Chapter 1 – The Fallen Immortal God
The Ninth Heaven was silent. Not the ordinary silence of empty skies, but the oppressive stillness that made even time hesitate. Clouds of silver and gold swirled endlessly like liquid light, stretching into infinity. Below the throne of celestial jade, countless immortals bowed their heads, whispering prayers, rumors, and fear.
At the pinnacle, standing amidst the brilliance of eternity, was Tian Xian. The God of Sword and Time. His robes shimmered with the essence of aeons, and the sword in his hand pulsed with the rhythm of countless lives. To the eyes of ordinary beings, he was untouchable, a presence that dwarfed mountains, oceans, and even the stars themselves.
Yet now, he felt the world betray him in the most intimate way.
His disciple, the one he had nurtured from infancy, now stood before him with eyes colder than the void between worlds. Beside the boy, a woman whose beauty once made even the Celestial Empress bow now glowed with a cruel, detached light. Both had conspired to deliver a single, undeniable truth: Tian Xian had no place in this realm anymore.
"Tian Xian," the disciple said, voice steady, unwavering, "the era of your rule has ended. Heaven demands a new order."
A bitter laugh escaped Tian Xian's lips, though it was thin and hollow. "Heaven?" he repeated. "Do you even know what you speak? Heaven does not demand—it obeys. And if it dares defy me…"
He raised his sword, but before it could flash, the disciple moved. Fast. Blindingly fast, as though he had become one with the flow of time itself. A blade of condensed light pierced Tian Xian's chest, shattering the golden aura around him. The shock was not just physical; it was existential. Time fractured in concentric waves, memories of a thousand years collapsing in a single heartbeat.
Tian Xian staggered. He looked down at the gash in his immortal flesh, disbelief and fury mingling in his divine eyes.
"You… how?" His voice trembled—not from fear, but from rage.
The woman stepped forward, her hands weaving intricate patterns of divine energy. "Forgive me, Tian Xian," she said, her tone unnervingly gentle. "If you had survived, nothing in Heaven would ever change. I cannot allow that."
A surge of pain unlike anything mortal could imagine tore through his chest. Golden blood spilled over his robes, dripping into the infinite clouds below. He should have fallen then, utterly. His divine life, spanning countless aeons, should have ended.
And yet, in that moment of annihilation, his mind was still sharp.
> "If Heaven dares betray me… I will return."
His soul, no longer bound by his mortal—or immortal—vessel, broke free. He was a storm of memories, power, and sheer will. Time itself seemed to recoil from him, twisting and bending as his essence hurtled across dimensions, away from the Ninth Heaven, away from betrayal.
The last thing he saw before the void consumed him entirely was the cruel smile of his once-beloved. It burned into him, a memory that would haunt even eternity.
---
He awoke in darkness.
At first, it felt like nothingness. No stars, no wind, no pulse of the world. Then, slowly, the senses returned—fragile, human, weak. He gasped, feeling the ragged beating of a mortal heart. His body was small, frail, and unfamiliar.
He opened his eyes to a dimly lit room. The walls were wooden, crude, and trembling with age. A thin, tattered blanket barely covered him, and a faint scent of smoke and damp earth clung to the air.
He moved—carefully, as if each muscle was a stranger—and looked at his hands. They were thin, calloused, utterly human. And yet, within his veins, a spark of the immortal essence remained, simmering quietly, waiting.
Memories of Tian Xian surged, crystal clear. The betrayal, the blade of light, the laughter, the crushing weight of Heaven turning against him. And then, the promise he had whispered with his last breath as a god:
> "I will return."
A sound interrupted his reverie: a soft cough from the doorway.
A middle-aged woman entered, her face lined with worry and exhaustion. "Lin Feng, are you awake? You slept through most of the morning…"
He froze. Lin Feng. His new name, his new life. The identity of this weak, mortal boy had been thrust upon him, yet he embraced it as a mask, a tool. To the villagers and even his own family, he was nothing more than a sickly, insignificant youth. But Tian Xian's essence would survive in this shell.
"Yes… I am awake," he said, voice hoarse but steady.
The woman's eyes softened. "You've been ill for weeks. Father has been worried, and your siblings…" She hesitated, then added, "They'll be glad to see you moving again."
Family. He remembered them now. This Lin Feng had a mother who cared, a father whose health was fading but still alive, and siblings who struggled under the weight of poverty. A simple life, a life he once would have considered beneath notice. Yet now, it was a battlefield in its own way. Survival. Strength. Growth.
Tian Xian—no, Lin Feng—stood and stretched, testing his newfound body. Weak. Fragile. Yet determination burned brighter than ever. Every fiber of his being screamed that he would cultivate, endure, and rise. The path would be long, and this mortal vessel was a limitation, but it was also a canvas.
He began with the basics: breathing techniques, energy awareness, and meditation. Even in this weak form, he could sense the faint pulse of Qi in the air, the hidden currents in the soil, the ebb and flow of nature. He smiled bitterly. In his previous life, he had manipulated the strands of time itself. Here, he would learn patience and subtlety.
Days passed. The villagers continued their routines, oblivious to the divine essence that had returned in fragile flesh. Lin Feng practiced tirelessly in the bamboo grove behind his home, cultivating energy, testing limits, and occasionally collapsing in exhaustion. Pain was constant, a reminder that he was no longer Tian Xian, not yet. But even as his body struggled, his mind remained sharp, mapping techniques, devising strategies, recalling ancient arts that no mortal should know.
One evening, the sun dipped behind distant mountains, casting a crimson glow over the village. Lin Feng sat on a rock at the edge of the forest, watching the world with godly perception.
> "Heaven thought it could erase me. They thought betrayal would end me. But even in this weak form… I am still Tian Xian."
His fingers traced the air, feeling the threads of Qi ripple in response. A deer moved silently nearby, its presence calm and unthreatening. In the distance, wolves howled, their calls echoing against the mountains. Lin Feng's eyes glimmered.
> "I will grow stronger. I will master this mortal vessel. And then…" His voice dropped to a whisper, carried away by the wind. "Heaven, your end will come."
Night fell, but Lin Feng could not rest. He gazed at the stars, recalling the infinite expanse of the Ninth Heaven, the throne of jade, and the faces of those who had betrayed him. Rage and grief intertwined with determination. Every breath, every heartbeat, was a promise.
The path of cultivation awaited. The weak would rise. The mortal would reclaim the divine. And the god who was betrayed… would return.
---
This was only the beginning.
Lin Feng did not yet know the full extent of mortal limitations, nor the trials he would face in this world of cultivators, sects, and hidden realms. But one truth remained: even reborn in flesh, a god's will cannot be broken.
And somewhere, in the echoes of time, the Ninth Heaven would tremble again.