Chapter 9 – When the World Looks Away

The storm didn't end.

As Shen Li descended the mountain, snow fell like shards of glass, slicing through the air in furious silence. His cloak, tattered and thin, did nothing to stop the cold — but it didn't matter anymore. The chill no longer touched him. Not truly.

Because now… the cold remembered him.

His eyes, once dull from years of mediocrity, now gleamed like obsidian under the moonlight. He walked like a man who had seen death and made it kneel. He didn't rush. He didn't hesitate. Each step was a whisper of defiance against the heavens that once betrayed him.

The world felt different now.

Not louder. Quieter.

Like it was holding its breath.

Like it sensed what had awakened.

Halfway down, he passed an old tree, gnarled and broken. Once, he had trained beneath this very tree — back when he was just "Li", a servant's son in a small outer sect. He remembered bleeding here, punching the bark until his knuckles shattered, just to prove he could keep going.

Now?

The tree bowed.

He didn't stop to question it.

He only paused when he reached the foot of the mountain. There, a woman stood waiting.

She wasn't dressed like a cultivator. Her robes were travel-worn, her boots muddy, and her eyes — sharp, uncertain — held no reverence. Only wariness.

"You're not supposed to be here," she said. Her voice was steady, but her fingers twitched near her sword hilt.

Shen Li tilted his head.

"Neither are you."

The wind shifted.

The tension cracked like ice beneath weight.

She frowned. "Who are you?"

He considered lying.

Then he smiled.

The kind of smile that made animals run and men remember old nightmares.

"Once, I was called many names. Shen Li. The Ash Disciple. The Last Thorn."

He stepped forward.

"But if you dig deep enough into the right books, you'll find one more."

She drew her blade — a swift, smooth motion.

He didn't flinch.

"I am the man who burned the Golden Sky Temple to ash with a broken sword and a shattered core."

The sword in her hand trembled.

"Impossible. That man— He— He died a thousand years ago."

"Yes," Shen Li said, softly. "He did."

She stared. Breath shallow. Then, without a word, she turned and ran.

He let her.

Let the legend spread like fire before the storm.

Because that's what the world needed.

A little fear.

A reminder.

That some names are never truly buried.

And that the Immortal Emperor was not a myth.

He was walking again.

And he was angry.

[end of chapter 9]