The courtyard stank of blood and damp earth, the kind of smell that stuck in your throat and wouldn't let go. Rain had fallen earlier, turning the flagstones slick and dark, and now Jian Ruochen's knees dug into them, cold seeping through his torn robes.
Chains wrapped tight around his wrists and ankles, glowing with those cursed sealing runes that hummed softly, draining every bit of qi from his body. He tried again to pull on his inner energy, just a spark to fight back, but it slipped away like water through his fingers. His arms felt like lead, his chest heavy, as if someone had piled stones on him while he slept.
Those Azure Sky Sect banners whipped in the wind overhead, blue silk flashing with clouds and old symbols meant to stand for strength and purity. He'd spent most of his life under them, pushing through endless training sessions until his body screamed for mercy, convinced they meant something real, loyalty, family in arms, a shot at rising above the mortal grind. Today, they just hung there like silent judges, snapping back and forth in the breeze, laughing at how wrong he'd been.
People packed the square all around him. Elders in their long gray robes stood tall, faces set like carved stone. Disciples he'd trained with, shared meals with, they clustered behind, whispering. His sworn brothers, the ones he'd fought side by side with against beast hordes and rival sects, avoided his eyes or glared outright. But the one that cut deepest was his mother.
She stood right up front in her pale robes, wind tugging at the edges, her back straight as a sword. She positioned herself next to the sect master, almost like she belonged there with him. Her head dipped just a little, hair pulled back in that simple knot she'd worn forever. And her eyes? They stayed fixed on the ground, never once lifting to meet his.
Sect Master Liang stepped into the open space, his voice booming out like a storm breaking over the mountains. He was built like a wall, his cultivation deep into Core Formation, qi rolling off him in waves that made the air buzz.
"Jian Ruochen, you kneel here, accused of crimes that stain the very soul of our Azure Sky Sect. You have schemed with demonic cultivators from the Shadow Veil Mountains. You have raided our sacred vaults, stealing artifacts passed down from our ancestors. And worst of all, you have slain three of your own brothers in cultivation, inner disciples who trusted you."
The accusations hit like punches to the gut.
The crowd stirred, murmurs turning into angry shouts.
"Traitor!" one voice cut through from the back.
"He deserves worse than death!" another spat, and someone actually hurled a rock that skittered across the stones near his feet.
Ruochen lifted his head, chains clinking, and looked around. Elder Ren, the old man who'd drilled his first sword techniques into him hour after hour, just nodded like this was all expected.
Brother Wei, the guy he'd split a jug of rice wine with after their last big win against the Iron Fist Clan, crossed his arms and smirked. And his mother... she stayed still, lips tight, staring at nothing.
"It's all lies!" Ruochen croaked out, his throat scratched raw from yelling in the cells earlier.
He'd begged for a real hearing, demanded they check the so-called evidence, those demonic talismans they "found" in his room, the blood smears on his spare clothes that matched the dead disciples.
They were planted, every last bit of it. He could guess why, too; it was jealousy from those who'd seen him climb the ranks too fast, perhaps even the sect master, who worried about a threat to his power.
"You have to know it's fabricated. I've given my blood for this sect. Fought on the borders, risked my neck for all of you. Master Liang, you guided my breakthroughs yourself. How can you stand there and swallow this?"
The sect master didn't even blink. His eyes locked on Ruochen's, cold as winter steel.
"The proof stands firm. Witnesses have spoken under oath. Your qi traces linger on the murder blade like a signature."
"Witnesses?" Ruochen barked a laugh that turned into a hacking cough, blood flecking his lips. The chains were doing their job, weakening him by the second.
"Bought or scared into it, you mean. Who gains from framing me? Not the demons, not the dead. Look closer, it's someone here, twisting things for their own climb!"
Pain exploded at the back of his neck as Elder Ren's hand chopped down, qi-infused and precise, sending fireworks bursting behind his eyes. He lurched forward, chains yanking him up short, knees scraping harder against the stone.
Two big enforcer disciples grabbed his shoulders, fingers digging in like vices, and tore off his outer robe. The chill wind slapped his bare skin, raising bumps all over his arms and chest. Old scars from battles past stood out white and jagged, marks from claws, blades, even a poison needle that had nearly ended him years ago. Each one was a story of loyalty he'd thought would protect him.
"Enough," Elder Ren snarled, voice rough as sand. "Your words are poison, traitor. You've dragged our reputation through the mud."
Ruochen twisted against the grip, ignoring the fresh ache, and stared hard at his mother. She'd been his rock since he was a kid, scraping by after his father got torn apart in a beast wave. She'd sold her jewelry for his sect entry, woken him at first light for qi gathering, patched him up when training left him bloody. Her quiet fire had kept him going.
"Mother," he said, voice breaking on the word like brittle ice. "Say something. You know who I am. You made me this way."
Her eyes flicked up then, meeting his for a split second. No fire, no pain, just a flat, empty look, like he was a ghost already. Then she turned her head, gazing off at the whipping banners instead.
A thick silence blanketed the courtyard as Sect Master Liang lifted his hand high. Qi swirled around it, glowing faintly.
"Jian Ruochen, for these betrayals, your cultivation core will be shattered, and your life cut short. Let this serve as a warning for others who might think to follow his path; there is no mercy for those who turn against their own. May your soul wander lost, denied the wheel of rebirth."
The attack came fast, a blast of qi from his palm, slamming into Ruochen's lower belly like a battering ram. White agony tore through him, his dantian cracking apart, the energy he'd built over twenty hard years exploding in shards that ripped at his insides.
Qi leaked out in glowing streams, fading into the air like dying fireflies. He screamed, body jerking wild, more blood bubbling up his throat. His arms and legs went limp, vision swimming, the world tilting sideways.
He slumped down, chains rattling loudly in the quiet, forehead smacking the stone. Pain pulsed in waves, each one fainter, his strength draining away. He wanted to roar at them, spit curses until his last breath, demand answers. But all that came was a weak gasp.
The executioner moved in, a stocky disciple with a longsword that caught the gray light. The blade looked sharp enough to slice the wind. Ruochen forced his head up one more time, eyes on his mother's turned back. She hadn't budged. The sword plunged down, steel biting into his chest with a sickening thud, sliding deep between ribs to pierce his heart.
Shock hit first, cold and numb, no real pain yet. Then it bloomed, a fire spreading through his veins like wildfire. Vision grayed out, banners blurring to blue streaks. Voices muffled to a buzz.
His final thought burned clear. If there is even a spark of justice left in this world, let me return. Let me repay every drop of this blood.
The stone under him vanished. No body left, just his soul tumbling free, weightless and falling. Down through endless black, wind rushing past what used to be his ears.
Silence wrapped him at first, broken only by that falling rush. Then whispers crept in, soft like leaves in a dead forest. They grew louder, twisting into voices he knew: Elder Ren hissing "traitor," his mother murmuring "failure," Brother Wei laughing sharp and cruel. Accusations piled up, "thief," "killer," "blind fool", pulling at him, trying to tear his essence apart.
A deep chill sank in next, colder than any mountain peak he'd meditated on. It wasn't just temperature; it was emptiness, the lack of life itself. Gray mist swirled around, thick and grabbing, slowing him as he dropped through layer after layer.
Memories hit in flashes: his mother's proud smile at his first qi sense, late-night talks with sworn brothers about grand futures, the shock of finding those fake talismans too late. Regret knifed through him, hotter than the pain.
How long was he falling for? Minutes? Years? Centuries? It blurred together until the drop eased. His soul touched down on something firm but strange, like shadow made solid, no real weight to it. Whispers died to a faint echo, darkness pressing close. But far off, a red glow pulsed, steady as a heart.
He drifted toward it, pulled by some force. The light grew, showing twisted shapes: bones piled high, chains wrapping them tight. It sharpened into a throne, huge and dark, built from blackened skeletons lashed with blood-red links. Power hummed from it, vibrating his soul like a struck gong.
On the throne sat a figure, hidden in swirling shadows, broad and still. Only eyes showed, glowing red coals, staring out into the abyss.
Ruochen halted, caution screaming inside him. This wasn't some mortal hall; it felt ancient, like the forbidden world of the gods.
The eyes shifted, locking on him. Silence hung thick, stretching long.
A voice rumbled out, deep as an earthquake. "Ages have passed since a mortal soul sank this far into my realm."
Ruochen braced, soul coiling tight. "What realm is this? Some pit for demons?"
The figure froze. Shadows trembled, the solid shadow ground shaking under him. Air grew thick, crushing down. The voice turned sharp, anger slicing through. "Demon? You lump me with those filth-eaters, scavenging on weak souls?"
Ruochen stayed quiet, fear mixing with defiance. He waited.
The shake stopped, and the figure let out a slow breath, almost tired-sounding. The eyes narrowed, probing deeper, like they were digging into his core. Seconds passed, then longer, the gaze peeling back layers.
"Ah... now I see." The voice softened a touch. "The cracks in you, the heavy pull that dragged you here. Betrayed by your own. Lies spun into chains. A blade from kin, ending it all." A pause, the eyes flickering. "Your story... it echoes mine. Trust given, then shattered by those closest."
Ruochen felt exposed, like his thoughts were laid bare. "How do you know that? You just..."
The figure leaned in a bit, shadows parting to show a strong jaw. "This place strips away masks. Souls come bare, their pains shining out. Yours burns fiercely, a sect's false justice, a mother's cold turn, brothers turning knives. I know that sting. Long ago, I trusted gods and thought them my allies, only to be bound here by their schemes."
The words hit home, stirring Ruochen's buried rage. He remembered the courtyard chill, the blade's bite, his mother's averted face.
"They took everything. My path, my honor... even my blood kin stood by and watched."
"Blood cuts deepest," the figure said, voice low and understanding. "It festers, turns pain to poison. But poison can become a weapon if you shape it right."
Ruochen floated closer, curiosity winning over fear. "Who are you exactly? Why pull me here?"
"I am one chained by betrayal, waiting in this void for reckoning. Gods sealed me, fearing my justice. I did not pull you here, it was your grudge that called you down, past where faint souls linger. Your pain resonates with this realm." The eyes held steady. "What would you trade to hit back? To watch their certainty crumble?"
Ruochen thought of the faces, the lies. "I'd trade a lot. But offers like this... they always hide hooks."
A soft laugh rumbled, wise rather than mean. "Smart to question. Yet some hooks forge stronger blades." The voice grew serious. "I can't wipe your death clean, but I can spark life anew. A fresh body, a way to settle scores. In trade, lend your hand to my own vendetta."
They talked more, Ruochen pressing for details, what body, what vendetta. The figure spoke of scattered fragments, debts owed across realms, but kept it vague, promising power beyond his old cultivation. Doubt nagged, but vengeance burned hotter.
Finally, Ruochen nodded. "If it lets me face them, make them pay... I accept."
The figure dipped its head. "Then rise anew, forged in blood."
A surge of heat roared through Jian Ruochen's soul, like fire and ice colliding in his core. The throne of blackened bones and crimson chains blurred, shadows twisting into a vortex that swallowed the red glow of the figure's eyes. The ground beneath him dissolved, and he was no longer standing but hurtling upward, weightless yet heavy, as if some unseen force had seized him and flung him toward the heavens. The whispers that had haunted his descent, accusations, laughter, and his mother's cold voice, faded to nothing, replaced by a rushing wind that screamed past his awareness.
His soul burned, stretched thin like molten metal being hammered into shape. Pain came in waves, not sharp like the executioner's blade but deep, as if his essence was being remolded. He tried to scream, to demand what was happening, but he had no mouth, no body, only the sensation of racing upward through layers of dark mist. The chill of the void gave way to warmth, faint at first, then growing until it wrapped him like a blanket. Light flickered ahead, soft and golden, nothing like the harsh red of the throne room.
Faster now, he shot through the last veil of darkness. The world snapped into focus, and his soul slammed into something solid, tight, confining. He gasped, or tried to, and his eyes flew open.
Above him was a face, soft and radiant, framed by dark hair that spilled over her shoulders. Her eyes, warm and brown, crinkled at the edges as she smiled down at him. She was beautiful, her features glowing in the dim light of a wooden room, a lantern casting shadows on the walls. Her lips moved, murmuring something soft, but his ears couldn't make sense of it yet. His vision swam, blurry at the edges, like he was looking through water.
Ruochen tried to speak, to ask where he was, who she was. "Waaah... guh... wha?" [Where am I? Who are you?] The sounds that came out were high-pitched, garbled, nothing like his voice. Panic spiked through him. He tried again, forcing words. "Bwah... wha... gah!" [What's happening to me?] His mouth wouldn't obey, spitting out nonsense instead of speech. He wanted to sit up, to move, but his body felt wrong, small, weak, flailing. His arms jerked, tiny hands waving uselessly in the air, fingers curled into soft fists.
The woman laughed gently, her voice like a melody, and leaned closer. Her hands, warm and steady, adjusted something soft around him, a blanket, he realized. "There, there, little one," she said, her tone soothing. "You're safe now. Such a strong cry already."
Ruochen's mind reeled. Little one? Cry? He tried to shout again. "Guh... wah... stop!" [Stop! Tell me what's going on!] But it was just more babyish babble, loud and frantic. His heart, or whatever passed for it in this new form, pounded. He focused on his body, willing it to move properly, but all he got was another weak flop of his arms, too short, too soft. His legs kicked, and he felt the weight of a cloth wrapped tight around him.
The room came into sharper focus as his eyes adjusted. Wooden beams overhead, a faint smell of herbs and clean linen. Another voice spoke from nearby, rougher, older. "Is it healthy?" A woman in a plain robe stepped into view, her hair gray and tied back, hands wiping on a cloth. She looked down at him, inspecting, her face lined but kind.
"Perfectly healthy," the beautiful woman above him said, her smile widening. She lifted him slightly, cradling his head in her palm. "Look at those eyes. So bright already."
Ruochen wanted to scream. "Waaa... guh... no!" [No! I'm not a child! I'm Jian Ruochen!] His voice betrayed him, coming out as wails. His tiny body squirmed, helpless, as the truth crashed in; he was a baby, reborn just as the figure had promised, but trapped in this useless form. His mind spun with questions. Where was he? Was this the new vessel the figure spoke of? And what price would he pay for this second chance?
The older woman chuckled, leaning closer. "A lively one, isn't he? What's the family name?"
The beautiful woman, his new mother, he realized with a jolt, brushed a finger along his cheek, her touch gentle. "We'll decide soon," she said softly. "For now, he's our little miracle."
Ruochen tried one last time to speak, to demand answers. "Bwah... wha... why?" [Why is this happening?] But it was just another cry, shrill and meaningless. His tiny chest heaved, frustration boiling inside him, but his body wouldn't listen.
The older woman straightened, nodding to someone out of his sight. "Tell the father," she said, voice warm with pride. "It's a boy."