Chapter 1 : The Fall of Qin Tian

Flickers of memory passed through Qin Tian's mind.

Laughter. Warmth. A golden cup raised under the moonlit sky.

"To the future of the Heavenly Sword Sect!"

Qin Tian grinned, knocking his cup against Wu Han's, the golden liquor sloshing under the starlight.

"To us!" Wu Han echoed, draining his drink in one go.

They sat atop the sect's outer pavilion, legs dangling over the edge, overlooking the vast valley where thousands of lanterns flickered like fireflies. Below, their brothers trained, studied, and lived—united under a single banner.

Qin Tian turned to Wu Han, a smirk on his lips. "What's with that look?"

Wu Han swirled the liquor in his cup, watching the moonlight dance upon its surface. "Just thinking… who would've imagined that two street rats like us would climb to the peak of the Heavenly Sword Sect?"

Qin Tian chuckled, the warmth in his chest not just from the alcohol, but from the memory of their journey. Two orphans, raised by the sect. They had trained together, fought together, bled together.

"We earned it," Qin Tian said, firm and resolute. "And together, we'll take the sect to new heights."

Wu Han exhaled, shaking his head with a wry smile. "You always talk like you're some legend in the making."

He extended a hand.

"Fine. If you become a legend, let me be the shadow that watches your back."

Qin Tian grinned and clasped his brother's arm.

"Together."

---

A different memory. A different warmth.

The scent of jasmine and candlewax. The soft glow of lanterns.

Silken sheets brushed against his skin, and Ling Xue nestled against his chest, fingers tracing idle circles along his bare skin. Her long, raven-black hair cascaded over him like liquid midnight.

"Are you truly leaving tomorrow?" she murmured.

He exhaled, fingers running through her hair. "Only for a few weeks. A minor matter at the Southern Outpost."

Ling Xue pouted, shifting against him. "A few weeks is far too long."

He chuckled, tightening his arms around her. "You act as if I haven't left before."

"It's different this time," she whispered. "You're rising too quickly. The sect watches you now. Some with admiration… others with unease."

His brows furrowed. He knew there were factions within the sect who saw his rapid ascent as a threat. But he never doubted his place.

Ling Xue traced a delicate finger along his jaw. "Sometimes, I wonder… am I simply standing in the shadow of a man who will one day fly too high for me to reach?"

His grip on her tightened.

"You are not in my shadow, Ling Xue. You walk beside me. Always."

She held his gaze for a long moment before smiling, before leaning in, before capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss.

"I'll wait for you," she whispered.

Qin Tian smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"You won't have to wait long."

The present. No warmth. No laughter. No love.

The wind carried the scent of blood, burnt incense, and shattered dreams.

Qin Tian stood at the peak of the Heavenly Sword Sect, his robes tattered, his once-pristine white and gold now drenched in crimson.

Around him, the corpses of his sworn brothers, his disciples, lay sprawled across the courtyard, their lifeless eyes frozen in disbelief.

They never even had a chance to fight back.

Lightning split the heavens, illuminating the figures standing before him.

His breath came ragged, his limbs barely holding him upright. Every muscle screamed in agony. Poison burned in his veins like molten iron.

But none of it compared to the pain of betrayal.

Because the man leading them—standing at the forefront of his enemies—was Wu Han.

His brother. His most trusted friend.

The same Wu Han who had once raised a cup to their future, who had once bled alongside him in battle.

Now, he stood there, eyes cold and unreadable, a sword in his grasp.

And beside him—Ling Xue.

She was untouched by battle, her delicate hands resting on the hilt of the very sword she had plunged into his back moments ago. Her beauty remained ethereal, but the warmth in her eyes had been replaced with quiet amusement.

Feng Hao sneered openly, his spear resting lazily on his shoulder, eyes filled with long-held envy. Zhao Ren stood in the background, silent and unreadable.

Qin Tian coughed, blood splattering onto the dirt. His vision blurred, but he refused to kneel.

"Why?"

His voice came out hoarse, laced with raw disbelief and fury.

Wu Han stepped forward. His face showed no triumph. Only quiet finality.

"Because you reached too high, Qin Tian." His voice was calm. "Even the heavens refuse your existence. Fate demands balance."

Qin Tian laughed—a broken, bitter sound. "A convenient excuse for greed."

Ling Xue tilted her head, her smile soft but razor-sharp. "Oh, Qin Tian. You always were blind. We simply corrected heaven's mistake."

Feng Hao scoffed. "You were always in my way, stealing the glory that should have been mine. Now, it's my turn."

Wu Han raised his hand, silencing them. His expression hardened. "It's over, Qin Tian. Your name will vanish from history. Only we will remember you—not as a hero, but as a lesson."

Qin Tian's breath shuddered. His body screamed in agony. But his grin remained.

"You think you've won?" His voice was quiet but steady. "You think heaven will reward treachery?"

For a fraction of a second, hesitation flickered across Wu Han's face. A shadow of doubt.

Then it was gone.

"The heavens reward strength," Wu Han said. "And now, it belongs to us."

The blade descended.

Pain.

White-hot agony.

Then—emptiness.

His vision blurred. His consciousness sank. The world faded.

But the darkness was not silent.

Somewhere beyond death…

A voice echoed. A whisper in the abyss.

"You refuse to accept this fate… yet fate makes a fool of you."

Qin Tian's soul trembled. He could not see. He could not feel. Yet the voice reached him.

"You have been cast aside… just as I was."

"You bear my power now—a curse and a gift."

Something stirred. A presence. A force older than time.

Qin Tian's thoughts swirled, the storm of betrayal, hatred, and rage surging inside him.

Wu Han's cold eyes. Ling Xue's mocking smile. Feng Hao's sneer. Zhao Ren's silence.

The unwillingness to accept death. The hunger for vengeance.

"I will not vanish," Qin Tian growled, his voice echoing in the void.

"I will return."

"And I will tear fate apart."

The voice laughed—low, ancient, unshackled.

"Then take my power, Qin Tian. Take it… and make the heavens tremble."