Chapter 1

It was the first ray of sunlight in centuries that pierced the darkness of the cursed cave—daring to touch what no one else would. Deep within the forgotten Sinful Forest, in a cavern long sealed by fear and time, a young man stirred

For the first time in centuries, sunlight broke through the cursed veil of the Sinful Forest, daring to pierce the darkness within the sealed cave. A single beam streamed in like a divine thread, brushing against that which no hand or light had touched in ages.

Deep in the heart of the cave, among stone walls slick with age and sorrow, a young man stirred.

A hoarse, rough groan escaped his cracked lips, startling in the long stillness. He was buried beneath a thick tangle of blackened roots, their surfaces dry and pulsing faintly with a sinister hue—preserving him, perhaps, or imprisoning him.

His eyelids fluttered open against the golden glare, eyes adjusting slowly to the foreign brightness. His body lay heavy on a bed of cold stone, every muscle unresponsive, limbs stiff as if carved from the same rock.

"…Ugh…" His voice cracked from disuse, barely more than a whisper. His fingers twitched and curled into a trembling fist.

As if provoked, the roots constricting his torso tightened, coiling like snakes disturbed from slumber.

He tried to shift but failed—his bones ached, his muscles refused, and the very air in his lungs felt stale, as if it had never belonged to him.

"What… in the world…" he muttered, lips peeling back in a grimace. His voice was low and rough, laced with annoyance. "Let go, damn you."

But the roots were old, ancient beyond reckoning. They neither feared nor obeyed.

He wasn't a mere mortal—he knew that. Somewhere, deep in his core, power once flowed like rivers. Now, it was distant. Hollow. Forgotten.

With a flash of frustration, he did what any desperate beast would do—he bit down. His teeth sank into the smaller tendrils, gnashing until the bitter things snapped with a sickening crack.

The taste was vile. Ashen. Like the remnants of a curse long burned. He spat immediately.

"P'tui! What kind of cursed breakfast is this…?"

His dignity in tatters, he gnawed and writhed until his arms were free enough to push himself upright. The movement made him dizzy. He sat there panting, head bowed, breath thin as spider silk.

Eventually, legs trembling, he forced himself to stand. He staggered, clutching a jagged stone rack near the entrance for balance. Cold air brushed his face—a breeze. Outside. Freedom.

But just as he took a step, something caught his eye.There, standing not far from the entrance, was a child.

The boy stared at him without emotion, eyes dark and depthless. His clothes were strange, foreign in style—robes more akin to western nobles than local cultivators. His hair was tied oddly, too, but the young man couldn't dwell on the detail.

Before he could move or call out, something yanked him from behind.

A root.

Then another.

Then more.

"What the—?" he managed, barely turning before he saw them—dozens of dark tendrils slithering from the floor like awakened predators.

They surged toward him, latching onto his legs, arms, back—pulling him with unnatural force.

"No—NO—!" he shouted, but it was already too late.

The roots had come alive.

Like leeches, they clung to his body, not for blood, but for the essence that stirred faintly in his core. His qi.

"You—filthy parasites!" he snarled, clawing at them. His nails raked across his own skin as he tried to pull them out, but they pierced deep—flesh and soul alike.

Pain exploded in his chest. Black blood welled up from his throat, dribbling down his chin as his knees gave out.

Still, the roots did not let go.

They wound tighter, lifting him from the ground like some grotesque marionette. His back arched. His vision blurred.

And then—he screamed.

"STOP IT! It hurts—it HURTS—!"

But the cave only swallowed his voice.

It was as if the forest itself had decided: you will not leave.

Just as darkness began to claim him again, the silence shattered.

Footsteps echoed from the mouth of the cave. Sharp, fast, deliberate.

"We found it! The Root of Sentiment is here!"

Three cultivators stepped into the cavern, white robes trailing behind them like snow upon wind. Their blades were unsheathed, and the golden crane insignia stitched across their chests glimmered faintly.

White Sun Sect disciples.

Their presence felt like a sudden gust of winter—cool, sharp, orderly.

The one at the front had narrow eyes and a calm but commanding air. He surveyed the coiled mass in the center.

"The spiritual reading is high… but—there's someone inside."

The second, smaller and clearly unsure, squinted at the silhouette entangled in vines. "Could he be a victim? The Root of Sentiment lures those with emotional wounds. Maybe… he was trapped here."

The third, snorting in disbelief, twirled his sword. "Victim? Please. If he's still breathing after all this time, I say he's half demon already."

Unaware—or uncaring—that the man inside could hear every word.

His brow twitched.

Slow-witted brats… Hurry up already…

But his body was too drained to voice it.

The lead disciple raised his blade.

"Form a triangle array. Prepare to subdue it!"

The three spread out, swords held high. With practiced steps, they etched glowing sigils into the stone beneath their feet—an exorcist formation.

"White Sun Art: Moonlight Purge Slash!"

The leader's blade burst into silver flames. He slashed downward with precise fury, severing several vines in one clean stroke.

The Root didn't scream aloud—but a powerful wave of pressure rolled through the cavern, shaking dust from the walls.

The second disciple shouted, "There! Aim for the black core near the base!"

The third conjured glowing threads from his fingers, binding the vines and anchoring them to the earth.

"White Sun Art: Heaven's Binding Threads!"

The roots writhed. Fought. But they couldn't break free.

Another arc of fire swept across them. This time, the vines hissed, burning with a holy light. The dark qi they had consumed evaporated into sparks, sizzling in the air like dying embers.

The grip weakened.

And finally—it broke.

The young man dropped like a stone, coughing black blood, gasping as the air returned to his lungs. He lay there unmoving, his chest rising and falling like a dying ember clinging to wind.

One of the disciples stepped closer, cautious.

"He's still breathing…"

A moment of silence passed.

"…Should we bring him back to the Sect?"

Vocabulary: 

Qi (氣)

Pronounced: "chee"

The life force that flows through all living things. In this world, Qi is the foundation of all cultivation. Though it exists in nature and within every being, only those with spiritual roots or exceptional bodies can sense, absorb, and refine it.

Ordinary humans possess Qi in minimal amounts—too faint or unstable to cultivate. True cultivators undergo rigorous training, meditation, or body refinement to awaken and strengthen their Qi flow.

Cultivation (修行 – Xiūxíng)

The process of absorbing Qi to temper the body, purify the mind, and ascend beyond mortal limitations. Cultivation increases one's lifespan, spiritual awareness, and physical prowess.

Cultivators climb stages—each bringing them closer to immortality or enlightenment.

Qi Flow (氣脈 – Qìmài)

The movement of Qi through meridians and acupoints within the body. Qi flow must remain stable—any disruption may cause Qi deviation, leading to madness or death.

Qi Condensation (凝氣 – Níngqì)

The earliest stage of cultivation where a practitioner absorbs ambient Qi and condenses it into a stable reservoir within the dantian (core). Without passing this stage, one cannot perform martial techniques or spiritual arts.

Dantian (丹田)

The energy core located below the navel, where Qi is stored and refined. If shattered, the cultivator loses their power permanently

Qi Poisoning (氣毒 – Qìdú)

Exposure to contaminated or demonic Qi results in this illness. Symptoms include corrupted meridians, discolored veins, and irreversible mutations if untreated.

False Qi (假氣 – Jiǎqì)

Artificial or unstable Qi produced by pills, forbidden arts, or demonic contracts. It grants quick power but shortens life and brings corruption.

Qi Deviation (走火入魔 – Zǒuhuǒ Rùmó)

A state caused by reckless cultivation, emotional instability, or absorbing impure Qi. The cultivator may suffer internal damage, madness, or spiritual corruption.