Crimson Dao
Yi Mochen was born in the outer provinces of the empire—an abandoned region riddled with war, famine, and corruption. His parents were executed as traitors when he was a child. No one remembered the crime. No one cared. He survived alone, scavenging and learning that compassion held no value in a world ruled by power.
At thirteen, he killed his first cultivator.
At fifteen, he stole a forbidden cultivation manual from a destroyed sect.
By eighteen, he had already reached a level most sect elders never touch in a lifetime.
Mochen refused to join any sect or faction. Instead, he created his own path—quietly manipulating powerful clans, dismantling corrupt systems, and eliminating anyone who stood in his way.
He doesn’t seek justice or revenge.
He wants order—under his rule.
Now, his name is feared in the shadows of every palace and sect hall. And as darker forces awaken across the empire, Yi Mochen prepares—not to defend the world, but to take it.
Okay, I’ll admit it feels kind of strange—shameful, even—to write a review for my own novel. But here I am, trying to gather my thoughts about Crimson Dao, a story that somehow poured out of me like blood from an old wound. This isn’t a typical cultivation story. I didn’t want it to be. It’s darker, more personal. It explores what happens when the world forgets you… and what it means to be the one forced to remember everything. Yi Mochen, our protagonist, is many things—flawed, haunted, dangerous—but I hope he feels real. I wanted his journey through betrayal, forbidden power, and memory to unsettle and move people. There are parts I still feel unsure about. Did I go too far with the horror? Was the Crimson Dao too obscure at times? Maybe. But I also know I wrote this from the marrow, from somewhere deep and honest. So if you're reading this, thank you—for giving a strange, cursed little story a chance. And maybe, just maybe, you'll remember what the world tried to forget.