In the dim candlelight, Lin Xuan sat still as a stone.
The flickering flame cast long shadows on the wall, dancing gently with the night wind, but Lin Xuan's thoughts were anything but calm.
Liu Ren... Liu Ren... Who is he? Why does that name feel carved into my bones?
His fingers dug unconsciously into his thigh. His breath came shallow.
And then—
Boom!
A flash of memory slammed into him like thunder.
Visions—disjointed, fragmented—rushed through his mind.
A towering figure clad in golden robes, eyes sharper than blades, standing atop a battlefield soaked in blood.
A voice, deep and resolute, echoing in his soul:
> "Unity brings order. Sever it… and you command chaos."
Lin Xuan gasped. His body trembled.
His heartbeat roared in his ears.
He clutched his chest, eyes wide. "Emperor Ren…" he whispered.
"…The Human Emperor…"
Memories trickled back—faint, yet undeniable. He had seen that man in dreams… no, memories. The golden-robed figure who passed him ancient techniques. The fierce emperor whose power stood unmatched.
Lin Xuan's gaze fell to the scroll before him.
The Scriptures of Severed Unity.
His hand reached out slowly, fingers brushing the worn surface. It felt warm—no, alive. A surge of heat pulsed through his palm as if the scroll recognized him.
More memories burst forth.
—The Human Emperor, seated atop a throne of obsidian, hands glowing with searing golden flames.
—An army kneeling.
—The same script, burning in air before him.
—A voice, again:
> "This art must not fall into mortal hands. It is chaos unbound. Sever unity… only if you can withstand the consequence."
Lin Xuan reeled.
This wasn't just a cultivation art.
This was the Human Emperor's legacy.
And Liu Ren… was the Human Emperor himself.
"Impossible," Lin Xuan muttered, cold sweat running down his back. "The Human Emperor vanished a thousand years ago… How could Liu Ren be…"
But the memories… the visions… they were too vivid.
He opened the scroll slowly, reverently. Ancient characters swirled on the page, dancing like living runes. A normal cultivator would have seen gibberish.
But to Lin Xuan—they sang.
Each symbol whispered truth. Each line told of power that defied logic. A method to shatter formations, divide energies, and command chaos itself.
His hands trembled. "This… This is the art he created in his final years… The art meant to undo the balance of heaven itself."
And now it was in his hands.
Why?
How?
The answers were coiling around him like a serpent—and Lin Xuan knew one thing for certain:
His fate was no longer just his own.
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