The air was still. Not a leaf stirred, not a breeze whispered. It was as though time itself had frozen.
Yet in the heart of this stillness, Shen Yuan sat cross-legged in the lotus position, his eyes closed, his face calm but his brows faintly knit. On the outside, his body remained motionless—but within, a storm raged.
In the depths of his consciousness, he found himself once again in his old village, a place now buried under centuries of dust and memory. There, under the dappled sunlight, a young boy no older than ten running barefoot across the dirty path, smiling in joy.
It was no other than Shen Yuan, when he was ten.
His grandfather knelt in the garden, hands buried in soil, calling out to him.
"You lazy brat, if you don't help me water these herbs, I'll make you eat every single bitter root!"
The younger Shen Yuan laughed and ran faster, flailing a bucket of water with more enthusiasm than accuracy. He splashed himself, the ground, and most of the roof—but none of the plants.
Watching from afar, the present Shen Yuan stood silent. The breeze brushed past him, but he felt none of it. There was no time here, only memory.
He stepped forward.
His feet didn't make a sound.
"So naive…" he thought. "So free. That version of me didn't even know what death smelled like."
He watched his younger self tumble onto his grandfather, both laughing as they fell back into the soil. He felt a hollow ache gnaw at the edges of his heart.
But as he reached out—
The scene fractured.
From light to flame, from joy to ash.
Now he stood in that same village, but this time everything was ablaze. Screams rang out. Blood stained the earth. His younger self ran—but too late. His grandfather lay dying, chest heaving, lips moving without sound.
He was powerless. Just a child, crushed beneath the weight of fate.
Flames devoured homes. Screams echoed. He just stood and re-experienced the moment of helplessness, watching his grandfather perish, unable to stop it, unable to even scream. The faces of the few friends he had back then blurred and vanished into the black.
Then came the stillness again. Pitch black.
Moments later, a different memory emerged. The battle from 300 years ago—his last one in Fengyue. Elder Tian Xu standing above him, laughing. Shen Yuan, coughing blood, dying with hatred in his eyes, tearing aprart by chains, being devoured in the chrono void. Then Bai Chen—his supposed friend—walked away, silent. Betrayal heavier than death.
Again and again, the scenes played. Over a thousand times. Each cycle a loop of hatred, grief, and regret.
Again and again.
His grandfather's death.
The betrayal.
The battlefield.
The laughter.
The silence.
It didn't matter where the sequence began—it always returned to pain. And each time, Shen Yuan questioned something new.
"Is this... my domain?" Shen Yuan wondered. "A domain of memories? Of hatred? Of what I couldn't change?"
Outside, his expression had changed. His usually composed features were now contorted, brows drawn down in fury, lips tight with repressed emotion. He looked on the verge of madness.
Even though Shen Yuan's future and past everything got erased by the chrono void, the memories, he still remembered them. Even though these weren't real outcome loops, these were the loops of his regret and anger, of him knowing what he could have done. But it also did help him, since he doesn't exist in the future or past anymore, only in the present he can choose what he wants without the fear of decided fate to a certain extent at least.
Steward Yan, seated silently nearby, observed him with calm eyes. With a wise tone and the lightest of smiles, he spoke.
"Control your hatred," he said gently. "Only then can you walk your path. This is the first step to defying the heavens."
His words echoed in Shen Yuan's mind.
Inside, Shen Yuan paused.
"No... I can't change what happened…" he thought. "But I can make sure I don't make the same mistakes again."
The shadows of his past slowly faded. The images dispersed like mist in morning light. A new figure appeared now—draped in red, with eyes that flickered like fire and a smile he couldn't quite understand.
Feng Yanqing.
She stood there, arms crossed, expression both teasing and sincere. Among all people in this world, she was the only one who truly tried to understand him. He didn't know if it was love, longing, or the warmth of being seen—but whatever it was, he treasured it.
He reached out—but she faded.
Pitch black returned. But this time, he had an idea and then chose what he never thought he would before.
He replayed his own death. Not once, but many times. He studied it like a scholar studying ancient scripture. Then he examined his companions—five paths they could take: loyalty, betrayal, sacrifice, abandonment, indifference.
Life. Death. Time. Choice. Consequence.
"There is something beyond these", he realized. "Not just forces... but choices."
Then came clarity.
Outside, a faint smile appeared on his lips—serene and terrifying.
Steward Yan smirked. He had been waiting. With a simple flick of his fingers, he released his domain. Time resumed.
The air returned to motion. Birds chirped again. The disciples in the hall who had long since gone quiet now stirred as Shen Yuan opened his eyes—eyes that now gleamed with frightening clarity.
He rose to his feet, his expression unreadable but no longer burdened by fury.
"Thank you, Steward Yan," he said, cupping his fists respectfully.
"There is no need to thank me," the old man replied, face suddenly serious. "But tell me... what enlightenment did you exactly have?"
Shen Yuan paused for a breath. His voice, when it came, was steady.
"Life and death… mere pages in the same scroll, written by the brush of time. One does not end where the other begins—they flow, endlessly intertwined. In the eyes of eternity, they are not opposites, but choices... illusions wrapped in sequence. And if I hold the quill, then even fate shall beg for permission to turn its own page."
Silence.
Then Steward Yan laughed—a low, satisfied chuckle that carried pride and awe.
"You truly are something else," he said. "Go now. Go and cultivate it."
Shen Yuan turned to leave. "You didn't need to tell me that," he replied without turning back.
As the door closed behind him, the five companions who had remained silent all this time exhaled deeply.
A long silence followed.
Then—
Tang Jiyan stepped forward. "Steward Yan… What was that just now?"
"Was that a… vision?" Xiang Xiaoli asked hesitantly. "Or some sort of domain trial?"
Steward Yan didn't respond right away. He gazed outside at the trees, then finally answered.
"He had an enlightenment. A real one."
Dong Chen furrowed his brow. "Enlightenment on what?"
"Karma," Steward Yan said.
The hall fell silent.
Tang Jiyan took a step back. "Y-you mean… he is planning on making his domain after karma…?"
"No one's ever successfully cultivated that," Xiang Xiaoli whispered.
Steward Yan nodded. "That's true. Even I failed. And could only have the domain of time"
"Is it even possible?" Dong Chen asked. "Time, Death, and Life are already near-impossible… but Karma? No one in history—"
"Everything is impossible," Steward Yan interrupted softly, "until someone takes the first step."
They said nothing after that.
But in their hearts, something shifted.
If Shen Yuan succeeded, he wouldn't just walk a new path.
He could very well be able to rewrite the very idea of fate.
Meanwhile, in another chamber, the prince of Fengyue played a slow game of chess with Bai Chen.
"You believe he'll reach the Elysian Realm in five days?" the prince asked, eyes narrowed.
Bai Chen moved a piece, casually. "He won't and will reach it. Both."
"Umm… what….?"
"It's Shen Yuan."
The prince sighed. "But five days? With an original domain? Also you are confusing me with your riddles."
Bai Chen made the final move. "Checkmate."
The prince didn't even look at the board.
"Anyways, what do you mean when you said he'll both reach and not reach the Elysian Realm?" he asked.
Bai Chen smiled, eyes faintly glowing.
"You'll see," he said, "when the time comes."