CHAPTER 1: A New Journey

The wind spread through the fractured space like breath stolen from a battlefield.

In the heart of swirling remnants, a woman sobbed softly, her cries muffled by the shimmer of light and breaking silence.

> "Must it be this way…?" she whispered.

A man's voice answered her, low and burdened with sorrow.

> "We have no choice. If he stays… all will fall. But if he leaves—he might live."

The light around them pulsed—faint, flickering like the dying flame of a shrine lantern.

The woman's hands tightened around the tiny bundle she held.

> "He's so small…"

> "Small… but chosen," the man said.

The space around them began to twist. Runes flared to life beneath their feet. A formation, woven in desperation and resolve, surged with quiet power.

> "Please," the woman said through tears, "please forgive us…"

Then, with a final pulse, the light consumed them.

◇

Zhenxiu Realm — Fengxuan Kingdom

Foothills of Mount Yunshu

The wind that night was quiet.

It began as a hush, no more than the rustling of leaves. But it carried something deeper—an unseen shift in the air, as though something sacred had passed through unseen.

At the edge of Mount Yunshu, where the forest thickens into steep foothills, stood a modest wooden house. Just below it, nestled in the valley, was the village of Linghe. Quiet and distant, the village rarely saw cultivators pass through. It was a place the great sects had forgotten—a peaceful slope where life moved slowly.

In that house, Li Mei and Meng Qingshan sat at a low wooden table, sharing a humble meal. Their home was simple—two rooms, a small kitchen, and warm wooden walls built with their own hands. The lantern above them flickered gently in the night breeze.

They didn't speak. Their bowls were only half-full, but their hearts even less so.

They had once been cultivators—not heroes, but brave. Qingshan had wielded a spear in the border wars, known for his stillness and strength. Li Mei had been a swift sword cultivator who rode beside him in every battle.

After the war, they returned to their sect, hoping peace had finally come. But the sect soon assigned them a mission—to explore a forest tainted since the war, where corruption festered and spirit beasts grew restless.

Twenty-five cultivators were sent.

Only five returned.

Among the five, two were so gravely wounded they could hardly survive the journey back. Qingshan and Li Mei were among the survivors, alongside their senior brother, whose name they spoke only in respect.

The forest had been steeped in poison mist. Without protective pills, none could have lasted even two hours.

When they reached the deeper layers, a shadow attacked—fast, silent, terrifying. It moved like smoke and vanished like mist. They never saw its face. Never understood what it was.

After resting, they reported what they could to the elders—what they saw, what they fought, and what they feared.

A few days later, they left the sect. No farewell. No explanation. They simply walked away.

Here, above Linghe Village, they built a new life. A wooden home, a small garden, and silence. Deeper in the forest stood an old shrine, abandoned long before their arrival. They did not build it, but they came to it every day—not praying for power, for wealth, or for glory—but for hope.

Years passed.

Seasons turned.

Still, their home remained childless.

But their prayers never stopped.

◇

Then, the wind howled.

A sharp gust slammed against the wooden walls. The lantern swayed hard. Trees outside groaned in protest.

And then—thunder.

A deep rumble tore across the sky.

Once.

Twice.

Then a third time—so loud it shook the mountain.

Qingshan stood. "That's not a normal storm."

Li Mei was already moving.

They rushed outside just in time to see it.

A golden light, brilliant and sharp, split the clouds in silence. It descended not like a star, but with purpose—soft, slow, wrapped in radiance. It streaked toward the old shrine, deep in the forest behind their home.

The heavens seemed to part for it.

Then the sky closed again.

"Li Mei!" Qingshan shouted. "The shrine—!"

They ran.

◇

The forest was alive. Leaves scattered, branches snapped, the very ground trembled. But in the grove where the shrine stood—stillness.

There, among the moss and stone, between cracked statues and weathered tiles—

Lay a child.

Wrapped in cloth of golden silk, unstained by earth or rain. Around his neck hung a jade pendant, glowing softly with unreadable characters.

The baby didn't cry.

He slept—peacefully, as though the world hadn't moved.

Li Mei dropped to her knees.

"A child… from the sky?"

Qingshan approached slowly, reverently. Something in the air pressed down—gentle, sacred, absolute.

He knelt and touched the cloth.

A pulse spread through the grove.

The pendant lit up.

A name shimmered faintly on its surface:

> 盛漠

Sheng Mo

Qingshan read it aloud. "Sheng Mo…"

Li Mei gathered the child into her arms. He stirred, touching her cheek with tiny fingers.

She looked at her husband, eyes full of disbelief and hope.

"We prayed every day…"

Qingshan nodded. "And the heavens… may have listened."

He wrapped his arms around them both.

The wind softened.

The sky cleared.

Li Mei held the child close as they walked back beneath the quiet trees. The leaves whispered above them, as if sealing a secret between heaven and earth.

At home, Meng Qingshan brought out an old wooden cradle they had carved years ago—one that had waited in silence, untouched by time. Li Mei laid the child gently inside. The cradle creaked softly as it swayed, and for a moment, the house that had known only quiet seemed to breathe again.

And in the valley below Mount Yunshu, beneath the quiet roofs of Linghe Village, no one knew what had happened. No lightning scarred the land. No sects stirred. No cultivator sensed the divine.

But something had changed.

In that house—

A family had begun.

Thank you for reading this chapter.

If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a like.Your comments and thoughts are always welcome.They help this story grow, one step at a time.