A thick red fog still hadn't receded from the sky, like a blood curtain shrouding the world. The metallic scent stung the nostrils, mingling with the bone-chilling cold. Amidst the ruins of the ancient altar, under the gaze of thousands of spirits lurking in the shadows, Ye Tian stood alone. The ground beneath his feet was no longer the earth of the mortal world. This was the deepest part of the Hell Gate—where, thousands of years ago, the traitors of Heaven were sealed, and their blood formed a bottomless chasm of curses. This place was not just a prison, but also a container of inheritance… and the tomb of legends.
Ye Tian stepped forward. Each footstep echoed like the chime of a bell summoning spirits. There were no birdsong, no wind. Only profound silence, as if the world had stopped breathing. Before him, a large stone loomed. Ancient carvings covered its entire surface—symbols of blood, a bifurcated shadow, and a seemingly damaged celestial seal.
"The Third Gate…" Ye Tian murmured, his voice soft, yet echoing throughout the valley.
He had passed the first two gates—the first tested his blood, the second his soul. But this third gate was different. This was not a test, but a final decision. Here, his destiny would be decided—whether he would become the heir of ancestral power, or be buried along with the curse of celestial blood.
Suddenly, from behind the mist, a heavy voice echoed.
"The third step is sacrifice. Are you ready to pay the price for the blood flowing in your body?"
Ye Tian did not answer. He only bowed his head, opening his robe to reveal his now-blazing chest. Three red lines intersected there—the inheritance seal that was now pulsing more wildly. His own blood rebelled, as if trying to escape his body.
"I never asked for this blood," he murmured. "But I won't run from it."
With his left hand, he drew a black dagger—a weapon from his own shadow. Then, without hesitation, he carved a long gash on his right palm. His blood dripped, falling onto the gate stone, slowly absorbing… and the world trembled.
Black chains extended from the sky, wrapping around him. Screams echoed from the depths of the earth. The faces of cursed spirits appeared in the mist, looking at him with a mixture of hatred, sorrow, and hope.
But Ye Tian was unfazed. His eyes never wavered. He knew… that this was not just about him. It was about blood, inheritance, and a world awaiting destruction or salvation.
"If I must be a curse to the world… then let me be a curse that chooses its own path."
The sky split. Black light exploded from behind the gate. The large stone cracked, emitting a dazzling crimson light, as if welcoming the arrival of a king… or welcoming the final execution of a sinner.
Ye Tian stepped into that light.
And the world fell silent again.
The crimson light from the Third Gate enveloped Ye Tian's body. It felt like being pulled into a vortex of dreams—but there was no beauty there. Only darkness whispering memories, and those whispers sounded like the voices of the past that had not yet been buried.
He fell. But not to the ground—but into himself.
The world around him collapsed, replaced by faint shadows. He stood in the middle of a black field, and before him appeared a figure of an old man in tattered robes. His eyes were empty, his skin was scarred, and in his right hand was a blood-stained book.
"Who are you?" Ye Tian asked.
"I am one of those who once walked this path," the figure replied. "Like you, I was also chosen. Also cursed."
Ye Tian frowned.
"Did you succeed in mastering it?"
"No," the old man replied softly. "I… gave up. I was afraid of what I would kill to become strong. So my blood stopped here, and my name disappeared from history."
Ye Tian was silent. His hands clenched.
"Do you want me to retreat like you?"
The figure smiled bitterly.
"I want you to understand… that being strong is not the same as being right. This world values strength, but strength without meaning… only gives birth to destruction."
The bloody book suddenly opened, and from its worn pages emerged images of the past: a frail child crying in the rain; a woman killed in the midst of inter-sect warfare; a young man harboring resentment until his soul turned black.
All of that was part of Ye Tian. Fragments of wounds that had never truly healed.
"You did not only inherit blood… you inherited suffering," continued the old man. "And only those who can fathom the meaning of suffering can transform the curse… into true power."
Suddenly, the world collapsed again.
Ye Tian was thrown out of the vortex and stood once more before the now-shattered Third Gate. In his hand… a black book formed, just like in the vision. But this time, its pages were blank.
"This book… waits for you to fill it yourself," whispered a faint voice from the sky.
"With your path. With your choice."
Ye Tian gazed at the book for a long time. His hands trembled, not out of fear… but because he began to realize that the path he chose, no matter how far, would always demand meaning behind the power.
"What's the point of all this if I lose my soul?" he murmured.
Then he smiled faintly.
"But… I also can't let this world lose hope just because I hesitate."
He embraced the book, and the light from his body merged with the blank manuscript. On the first page, red writing formed: "Chapter One: When Shadows Refuse to Become Dark."
The once-dark sky slowly broke, and from afar, the first light of dawn crept in.
And Ye Tian knew… his journey had just begun anew. But this time, with meaning.
Step by step, Ye Tian left the ruins of the Third Gate, which had now transformed into fragments of black light, slowly rising into the sky before disappearing like ash. The surrounding air was still hot, as if the world was not yet ready to accept that an ancient inheritance had just risen again. But it wasn't the power that felt heaviest now. It was… the silence.
A silence that crept into his chest, settled in his mind, and evoked long-avoided questions: What is the meaning of all this? Why do I keep moving forward?
In the distance, the shadows of the valley he passed through changed shape, becoming an unfamiliar spiritual field. Leafless trees greeted him like guardian statues, and clouds hung low as if watching his every move.
Then, a soft voice touched the air.
"You have passed the three blood gates, Ye Tian… But have you passed your own heart?"
Ye Tian stopped. Before him stood a young woman, in a silvery white robe, her long hair cascading to the ground. Her eyes were covered with a silk scarf, but the aura she emitted was enough to cause the ground to tremble gently.
"Who are you?" Ye Tian asked, on guard.
"I am neither your enemy nor your ally," she replied. "I am the guardian of the Mirror of Souls, and you… have delayed too long to see your own shadow."
Suddenly, the ground beneath Ye Tian cracked, and from within emerged a giant mirror three men tall. Its surface did not reflect physical form—but souls.
When Ye Tian looked into it, he didn't see his current self. He saw his former self: a little boy, tormented, bloodied, silently screaming as his body was burned in a ritual he didn't understand. His mother's face… a moment before disappearing in flames. His father's face, gazing from afar without moving, before turning away.
"Did you ever cry for them?" the woman's voice was soft, piercing the soul.
Ye Tian stared at the shadow of his childhood self, roaring and clutching at the air.
"Crying won't take me anywhere," he said softly.
"But refusing to cry… only keeps the wound open," the woman replied.
The mirror then changed, showing a picture of the present: Ye Tian annihilating cursed creatures, fighting against the disciples of major sects, standing alone against a world that rejected him.
"Your power is extraordinary," said the guardian. "But your loneliness is greater than that. You don't let anyone in… because you don't want to lose again, right?"
Ye Tian clenched his jaw, but did not answer.
"Ye Tian… this world doesn't need a perfect hero. But it needs someone who is willing to understand wounds, not just avenge them."
As those words hung in the air, the mirror began to crack. But not because of external force, but because of tears that fell… from Ye Tian's own eyes.
Just one drop. But enough to open a new path.
The mirror shattered, and the light behind it formed a path to the summit of the sacred mountain—where legend said that the true successor of the celestial blood inheritance would determine the fate of the world, not with the strongest technique… but with their final choice of heart.
Ye Tian walked forward. But this time, not just because the curse forced him… But because his heart began to realize—that power would be meaningless without a reason to use it.
The sky began to darken, not because night had arrived, but because a thick spiritual mist enveloped the entire valley. The mist contained traces of the essence of celestial blood hidden for thousands of years. Each strand of mist seemed alive—slowly writhing, dancing in the air, forming ancient patterns unreadable to the naked eye.
But Ye Tian continued to walk. Each step echoed as if the world was listening, as if the earth itself acknowledged that he was no longer just a cursed child. On his shoulders rested not only the burden of the curse, but also the inheritance… and the possibility of new hope.
An old and heavy voice echoed from the sky, without form, without origin.
"The fourth step has been reached… but the fifth is a trial of the soul."
Ye Tian stood still. Without warning, the world around him transformed into an ocean of light. He stood in the midst of emptiness, and before him appeared three large shadows. All resembled himself—but from different times.
The first, young Ye Tian, sat kneeling on the ground, crying silently, his hands clutching his mother's shattered badge.
The second, teenage Ye Tian, his body covered in wounds and blood, stared at himself with angry eyes.
And the third, present-day Ye Tian, but his eyes blazed red, his expression cold, and behind him stood tens of thousands of corpses.
"Who are you really?" the voice from the sky asked.
The three shadows spoke simultaneously, but in different voices.
"I am he who was abandoned by the world!"
"I am he who fought against fate!"
"I am he… who will destroy everything!"
Ye Tian closed his eyes. Those shadows were not enemies. They were parts of himself—fear, resentment, and ambition.
"I… am all of you," Ye Tian whispered. "But I am also he… who will choose a new path."
With that, the shadows shattered, transforming into streams of energy that entered Ye Tian's body. Not rejecting it. Not forcing it. But merging.
As the energy absorbed, an ancient symbol formed on his chest—the Celestial Blood Circle—a sign that he had accepted and understood the dark and light sides within himself.
The once-dark sky suddenly split open with silvery light. An ancient door slowly appeared from behind the mist, carved in stone and gold. On it, written in a lost language:
"The Gate of the Final Inheritance - Only those who understand themselves may pass."
Ye Tian stepped forward.
Silence. No sound, no echo. But in his chest, his blood sang. And when his palm touched the door—the curse seals on his body crumbled.
Ye Tian's steps slowly trod the stone path rising within the inheritance cave. Its walls were carved with ancient paintings—tales of gods, demons, and humans who bound blood oaths in the time when the sky still bled and the earth was unnamed. Every step he took seemed to disturb the dust of time, awakening silent whispers from a past that was not yet fully dead.
The air within the cave was so silent, but in that silence, subtle sounds could be heard… formless, bodiless, yet piercing directly into the depths of the soul.
"He has come… The Heir of Celestial Blood…"
The whispers came from all directions—not just sounds, but memories. And those memories were not owned by Ye Tian, but inherited… by those who had long fallen.
At the end of the corridor, an altar made of ancient dragon bones appeared, formed in a circle like a vortex of time. The altar was surrounded by dark purple flowers that seemed to absorb the surrounding light, emitting a soft scent mixed with the tang of blood.
On the altar lay a small object—a black crystal ball the size of a fist, emitting a gentle pulse, like a heart that had not stopped beating.
As Ye Tian approached, his heart suddenly felt as if it had stopped for a moment. Not out of fear, but because something within him felt an inexplicable connection. The pulse of the crystal ball… was in sync with his own heartbeat.
"Take it… Heir. This is the lost part of yourself."
The voice was heard directly in his head, not from outside. And when his hand touched the crystal ball, his body instantly froze. A flash of black light enveloped him, penetrating his skin, bones, and blood—reaching the core of his soul.
Flashes appeared in his mind—glimpses of a past that was not his own:
A bloody ritual. Hundreds of cultivators knelt beneath a shattered sky. A silver-haired man stood in the middle, holding a sword stained with celestial blood, and cursing the heavens with blazing red eyes.
"This blood curse will be inherited… to those who dare to challenge Heaven!"
Suddenly, Ye Tian was thrown backward. His body slammed to the ground, but the black crystal ball had disappeared—and emptiness appeared in his chest, then replaced by something much heavier:
Power.
But not ordinary power. It was a fragment of memories, techniques, and will from the long-dead previous heir.
His hands trembled, and unconsciously, an ancient symbol appeared on his back—a coiled dragon biting its own tail. A sign… that he now carried the true inheritance.
But before he could rise, the entire cave trembled violently. From the darkness at the end of the corridor came heavy footsteps—deep, and accompanied by the rumbling sound of breaking stone.
"Whoever takes that inheritance… must be tested."
A large figure emerged from the darkness—a human-like creature, but with a stone body, fiery eyes, and an open chest revealing a vortex of deep black energy.
Ye Tian stood up. His hands clenched. His eyes were calm, unwavering.
Because this time… he wasn't just fighting for survival. He was fighting to prove that the inheritance deserved to be his.