I couldn't comprehend what stood before me.

  No, not stood—hovered—a massive, floating structure of light and inscription. It was like a scroll woven from the threads of light, pulsing with otherworldly resonance, suspended midair and casting no shadow, and yet... I could see it.

  And somehow, it knew me.

  In the corner, etched as if by brushstroke, was my face—my younger face—rendered in detail so vividly, no painter’s hand could ever captured it so well. Eyes still full of defiance, skin untouched by time. My appearance, down to the threadbare fabric I wore was drawn as if this thing could see me. All of me.

  Beside it, written clearly in bold characters was my name: Shen Wusheng

  And above it, a title—one that had kept in place for a century, sitting so close to my name.

  Mortal.

  And then… there were other words.

  Stats. Skills.

  Strange terms I had never seen or heard. Each one paired with a number—values, as if something I had no knowledge of could be measured.

  Foundational Might. Constitution. Insight. Agility.

  What were these?

  My gaze dropped lower, where a section titled Soul Weapon shimmered with greater intensity than the rest. I felt my breath catch in my throat as I read the single line beneath it:

  Fate-Defying Sword.

  I blinked. Then read it again to make sure of what I was seeing.

  Fate... Defying... Sword?

  My soul weapon—rusted, brittle, misshapen from the day I first summoned it. The sword that had earned me ridicule, rejection, and pity. The same weapon I had called useless and worthless. A curse etched into steel.

  No… surely not.

  It couldn’t truly have a name—not that kind of name.

  If my soul weapon had borne its own title all this time, it wouldn’t have been that. Not something so grand. So… impossible.

  This had to be part of the mirage. I had read the tale of the Fate-Defying Cultivator too many times, recited it like a prayer, clung to it like a lifeline. Of course my subconscious would weave that name into this vision. Of course it would try to soften the end. To offer me a poetic farewell.

  That’s all this was—wasn’t it? Just one last lie to make the fall easier.

  But even as I tried to deny it, to reason this away as nothing more than an illusion, my hand kept sinking.

  Deeper into the gate.

  The spark in my palm pulsed again—brighter and sharper. Every inch forward sent small arcs of light flickering across my skin, every movement laced with resistance and yet... permission.

  And those words.

  They wouldn’t leave my mind.

  ‘Fate interjection detected.’

  ‘Defiance in motion.’

  What did it mean?

  Was it still part of the illusion? Or was it something else—something far greater?

  Then, without warning, the sound came again. Like a bell echoing through a shrine.

  —DING—

  And then, the words etched themselves across the air before me—clear, solemn, and absolute:

  [Fate-Defying System: Fully Awakened.]

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  [Heavenly Mandate Rejected. Initiating Full Force Defiance.]

  The gate trembled—not violently, not as if it were collapsing—but as if something were tearing through its curtain instead of slowly drawing it open.

  The sparks at my palm flared to life, spiraling outward in streams of arcs, twisting around my arm and dancing into the air. Threads of light wove through the space before me, cracking the stillness with each flicker.

  It was extravagant and unnatural. It was like standing in the heart of a storm. And yet… no one reacted.

  The others kept pushing forward. Faces unchanged, movements undisturbed. Some stumbled and fell against the wall of light, others passed through like always.

  As if this wasn’t happening.

  The cultivator remained still, not a glance or furrowed brow. Not even a twitch of his gaze toward this unnatural situation. Even as arcs of energy lashed through the sky, even as the gate pulsed in response to my presence.

  What is happening?! I screamed the words inside my mind.

  Confusion twisted in my chest, I didn’t understand. I wanted to know.

  Who was ringing these bells in my head?

  Who whispered of fate interjection?

  I demanded an answer. And as if the world—or something far beyond it—heard my call, a new image unfolded before me.

  Glowing text etched itself into the air with the finality of question answered.

  I stared at the glowing words, breath frozen in my lungs, unable to look away as they burned themselves into the air before me, far too clear to be dismissed as mere illusion. Each line struck with the weight of certainty, the kind that doesn't ask for belief but demands it. And there, nestled among the impossible declarations, was the one that unraveled everything I thought I understood: “Reverses time.”

  My heart pounded against my chest, wild and relentless, as if it, too, was trying to fight its way out and understand what all of this meant. This wasn’t mercy. This wasn’t some final kindness from the heavens to let me dream of a life I was never meant to live. It wasn’t a farewell fantasy conjured by my consciousness as I slipped into death. No… this wasn’t a gift.

  This was a revolt.

  The realization sank in—this sword, this soul weapon I had cursed, buried, hated… it had never been silent. It had waited. It had watched. And in the end, it had chosen me not as a wielder of power, but as a vessel through which it would rise and grow along. Not to fulfill the will of the heavens, but to defy it.

  I—Shen Wusheng—who had been trampled, rejected and unfavored by the heavens, yet chosen by something that existed outside their gaze. Something that had suffered alongside me, rusting beneath the weight of futility, only to reveal itself when it had found one worthy of him. And now, with the gate before me and time itself unraveling behind me, I understood one thing with terrifying clarity:

  This was not the end of my story.

  It was its beginning.

  A wide, unrestrained smile spread across my face—born of joy, of release, of hard-won triumph, and something fiercer, deeper, than simple victory. Wearing that smile like armor, I pushed.

  I pushed with everything I had, my palm pressing firmly into the gate, my shoulder braced behind it, and on all of that, the full weight of my soul, of my years, of every step I had taken to reach this single moment. The sparks that danced along my skin, now burst into a frenzy—erratic, radiant, alive—swirling around me like a storm that only I could see.

  I pushed with the desperation of a man who had already died, and the determination of one who had just begun to live.

  I pushed with the weight of a century’s worth of failure.

  With the memory of my father’s words.

  I PUSHED!

  Until I no longer felt resistance, until the tension vanished, until my body stumbled forward. Not against a wall, but through it.

  The swirling gold of the gate disappeared behind me—faded into silence—and before me...

  The world I had longed for, the world beyond the realm of mortals.

  Vast skies stretched above me, painted in radiant hues far more vivid than anything the mortal realm had ever shown. Towering, jagged mountains rose in the distance, their peaks lost in drifting veils of mist and cloud. Trees with thick, gnarled branches clung to sheer cliffs, their roots digging into dense groves across rolling hills, breathing life into the terrain.

  The very air was different—richer, thrumming with unseen force. With every breath I drew, I felt it enter me. Birds soared high overhead, their wings cutting across the heavens, their cries echoing faintly in the vastness.

  This was a world built for cultivation.

  And then, just as I was beginning to take it in, a voice filled the sky—not booming, but clear, resonant, and impossibly warm. It was not a voice that demanded attention, but one that settled into the soul like it had always been waiting there.

  “Congratulations. You have been chosen by the heavens. Welcome… to the Spiritual Realm.”

  And with those words, the path ahead opened wide.