Dawn broke quietly over the valley.
Thin ribbons of mist clung to the grass, curling around shattered stone pillars half-buried in the earth. Faint runes shimmered across their cracked surfaces, whispering fragments of prayers too old to remember.
Lin Feng sat by a small fire outside a cave, the torn parchment lying across his knees. It no longer glowed as it had the night before — only faint, ember-like sparks lingered on the edges, pulsing with a rhythm almost like breathing.
The night's storm had passed, leaving behind a strange stillness. The world felt… awake.
He turned the fragment over, tracing its uneven edge with a thumb. It was thin as silk, yet no amount of pressure could crease it. The characters written upon it weren't any script he knew, yet when he focused, they stirred faintly — as if aware of his gaze.
Heaven's decree shapes fate. But what shapes Heaven?
The question slipped into his mind unbidden. He didn't know if it was his own thought, or the whisper of the scroll itself.
A soft rustle drew his attention.
Yun Ruo emerged from the cave, carrying a clay jar of water. Her white robes were simple, clean despite the soot and dust, her long hair tied in a loose braid that caught the morning light.
"You didn't rest?" she asked. Her voice was gentle but carried a quiet steadiness — the kind of calm forged by years of tending to others' pain.
Lin Feng shook his head slightly. "Couldn't. Too many questions."
She glanced at the parchment on his lap, and her expression tightened for an instant before smoothing out again."It's dangerous to dwell on things touched by Heaven," she said. "Even thoughts can echo where they shouldn't."
He met her gaze. "And yet, you helped me."
A faint smile crossed her lips, so brief it could've been a trick of the light. "You looked lost. Not all dangers are worth ignoring."
She knelt beside the fire and poured water into a wooden bowl. Her movements were practiced, fluid — every gesture neat, deliberate, almost meditative.
Lin Feng found himself studying her hands. They were calloused in places, marked by faint scars. A healer's hands, not untouched by the world.
After a moment, she said, "Your arrival wasn't ordinary. The energy that struck last night—it wasn't lightning. It was a divine trace. Few mortals survive that."
"I'm not sure I was meant to," Lin Feng murmured. He looked up, eyes reflecting the flickering fire. "This scroll… it showed me things. Wars, gods, palaces in ruin. And names burning away."
Yun Ruo's gaze softened. "The Investiture."
He waited.
She hesitated, then continued, "The gods of this age are chosen by decree, not merit. Heaven inscribes their names upon the Celestial Record. Those without names fight to carve one for themselves. It is a war without end — divine order built on mortal ambition."
Her words carried a quiet bitterness, barely veiled.
Lin Feng let them settle, then asked, "And you? Which side are you on?"
She looked at him for a long moment before answering. "I'm on the side that still believes healing matters more than killing."
The fire cracked softly between them. The warmth from the flames brushed against the chill morning air.
For the first time since waking in this strange world, Lin Feng felt a thread of calm settle through him — fragile, but real.
"I owe you my life," he said quietly.
Yun Ruo rose to her feet, brushing the dust from her robes. "Then use it well. The White Lotus Sect will not turn away a man hunted by Heaven, but if that fragment draws celestial eyes again…"
She left the sentence unfinished. She didn't need to.
Lin Feng folded the parchment carefully and tucked it against his chest. The faint pulse beneath his palm felt almost like a heartbeat — steady, insistent, alive.
As Yun Ruo started down the narrow trail leading out of the valley, he followed, his gaze lifting to the horizon.
High above, the morning sun broke through the last remnants of storm clouds, revealing golden lines faintly etched across the sky — vast runes that shimmered and faded like distant constellations.
He didn't yet understand their meaning. But something deep within him stirred — a quiet defiance, a sense that the heavens themselves had already taken notice.
If Heaven writes the fate of men,Then I'll learn the script.
And with that thought, Lin Feng took his first step into a world where even destiny could be rewritten.