"Truth is not spoken. It is suffered."
---
The wind in the Bone Lantern Forest had gone still. The crimson feathers had stopped falling.
Yi Mochen stood motionless, the cursed sigils from the Silent Sect still faintly glowing under his skin, their ink alive. The scroll that had arrived beside him was untouched. The pale moon above was no longer full—it bled from one side, like it had been cut.
The Crimson Dao trembled within him. Not as power. Not as Qi.
But as memory.
His knees buckled.
His eyes rolled white.
And the dream took him.
---
He opened his eyes in a world not meant for mortals.
A sky of unraveling crimson silk pulsed overhead. The air shimmered like cloth soaked in oil. Towers of bone, draped in mourning banners, spiraled endlessly into the void. Whispering veiled statues lined the horizon, their mouths sewn shut with black thread—but still moving.
The very ground breathed.
And Yi Mochen stood barefoot upon velvet ash, darker than shadow.
He was not surprised. Not afraid.
Only… aware.
> "You walk as if the world owes you something," said a voice from behind a veil of bleeding silk.
He turned. She did not approach—she unfolded.
She was draped in pale-white funeral robes, her face veiled by seven layers of blood-ink scripture. Her arms were long, skeletal, adorned with dozens of broken hairpins, each carrying the sigil of a fallen sect.
> "And yet the world remembers nothing of you."
"How tragic."
> "Who are you?" Yi Mochen asked, voice hollow but firm.
> "I am the Pale Widow," she said.
"Not the first to walk the Crimson Dao. Not the last to vanish beneath it."
---
She circled him like a silk-draped vulture. Her voice thickened the air.
> "You walk blind through a world layered with lies. Allow me to peel a few."
In the Zhuyan Realm, cultivation is not a single path, but fractured disciplines, often shaped by sect, lineage, and spiritual origin.
---
In Zhuyan Realm, each stage has its own law. Without the first stage
Common Cultivation Tiers:
1. Vein Forging (Body Foundation)
Tempering muscle, bone, marrow.
Most peasants, soldiers, and unawakened youths never pass this.
Qi is minimal. Focus is survival.
2. Pulse Awakening
Opening spiritual meridians.
Inner Qi flows. Basic techniques possible.
Entry-level cultivators. Most sect initiates.
3. Mind-Sea Realization
First true realm of will vs. self.
Cultivators form a "Mind-Sea," a mental reflection of Dao.
Can cultivate mental resistance and soul-linked techniques.
4. Nascent Path Realm
Birth of a true Dao. Cultivator inscribes their personal truth into their Qi.
Techniques manifest ideologically—e.g. Fire from Wrath, Blades from Sorrow.
5. Dao Carving Stage
Etching one's Dao into the world. Reality begins to bend.
Cultivators start warping space, law, and karma.
Only 1 in 100,000 reach this stage.
6. Heaven-Step Cultivation
Walking the true threads of fate. Communing with heavens.
These cultivators can split mountains, erase sects, or silence karma.
Heavenly Order enforces strict monitoring.
7. Crimson Lineage / Forbidden Dao (Hidden Path)
Not recognized by any sect or scripture.
Power manifests as memory, corruption, or silence.
Cannot be measured by Qi.
Walkers of this path do not ascend. They transform.
---
Yi Mochen's Current Level: Pulse Awakening, artificially suppressed
Despite his terrifying acts—slaughtering sects, assassinating royalty, silencing divine guardians—Yi Mochen's cultivation realm is far below average.
He remains in Pulse Awakening, the second tier.
But he is far from ordinary.
> "Your body remains at Pulse Awakening," the Pale Widow whispered, "but your soul is already beyond Dao Carving."
> "Why?" he asked, eyes narrowing.
> "Because you walk the Crimson—but you have not accepted it."
"It feeds you power through memory, not Qi."
"And memory… is sealed behind pain."
She raised one claw-like hand and pointed behind him.
He turned. Twelve graves emerged from the velvet ash.
One was open.
---
> "They feared you long before your blade touched the prince's throat," she said.
"They feared your question."
> "What question?"
> "Why didn't Heaven scream when your parents did."
The words stabbed deeper than any spear.
His fists tightened. His breath quickened.
> "You remember more than they want you to," she continued.
"And less than you should."
> "You speak in riddles," he hissed. "Speak plainly."
> "Very well." She stepped closer. "You are not cultivating a Dao. You are becoming one."
> "And what is the price?" he asked, voice sharp as frost.
> "Everything you once were. Everyone you once loved. Every belief you once held dear."
> "I already lost them all."
> "No," she whispered.
"You only forgot them."
---
> "There was a time before the Heavenly Order. Before scripture. Before silence."
"The Dao was not divided. It was whole. Crimson."
"They severed it. Cut its root."
"And buried it beneath the Twelve Graves."
> "So that no one could remember it?" he asked.
> "So no one could become it."
A pause.
> "One grave is open now, Yi Mochen."
"What crawled out… may not be you."
"But it is waiting for you to return."
---
The dream began to unravel. The veiled statues turned their heads.
The sky cracked into strings. The Pale Widow's face dissolved.
And just before everything faded, she whispered:
> "Not all who dream wake.
Not all who wake… remain themselves."
---
Yi Mochen opened his eyes in the Bone Lantern Forest.
The scroll lay beside him, sealed in black silk, marked with the Crimson Crescent sigil.
He did not reach for it.
Instead, he stared up at the fractured sky—its crimson hues now matching the Yin-Yang of the dream. The air smelled of ash and lotuses. His breathing slowed.
> "The Pale Widow is not a ghost," he murmured.
"She is what I could become."
He looked down at his hands. They did not tremble.
> "I am still myself," he said.
But he wasn't sure anymore.
Far off, he heard a lotus blooming.
And the wind began to whisper names.
---