Chapter 1: The Foretold Calamity
The heavens wept the night he was born.
A blood moon hung high in the sky, draped in ghostly clouds that slithered like serpents across its face. Thunder rumbled from within the bowels of the earth, not from above. The mountains surrounding the Celestial Void Sect trembled, their snow-covered peaks shedding frost as if the heavens themselves feared what had just come into the world.
Deep within the Celestial Void Sect, in the inner sanctum of the main hall, elders gathered, their expressions grave, backs straight like blades, and hearts heavy with unease. A child's wail echoed through the stone corridors of the sect, its sound sharper than any sword, clearer than any divine bell.
The newborn was brought forth wrapped in black silk, his eyes wide and golden like twin suns, reflecting a wisdom unnatural for a babe. But more striking than his gaze was the faint mark on his chest—a swirling black sigil resembling an inverted lotus blooming in reverse.
A calamity mark.
The Grand Seer of the Celestial Void Sect, an old woman with sightless eyes and a soul steeped in prophecy, trembled as she saw the child.
"Born under the Crimson Convergence… within the forbidden hour… the child bears the Calamity Sigil. This one… will destroy the balance of the realms."
A deathly silence fell.
Sect Master Di Tian, robed in robes of void-black and gold trim, stepped forward. His face was carved like ancient jade, perfect, impassive, and merciless. His gaze swept across the gathered council, then settled on the crying infant.
"This child," Di Tian said coldly, "must be eliminated before his shadow poisons our future."
"But he is only a babe," whispered Elder Mo, voice trembling. "He is still innocent."
"Innocent?" Di Tian interrupted. "He is not born of fate, but against it. Do you wish to gamble the survival of the entire cultivation world for sentiment?"
The Grand Seer bowed her head. "Even the stars recoil from his birth. His future cannot be scryed. His destiny… leads to ash."
The decree was made.
The child was to be executed before the moon set.
But the heavens are not so easily manipulated.
That same night, a shadow moved within the sect grounds silently, swiftly, and without hesitation. Zhou Ming, a man once bound by slave seals to serve the previous sect master Zhi Fan's true father, stole through the dark with a bundle cradled to his chest. His once handsome face was scarred, one eye blinded by torture long past, his spirit marred but unbroken.
He had made a promise. A promise to a dying master and a woman whose cries still haunted him.
Zhou Ming's heart thundered like a war drum as he leapt across the high walls of the sect. Guards patrolled in tight formations, and beasts prowled the skies, but he knew the hidden routes the forgotten tunnels carved beneath the earth during the founding war of the sect.
He used blood to activate an ancient teleportation talisman, his own vitality burning away to shield the child from detection. And then, they vanished into the wild north, far from the reach of the Celestial Void Sect.
The child's name had not been uttered within the sect. But in that moment, as the wind howled around them and Zhou Ming looked down at the infant, he whispered the name his mother had given him.
"Zhi Fan. You will not die as they wished. You will live… even if the world bleeds for it."
Years passed.
The boy grew far from civilization, hidden in a forsaken valley surrounded by monster-filled forests and jagged mountains. Zhou Ming raised him with a quiet ferocity, teaching him not only to read and write, but to kill. Every morning began with martial drills, and every night ended with tales of the world that had cast him aside.
Zhi Fan was not like other children. By the age of six, his body was as strong as a teenager's. By nine, he could crush boulders with his bare hands. He bled slower. He healed faster. And his golden eyes never dulled. But even more terrifying was his intuition; he seemed to know danger before it came. He could sense killing intent from creatures that hadn't yet moved.
And when he fought… he felt alive.
At thirteen, he stood before a waterfall with a wooden blade Zhou Ming had carved. He practiced for hours, cutting through falling water, the impact rippling through his arms. He did not stop even when his bones ached, even when his vision blurred.
Zhou Ming watched from afar, his expression unreadable.
"He's already stronger than most Qi Refinement cultivators," Zhou Ming muttered. "And yet, he's still only in the Body Refinement realm."
But strength alone would not be enough.
The world outside did not care for strength without power. And Zhi Fan's enemies were not mortals, they were sect elders, Nascent Soul cultivators, demonic beasts, and fate itself.
Still, in that cold, merciless valley, a seed was growing.
A harbinger of chaos.
A blade against destiny.
[End of Chapter 1]