Weeks later, while gathering herbs near Mirror Lake, Li Tianyuan felt a pull.
Not from below.
But from behind reality itself.
The lake shimmered unnaturally.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward.
And fell through.
He landed in ancient ruins buried beneath the water.
Broken pillars.
Collapsed halls.
A shattered plaque reading:
Shattered Dao Sect
A faint voice echoed.
"You can hear it, can't you?"
A translucent figure emerged.
An old man in black robes.
Eyes deep as the void.
"I am Mo Xian. The last remnant of this sect."
Li Tianyuan did not bow.
"Why does Heaven want me dead?"
Mo Xian smiled faintly.
"Because you are cultivating what they stole."
He waved his sleeve.
A mural lit up.
It showed mortals once standing equal with beings of light.
Then war.
Then chains descending from the sky.
"Heaven is not a guardian," Mo Xian said softly.
"It is a jailer."