The morning haze had barely lifted when Chutian stepped outside for the first time since his rebirth.
Liuwu Town was small, little more than a cluster of tiled roofs and muddy paths carved between rice fields. Smoke drifted lazily from kitchen chimneys, mixing with the damp scent of soil and wood.
To everyone else, it was an ordinary dawn.
To him, it was proof that he had survived the impossible.
He inhaled deeply. The world smelled sharper, richer—each drop of dew shimmering with a faint pulse of spiritual essence. The Pure Yang body that had once doomed him was now alive, alert, hungry.
Behind him, Su Lingzhi lingered at the doorway.
"You shouldn't be out yet," she said softly. "Your body—"
He smiled faintly. "It's fine. I need to feel… what I've become."
She looked at him, uncertain, then sighed and stepped back inside.
Chutian walked until the town disappeared behind him. The forest waited at the edge of the plains—ancient trees rising like pillars, their leaves whispering with unseen qi.
He clenched his fists. Heat surged in answer, rippling beneath his skin. With a thought, the warmth gathered into his palms, flaring into faint golden light.
So this is what true power feels like.
But the moment he relaxed his will, the light scorched him. Pain flared sharp and merciless. His vision blurred, his lungs seized with the taste of smoke.
"Not yet…" he hissed, forcing the energy down. "Still too wild."
The Pure Yang fire may have saved him—but without control, it would burn him alive again.
A rustle broke the silence. From the trees emerged three men in dark robes, their faces hidden by scarves. The stench of blood followed them.
"Well, look what we have here," one sneered. "A rich boy out for morning air?"
Chutian said nothing. He recognized the emblem stitched on their sleeves—a flame crossed by a serpent. Blood Serpent Cult, the same group that had kidnapped villagers for "furnace offerings."
The leader grinned, stepping closer. "You reek of pure yang energy. Perfect for our cauldron rites."
At those words, something inside Chutian snapped.
Fire exploded across his aura. The robbers staggered back, eyes wide, as golden light burst from his skin like dawn breaking open.
He barely understood what he was doing—only that the fire inside him demanded release. He drove his fist forward, guided by instinct more than thought. The air ignited.
One man screamed as the blast hurled him into a tree, leaving only smoke and burned cloth.
The other two froze, faces drained of blood.
"Monster," one hissed.
"Pure Yang devil!" shouted the other, fleeing into the woods.
Chutian stood amid the drifting ash, chest heaving, the forest glowing faintly with embers.
His hands trembled—not from fear, but awe.
"I… did that."
The ache that followed was deeper than any wound, but beneath it throbbed exhilaration.
He had killed for the first time in this new world. And for the first time, he no longer felt powerless.
Behind him, Su Lingzhi's voice trembled. She had followed him silently, drawn by the explosion.
"Ah-Tian… what did you do…?"
He turned, golden light still flickering in his eyes.
"What I had to."
His voice was quiet, almost solemn. "If I don't master this fire, it'll master me."
High above, the clouds parted, sunlight striking the burned clearing. It painted Chutian in gold and shadow—as if heaven itself could not decide whether to bless him or curse him.
That day, the first rumor of a Pure Yang devil who burned men with his gaze began to spread across the border towns.
To the world, it was a warning.
To Chutian, it was the start of destiny.