The incense smoke curled lazily toward the vaulted ceiling of the Ancestral Hall, a silent witness to the fall of the Thousand-Year Jade Throne.
Lin Feng lay sprawled on the cold marble, his silk robes—once a symbol of untouchable status—now stained crimson and shredded by spirit blades. He breathed heavily, the metallic tang of blood filling his lungs. Outside, the screams of his kinsmen were dying out, replaced by the triumphant roars of the invading Blood-Sovereign Sect.
"So this... is how it ends," he rasped, a bitter laugh bubbling up in his throat.
For twenty-five years, Feng had been the joke of the hidden cultivation world. He was the sole heir to the Divine Azure Clan, born with the Heaven-Shattering Primal Root, a talent seen once in ten millennia. But while his peers bled and sweat to temper their cores, Feng had spent his days in wine-soaked dreams and his nights in the arms of beauties, confident that the clan's ancient barriers and his father's terrifying shadow would protect him foreve
Then, the Patriarch—his father—had vanished.Without the pillar of the clan, the barriers grew thin. The hidden powerhouses, wolves who had waited in the dark for centuries, finally bared their fangs. They didn't just want the clan's territory; they wanted to erase the "waste" who dared to inherit such a lineage.A shadow fell over him. The invading Sect Leader stood there, eyes gleaming with disdain.
"To think a magnificent root was wasted on a maggot like you. Die knowing your sloth destroyed ten thousand years of history."The blade descended. White light consumed the world.
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"Feng'er? Feng'er, wake up. You mustn't be late for the ceremony."
The voice was soft, warm, and impossible.
Lin Feng's eyes snapped open. He bolted upright, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He wasn't on the cold marble; he was tucked into a bed of soft cloud-silk. The air didn't smell of blood; it smelled of sandalwood and morning dew.
He looked down at his hands. They were small, chubby, and devoid of the scars he had earned during the final massacre.
A tall, imposing figure stood by the window, his back to the bed. The man turned, and Feng's breath hitched. It was his father—younger, radiating an aura of absolute power, his eyes not yet weary from the burdens of the clan.
"Today is your fifth birthday, Feng'er," the Patriarch said, a rare, proud smile touching his lips.
"The Awakening Spring is prepared. Today, the world learns what the heir of the Azure Clan is truly made of."
Feng stared at his father, then at the peaceful, sun-drenched courtyard outside. He was back. It was twenty years before the fall.
He didn't speak. He simply clenched his small fists until his knuckles turned white.
The "Trash Heir" died in the ruins of the Jade Throne. This time, the Heaven-Shattering Root would not be a curse of sloth, but a weapon of absolute slaughter.
Father, I won't let you vanish. Elders, I won't let you fall. This time... I will be the one the world fears.