The night was heavy with silence.
Clouds smothered the moon, drowning Sky-Splitting Peak in shadow. The mountain's usual chorus of swords humming faintly in the night seemed subdued, as if even steel itself held its breath.
In his courtyard, Xu Tian sat in meditation. The fragments of his father's scroll echoed in his mind:
The ninth sky is not a place above… but a thread beyond. To cut it is to cut what binds all.
He traced the meaning again and again, his sword resting across his knees. His qi flowed like quiet water, yet beneath it he felt something darker — threads of unseen tension coiling around him.
Whispers. Not of gossip, but of killing intent.
The first sound came like a drop of water against stone. A faint click beyond the courtyard wall. Xu Tian's eyes snapped open.
He remained motionless, his breathing steady. In the stillness, he felt it again — the shift of unseen threads. His fate tugged. Danger.
Three shadows vaulted over the wall, their movements silent as serpents. Their faces were hidden beneath black cloth, but the faint gleam of swords betrayed their intent.
Xu Tian rose slowly, calm as still water. "Assassins?"
The tallest of the three hissed, "Xu Tian. The sect praises you as a genius, but Heaven does not favor those who walk cursed paths. Tonight, your brilliance dies."
Their swords gleamed coldly in the dark.
The assassins struck as one. Blades flashed, arcs of steel aimed to pierce his chest, throat, and heart in perfect unison.
Xu Tian's body flowed backward, his robe brushing the air as he sidestepped. His sword whispered from its sheath, parrying two blades in a single movement. The third slashed across his sleeve, drawing a shallow line of blood upon his arm.
The assassins pressed harder, strikes fast and ruthless. These were not common disciples; their blades bore killing intent honed by practice.
But as their steel descended, Xu Tian felt it again: threads. Lines binding each movement, each outcome. Threads he could touch — and cut.
His eyes sharpened.
The next strike descended toward his throat. Xu Tian's sword rose — not to block, but to sever. The assassin's balance faltered mid-swing, as if fortune itself abandoned him. His foot slipped, his wrist twisted, and his blade missed by a hair's breadth.
Xu Tian's counterstroke was calm, precise. The assassin collapsed, clutching his side, his sword clattering into the dirt.
The other two froze, shock flickering in their eyes.
"You… what did you do?" one hissed.
Xu Tian's voice was soft, almost pitying. "I cut what you could not see."
Their fear turned to fury. They lunged again, blades screaming in the night.
Xu Tian's sword moved like flowing moonlight. With each parry, the invisible threads bent and snapped. His opponents grew clumsier, their strikes wild. Fortune turned against them — pebbles caught their boots, shadows misled their steps, their blades slipped from sweat-slick hands.
In less than ten breaths, they lay sprawled upon the stone, groaning in defeat.
Xu Tian lowered his sword, his expression unreadable. He stepped toward the leader and pulled away his mask.
A disciple's face. Ordinary, forgettable. But the insignia sewn upon his inner robe was not — the emblem of Bai Heng's clan.
Xu Tian's eyes darkened.
"Bai Heng," he murmured. "So this is how far your envy festers."
The assassin spat blood. "It matters not. Even if you kill us, whispers will spread. You are cursed. Heaven itself rejects you. The sect will see it soon enough."
Xu Tian's blade hovered at his throat, steady as a winter frost. He could end the man's life with a breath. But he lowered the sword.
"No," Tian said quietly. "Your whispers will serve me better than your silence."
He struck the man's temple with the flat of his blade. The assassin collapsed, unconscious.
At dawn, the courtyard was silent once more. Xu Tian cleaned his sword, the faint blood washing away beneath the morning stream.
Zhou Wei burst in, panic in his eyes. "Tian-ge! Rumors spread already. They say assassins came for you — and that you used forbidden arts to twist their fate!"
Xu Tian looked up, calm as ever. "Then let them whisper."
Wei gaped. "But—"
Tian sheathed his sword with a sharp clang. The sound cut through Wei's protests.
"Those who envy me will whisper regardless. Let them think me cursed, so long as they fear me more."
Wei shivered at the calm conviction in Tian's voice.
Elsewhere, in the inner halls of the sect, Bai Heng knelt before an elder of his clan. His face was pale, his words trembling.
"What do you mean, they failed?" the elder demanded coldly.
Bai Heng stammered, "Xu Tian… it's unnatural. He twists battles. His opponents stumble as if their luck abandons them. It is as if he severs fate itself."
The elder's eyes flickered with fear, then rage. "Then the rumors are true. He walks the same path as Xu Jian."
He stood swiftly, his robe billowing. "Report this to the Supreme Elder. If we allow that boy to grow, the sect itself will one day tremble."
In the highest chamber of the sect, the Supreme Elder received the report in silence. His hawk-like gaze turned toward the fractured sky beyond the window.
"So… the son has inherited the father's curse."
His fingers tapped against the armrest, each tap sharp as steel.
"Good. Let the sect whisper. Let him shine brighter, rise higher. When the time comes, his fall will be the more spectacular… and none will question why the heavens themselves struck him down."
That night, Xu Tian sat once more in meditation. The assassins' words echoed in his mind. Cursed. Rejected by Heaven.
His hand tightened on his sword.
"No," he whispered. "Not cursed. Chosen. If Heaven decrees me an enemy, then I shall split Heaven itself."
Above, the fractured sky rumbled with distant thunder. The threads of fate trembled, as if listening.