The wind whispered across the peaks of the Xuān Huāng Dàlù. Snow clung to jagged stone, and the sky stretched grey and endless over the silent mountains. Deep within a forgotten cave, beneath layers of earth and time, a figure stirred.

  Hóng Shā Tiān opened his eyes. Crimson light flickered within them.

  Years had passed since he began his cultivation in this mortal realm, years spent consolidating what little power remained, drawing every thread of Qi from the faint spiritual vein beneath him. His body had regained strength, and the pain from the first shattered seal had dulled to a scar beneath his skin. But the other eight seals remained unyielding. Absolute.

  He rose to his feet, robe still tattered but his back straight, his aura calm. Though his cultivation was far from what it once was, a quiet pressure clung to him, the kind that made space itself hesitate. He stepped out of the cave.

  Daylight greeted him. The pale morning sun filtered through drifting clouds, casting a muted glow across the snow-covered cliffs. He squinted against the sudden light, having grown used to the cave's endless twilight. He moved through narrow mountain paths, each step light but firm. Days passed in silence until a flicker of mortal Qi reached his senses. Curious, he followed it to a nearby valley where a small sect rested, carved into the base of the cliffs.

  The Misty Cloud Gate was modest, with weather-worn stone walls and wooden buildings built against the natural contours of the mountain. A crooked stone stairway wound through rows of training platforms and cultivation huts. The outer courtyard was sparse, with crude training dummies and chipped stone tiles, and a lone bronze bell that hadn’t rung in years hung at its entrance. There were no great formations or protective barriers, just a thin array that barely cloaked the sect from wild beasts. The disciples wore pale grey robes, some stained and threadbare. Patches of overgrown weeds crept along the edges of cracked walkways, and the once-pristine spiritual spring had long since dried to a trickle. It was a sect forgotten by time humble, crumbling, and weak but still stubbornly clinging to the idea of cultivation.

  It was weak, barely a foothold in the cultivation world. As his divine sense swept across the compound, he noted with disinterest that the strongest among them was only in the Golden Core stage of the 结丹境 (Core Formation Realm). Their foundation was unstable, forced, rushed barely worthy of the realm's title. The rest were even weaker. The boys down below, bullying the girl, were in the early stages of 炼气境 (Qi Refining Realm) barely more than untrained novices in his eyes. But something caught his attention.

  A child's scream.

  The girl was a mortal with no cultivation base, no Qi to protect herself. Helpless among cultivators, she didn’t even have the chance to resist. His divine sense swept down the slope. A group of older disciples had cornered a girl no older than ten. Blood dripped from her forehead. Her spirit root was torn he could see it clearly. They accused her of theft. But she had stolen nothing.

  He watched. Then moved.

  A gust of wind swept down the mountain. And in the next breath, he stood behind them. The air shifted. The disciples froze, unable to comprehend the pressure crushing down upon them.

  "Bullying a child," he said, his tone firm and measured, but laced with cold authority. "Is this the pride of your sect?"

  One boy turned, trembling. "W-Who are you?"

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Hóng Shā Tiān raised a single finger. The boy collapsed without a sound, unconscious.

  "Take him. Leave. Before I decide to erase this place."

  The others scattered, dragging their fallen companion. The girl looked up at the pale man, her eyes wide with awe and fear. She stumbled backward, landing hard on the ground, trembling. Hóng Shā Tiān turned, his expression unreadable. Then he crouched down on one knee beside her.

  "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice calm, steady strangely gentle for someone who had just silenced her tormentors with a single breath.

  The girl nodded weakly. "I'm alright now..." she whispered, but winced as pain shot through her side.

  Without a word, Hóng Shā Tiān raised his hand and placed it lightly on her forehead. A faint, warm light shimmered from his palm. The techniques of the Sword Dao Pavilion were meant for warriors, not healers, but even their supportive methods carried immense depth. He was weakened far from the height of his power but even in this state, his touch carried the authority of a master. Slowly, carefully, he channeled a thread of Qi through her fragile body, stabilizing her breath, easing her pain, and sealing the tear in her spirit root.

  The girl’s trembling eased. Her breathing slowed. A moment later, she looked up at him with wide, teary eyes filled not with fear but gratitude. Hóng Shā Tiān met her gaze for a moment, then asked in a low voice, "What is your name?"

  The girl hesitated, her lips trembling. "Liú Yīrán," she said softly, and as the words left her, tears spilled down her cheeks. She lowered her head and began to cry quietly, brokenly years of fear, pain, and loneliness crashing down now that someone had finally shown her kindness.

  Hóng Shā Tiān was silent for a moment, then exhaled softly. He raised a hand and gently rested it on her shoulder.

  "Liú Yīrán," he said, his voice steady, "there is no shame in crying. But you're safe now. As long as you live, do not let this world decide your worth. You endured. That is enough."

  His words were not warm, but they were solid. Anchoring. A quiet strength passed from his hand to hers. Liú Yīrán sniffled and wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve, trying to compose herself. Hóng Shā Tiān waited, then asked, "Where are we? What is this place?"

  The girl looked up at him, her voice still shaky but clearer than before. "This is the outer region of the Green Pine Mountain Range. Our sect is called Misty Cloud Gate... we're small, not well known. Most people pass through without ever noticing us."

  Hóng Shā Tiān paused, thoughtful. "What is the name of this continent?"

  Liú Yīrán blinked, then said, "This is Xuān Huāng Dàlù... that's what everyone calls it."

  He nodded slowly. "Are there any notable sects nearby?"

  She shook her head. "Not near here... Green Pine Ridge is really remote. There aren't any powerful sects in this area just small ones like ours. The stronger ones are far to the east or deep in the central regions of the continent. I’ve only heard stories about them, though."

  Liú Yīrán hesitated, then glanced up at him. "Mister... what's your name?"

  Hóng Shā Tiān was silent for a moment. I can’t give her my real name, he thought. If the God Emperors discover me in this state, I won’t have the strength to fight back. His eyes narrowed slightly, and after a pause, he replied, "Lù Tiān. Just... Lù Tiān."

  After a moment, he asked, "Who is your sect master? Does he allow this kind of behavior from his disciples?"

  Liú Yīrán lowered her gaze. "Sect Master Yán... he doesn't know. He rarely comes out of seclusion. The elders manage most things in the sect, but they turn a blind eye to what the senior disciples do. No one listens when someone like me complains..."

  Hóng Shā Tiān remained silent, but his eyes narrowed slightly. I will need a force to fight those damned God Emperors one day, he thought. I can't do it alone, not in this state. His gaze drifted toward the quiet sect below the mountain.

  What if I take sects and make them my own? Build a force not of saints or saviors, but of the forgotten, the discarded... those who owe the heavens nothing.