With his emotional center nearly obliterated, Zi Xia operated on primal instinct alone—a mere shadow of consciousness.
Deep within his mind, the Heavenly Spirit flared, emitting sharp pulses that merged with his fragmented awareness. It seized control of his bodily functions, compelling him to seek out spiritual fruits to sustain his fragile form.
As he moved, an unsettling sensation crept over him—a chilling dread, as if countless ants crawled beneath his skin.
Heavenly Sovereign...
Sensing imminent danger, the Heavenly Spirit activated its innate abilities—what remained of them—to conceal their presence, utilizing power just four steps below Nirvana.
The Zi Clan had instilled the Heavenly Spirit with three directives:
1. Safeguard Zi Xia's soul.
2. Ensure his survival at all costs.
3. Employ all available power to manipulate Fate and Destiny for continued existence.
**—————**
Autumn passed, winter came, and left just as quietly. Spring returned, and flowers bloomed. The cold was long gone, forgotten in the warmth of life's return.
Atop a cliff wrapped in dense forest sat Cliff Cloud Village. The rain poured often, and the mist never quite cleared, but still, the villagers lived on—generation after generation.
Until that night.
A shadow cut through the dark faster than a hare, stronger than any beast they had seen. One blink—blood. Another—silence.
They tried fighting back. Archers loosed arrows. Steel clashed. Flames lit the fog. But none of it mattered.
Screams echoed through the dark, distant and cold. Then came nothing.
When the air grew still, the blood began to pool. That scent drew predators. One by one, 1st and 2nd Grade beasts crept in, sniffing the carnage. The strong roared, the weak snatched scraps and ran. It was a feast—nothing more.
But deep inside a mountain cave, away from the stench and chaos, low murmurs echoed. Whispers. Curses. A soul refining.
Zi Xia sat there, still as stone. Above him hovered the misty form of the Heavenly Spirit.
Its ghostly arms wrapped around his soul, purging every last trace of emotion—no resentment, no longing, no past.
The Primordial Chaos had shattered his emotional center beyond repair. What once was love or grief was now dust.
Restoring it would only anchor him to a war he could never win. Half Nirvana… Half Supreme… pointless.
Better to start over.
The spirit knew this. So it gave him something new.
---
Days turned to weeks.
Zhou Fan's birth drew near.
Zi Xia, with Ling—the name he gave the Heavenly Spirit—had already pushed close to the Bone Tempering Realm.
"Ling, get me a spirit fruit."
Zi Xia didn't wait. Ling was already gone.
The still days brought calm. Even anticipation. Somewhere out there, the world turned. Civilizations thrived. And he would walk among them soon.
Ling had once claimed to know many martial and cultivation arts—though he never said much more.
What Zi Xia did know: Ling wasn't just a spirit.
He was his Martial Spirit.
A path among countless others in the sea of cultivation. One the Heavenly Spirit deemed worthy to tread.
After clearing the village—its souls used to "recover" Zi Xia—he had what little one could call preparation.
An iron sword.
Two or three common robes.
A few Spirit Stones.
It wasn't much.
But for a cultivator starting anew, it was enough.
**—————**
Dusk draped the cave in muted gold as Zi Xia straightened, preparing to step into a world unknown.
Ling's summons echoed in his mind: sit, and witness the Story Divination.
: > A method far superior to mere Fate Divination—melding the power of Revelations with the tapestry of Future and History< :
Ling wove a formation—shapeless, silent, devoid of mystic flourish. His misty figure winked away until only a wisp remained, then vanished entirely.
In that stillness, a plotline unfurled inside Zi Xia's thoughts, not with concrete events, but with three inescapable paths:
A. Never encounter Zhou Fan—live a life of endless rainbows and blossoms.
B. Pledge yourself to him—share his glory, his power, stand beside a leader who never falls.
C. Cultivate beyond all limits—rise in secret to claim the Sovereign throne for yourself.
Zi Xia's veins trembled. Choices bound him like chains—no escape, no detours. The weight of destiny pressed down; restraint had never felt so cold.