—
The blade pressed cold against her neck.
Little Mù Xuán's small frame trembled, her lashes fluttering with terror.
Her uncle's breath was hot against her ear, thick with the stench of blood and ash.
She could barely understand what was happening.
Why?
Why was Uncle doing this?
Her chest tightened painfully as the image of her parents' faces flashed in her mind—their laughter, her mother's soft hands, her father's proud voice calling her "little moon."
Now their blood painted the stones, warm and sticky beneath her bare feet.
Tears blurred her vision.
Her heart cracked open.
"Uncle… please…" she whispered, voice trembling, but the man behind her only gritted his teeth.
—
But Mù Qiāntáng said nothing.
His burnt hand trembled as it held the sword steady, the faint crackle of torn flesh hissing against the night wind.
The metallic tang of his own blood mixed with the smoke of scorched earth.
His breath came in short gasps; the cold wind stung against his open wounds.
His right arm trembled violently.
He could feel it — his Qi was scattered, his core weakened — he'd lost too much energy escaping the dragon's flames.
My meridians… damn it… I pushed too far.
Still, he didn't loosen his grip.
His eyes flickered with madness and greed beneath the sheen of pain.
He looked at his shaking fingers, his breath uneven, and a sharp bitterness clawed up his throat.
The cold sweat on his forehead wasn't just from pain — it was from fear.
Fear of dying here.
Fear of losing everything he'd schemed for.
—
He leaned close to her ear, his voice hoarse and trembling.
"Xuán'er… forgive your uncle. He has no choice…"
The little girl flinched at his tone.
Her small hands trembled as tears filled her bright blue eyes.
She wanted to scream, to beg him to stop — but no sound came.
Tears spilled down her cheeks — only a sharp, broken sob left her lips as she shook her head over and over.
"Uncle… please…"
Her plea was soft, but it carried through the air like a curse.
Then —
—
The ground trembled.
A sudden rumble tore through the mountainside—like the earth itself had awoken.
Stones rolled down the slope.
A tremor stronger than thunder split the earth wide open.
The dragon, Zhu Yuan, raised its colossal head and released a roar that tore through the heavens.
"GGRRRRRRRAAAAAAAGHHHHHHH!!!"
The sound was primal.
Raw.
Like the cry of a furious deity.
The sky itself seemed to flinch.
Mù Qiāntáng stumbled backward, barely keeping his balance as the ground fractured beneath him.
He looked up at Zhu Yuan's glowing white eyes in shock and fury.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" he roared. "Do you wish to kill her too?!"
The dragon's enormous form loomed through the rain — its scales reflecting shards of lightning, its eyes burning like molten gold.
"Stop!" he screamed again. "Do you want to kill the girl as well?!"
But before his voice could echo again, the air changed.
—
The temperature dropped sharply.
His breath turned to mist.
The cold seeped through his skin, piercing into his bones like thousands of frozen needles.
The air turned cold.
A coldness deeper than any winter, sharper than the steel of his blade.
It sank into his flesh, through his bones, into his very soul. His breath froze midair.
His wounded arm felt as if it were being gnawed by invisible teeth of ice — his wounds burned with unbearable pain.
He gasped, the sword almost slipping from his grip.
"What… what is this cold…"
Then he saw it—
—
Light.
Mù Xuán's dull wet silver hair was no longer just silver.
It glowed, shimmering like liquid moonlight.
Her eyes opened—glowing with a blue so pure it pierced the heart.
And before he could even speak her name, a blast of force erupted from her body.
It was like a thousand storms compressed into one breath.
The shockwave struck him full-on, flinging him backward through air and smoke.
He crashed against the rocky ground, his burnt hand hitting first.
—
"Aaaaargh!!!" he screamed, his voice breaking. He rolled, clutching his arm, his body trembling uncontrollably.
The earth shook again.
Mist gathered thickly around Mù Xuán, swirling faster and faster until it became almost solid — like silver smoke hardening into glass.
Then… stars began to appear within it.
Not real stars — but fragments of light, floating like shards of heaven, circling the girl in a slow, terrifying dance.
Mù Qiāntáng forced himself to look up, his chest heaving.
"What… is this…"
He blinked once. Twice.
Then his eyes widened in horror.
The stars… had become weapons.
Dozens — no, hundreds — swords, spears, and arrows floating around the girl like celestial soldiers awaiting command.
Each weapon radiated cold killing intent.
He froze.
Cold sweat drenched his back.
W–what is this…"
—
Mù Qiāntáng's breath caught in his throat.
He froze, blood running cold.
His heart hammered in his chest as he crawled backward, dragging his useless self through the dirt.
"Xuán'er!
His face twisted with fear.
"Xuán'er! It's me!" he shouted desperately. "Your uncle! Stop this—"
But the girl did not move.
Her glowing blue eyes stared forward, unfocused — as if she were no longer herself.
Her tears still fell, but they shone like liquid glass.
For the first time in hundreds of years, the seasoned general felt his heart tremble with something he hadn't felt since his youth — pure, suffocating terror.
—
Mù Qiāntáng's mind spun.
What is this power?
No one in our realm… not even the Queen herself… could create this.
"Xuán'er!" he tried again, his voice breaking.
"Listen to me! I'm your uncle! Stop!"
But the weapons in the air began to tremble.
Slowly — horribly — they aimed closer.
He felt panic crawl up his throat like fire.
He couldn't believe this.
He'd trained for centuries. He was a general of the northern legions.
Yet here he was, trembling before a child — his own blood — his niece.
He backed away until his shoulders hit the stone wall of the slope.
His breath came in ragged gasps.
"Xuán'er! Please—"
—
Then she spoke — her voice not her usual, but something older, deeper.
It reverberated through the air like a decree from the heavens.
"Uncle…"
He stopped breathing.
"You hurt… Father."
Her eyes glowed brighter, and for the first time, he felt genuine terror — of death.
"Xuán'er… I—"
"You… hurt… Mother."
His blood turned to ice.
"Xuán'er…" he tried again, his voice trembling.
But before he could finish, Zhu Yuan let out a roar that shook the mountains.
—
A bitter taste filled his mouth.
How?
How could that little girl—barely ten years old—command such power?
No one in the realm could summon the 'stars' themselves.
Not even the ancient cultivators of the Lingxuan Realm could forge Qi into solid form so easily.
He felt the pressure of her power closing in, the edge of the ethereal blades grazing his skin.
He began to laugh—a hollow, broken laugh that echoed across the shattered valley.
"Ha… haha… so that's how it is."
He tilted his head toward the sky, eyes clouded with pain and realization.
"This… is my punishment."
He could no longer tell if the tremors in his body came from pain or regret.
—
He thought back—back to the day his life had shattered.
Back to the day of The Choosing.
———
That year, the Nine Rivers aligned.
—
Long before kingdoms rose and fell, before mortals learned to harness Qi, there existed a covenant between Heaven and the Lingxuan Realm — the realm of divine mortals, beings born with heavenly traces in their blood but bound by earthly hearts.
Every five centuries, when the Stars of the Nine Rivers align above the Imperial Lake, the spirit of the sacred beast — the Celestial Dragons awake to choose a new Guardian if he's dead or doesn't have a new bloodline.
The Guardian was the bridge between realms — a mortal vessel blessed with the dragon's essence, sworn to protect the balance between the Heavens, Lingxuan, and the Mortal World.
—
There were Nine Guardian Clans.
—
Each of the Nine Clans guarded one aspect of the Lingxuan Realm:
They were the Mù Clan, the Liú Clan, the Fēng Clan, the Yán Clan, the Hán Clan, the Xuán Clan, the Lóng Clan, the Jiāng Clan and the Qiáo Clan.
—
The first was the Mù Clan (沐氏) who were the Keepers of the Imperial Lake and Blood of Purity. They had produced the most Guardians in history.
Then there were the Liú Clan (流氏), who were masters of Water Qi; responsible for spiritual purification and ancient healing.
Then the Fēng Clan (风氏), who were the controllers of the Four Winds; the scouts and watchers of the realm.
There were also the Yán Clan (炎氏), who were fire bearers; the royal blacksmiths and warriors.
Then the Hán Clan (寒氏), who were ice and snow cultivators; guardians of the northern border.
The Xuán Clan (玄氏) were mystics and prophets who interpret omens and dreams.
The Lóng Clan (龙氏) were descendants of those who once rode divine beasts.
The Jiāng Clan (江氏) were controllers of river Qi; scholars and alchemists.
And lastly the Qiáo Clan (乔氏), who were the lords of shadow and illusion; protectors of secrets.
—
Together, these clans formed the Nine Pillars of the Realm (九柱界).
But power breeds envy.
Honor breeds pride.
And among them, none have been as envied — or hated — as the Mù Clan.
This was because for centuries, Zhu Yuan and the other dragons had only chosen from their bloodline — first the grandfathers, then the fathers, then sons.
Each generation of Mù has been blessed — and cursed — to bear the dragon's power.
Mù Qiāntáng and his brother were born into this glory.
—
The previous Guardian, who has surprisingly been from the Hán clan, and his entire family had died.
No one really knew what happened.
No one knew why.
No one dared to ask.
Some said the dragon turned on him.
Some said it was divine punishment.
Others whispered that the heavens had taken them back.
Either way, the dragon was unguarded — and that could not be allowed.
So, the Emperor summoned the noble houses.
Every heir of the Nine Guardian Clans bloodlines was ordered to attend the Choosing Day — the ceremony where fate would decide who would bear the title of Guardian next.
—
The sky shone silver that night.
Every clan across Lingxuan had gathered by the Imperial Lake—thousands kneeling in reverence.
The surface of the lake shone like a mirror, reflecting the heavens above.
In the center stood the Nine Clans, their young heirs barefoot in white robes.
Among them were two brothers—Mù Jiāngyuè and Mù Qiāntáng.
—
He had stood tall that night, head high, his heart steady.
From birth, he had been called "Heaven's Favored."
His Qi flow was pure, his cultivation unmatched among his peers.
Every elder said he could be the next Guardian.
And he was proud of that.
—
He had been confident then.
Born of a noble bloodline, raised as a warrior, trained by the best masters.
The entire clan whispered that the dragon would choose him — Mù Qiāntáng, the son of heaven's will.
He had even joked to his younger brother, "When Zhu Yuan appears, little brother, try not to faint. Leave the honor to me."
He could still see the shy smile on Mù Tianhao's face, his calm reply —
"Then may Heaven favor the one whose heart is pure."
And Heaven did.
But not for him.
—
When the skies parted and Zhu Yuan descended, the dragon ignored him completely.
His scales shimmered with light, each one reflecting stars.
Its eyes, vast as moons, swept over the gathered heirs.
The air buzzed with power—every drop of blood, every breath trembling with divine energy.
Mù Qiāntáng felt it in his bones—the pull.
The connection.
It's me. It must be me.
He took a step forward, heart hammering.
Then —
—