched in his hand.
"Yuan-er," he said, relief and worry mingling in his voice, "you are finally here. The Heavenly Law Sect has sent an envoy. They claim to come in peace… but their timing is too coincidental."
Xu Yuan lowered his head.
"Do not worry, Father," he said gently. "Allow me to receive them in your stead. I will be cautious."
The King hesitated.
Then nodded.
"I trust you."
Xu Yuan smiled.
Soft. Filial. Perfect.
Inside, where Fang Yuan's seed now rested, his thoughts were ice-cold.
*Heavenly Law Sect… Let us see how your righteousness tastes when ground into nourishment.*
Deep in his soul, the foreign presence remained silent.
But if one listened closely enough, past all the masks and stillness, it almost felt as though two wills were facing the same direction—
Not together.
But parallel.
For now.