Chapter 1 — The Last Page of Heaven
The sky above the Demonic Realm was red.
Not because of sunset.
But because the clouds had been burning for three days. Straight.
Ash drifted like snow across the battlefield, settling upon corpses that no longer possessed names.
At the center of the carnage stood a single man. Darkness surrounding him, as if the Darkness itself embraced him.
Black robes torn. He was wearing a long white evening dress with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt that flares out towards the bottom. It is decorated with intricate gold trim that runs along the bodice, sleevs that reach the floor. The gold trim features intricate patterns, reminiscent of floral design and geometric symbols. And the belt is decorated with a gold buckle and a dangling chain of jade on it. Silver hair stained crimson. Eyes calm.
Xuan yin wuming.
Demonic Sovereign.
The man who walked beneath Heaven's laws — and rewrote them.
Thousands surrounded him.
Righteous Sect masters. Demonic generals. Former allies. Former enemies. Former friends. Former bonds. Everyone and everything.
They had stopped shouting long ago.
When fear becomes absolute, voices disappear.
In his left hand, he held a book.
It was not large. It was not radiant. It did not glow with divine light.
It was simple.
Black cover. No title.
Yet for this book, ten great sects had collapsed. For this book, mountains had been erased. For this book, loyalty had rotted into ambition.
The wind howled.
Someone screamed.
"Zhuo Yi Mao! Hand over the Book of Heaven and Demons!"
He did not look up.
He turned a page.
His voice was soft.
"Page 9,841… soul displacement through karmic fracture."
Another page turned.
"Page 9,842… Dao interference… insufficient."
A spear shot toward his throat.
Without looking, he tilted his head half an inch.
The spear passed.
The attacker's chest exploded an instant later.
Zhuo Yi Mao did not even lift a finger.
The man had died because he stood too close to him.
That was all.
---
One thousand years.
One thousand years since he first opened his eyes in this world.
He had been a surgeon once.
On Earth.
A neurosurgeon.
He had believed in neurons. Electrical impulses. Chemical reactions.
He had believed the soul was a poetic lie.
Then he woke up in a battlefield of qi and blood.
He adapted.
Because adaptation is survival.
He dissected cultivation the way he once dissected brains.
Meridians were pathways. Qi was bioelectric current. Dantian was a reservoir.
He learned faster than the natives.
Because he did not worship Heaven.
He analyzed it.
And when analysis is paired with ruthlessness, progress becomes monstrous.
He slaughtered. He studied. He conquered.
Not for power.
Power was a tool.
His goal had always been singular.
Return.
Return to Earth.
Return to operating rooms. Return to sterile lights. Return to a world without absurd "Heavenly Mandates."
That goal carried him through centuries of blood.
And finally—
The Book had appeared.
A compilation of righteous techniques and demonic arts. Forbidden spells. Soul contracts. Ancient Dao inscriptions.
The final puzzle.
A blade pierced through his abdomen.
He glanced down.
A former ally.
Eyes trembling.
"I… I'm sorry…"
Zhuo Yi Mao nodded once.
"You were predictable."
The man disintegrated into ash.
The blade remained inside him.
Blood dripped onto the final pages.
He turned one more page.
The battlefield roared.
Lightning struck. Mountains cracked. Hundreds charged.
He ignored them.
Because he had reached it.
The last page.
The page titled:
Transmigration.
His eyes moved slowly.
Carefully.
Absorbing every word.
His lips curved faintly.
So that was the mechanism.
So that was the flaw.
So that was the condition.
He read the final line.
And for the first time in centuries—
He laughed.
It was not loud.
It was not hysterical.
It was… enlightened.
"The cycle ends when the soul finds its name."
A sword pierced through his back.
Another through his chest.
A palm strike shattered his ribs.
He did not resist.
He had already understood everything.
The Book slipped from his hand.
As darkness swallowed him, he thought:
So it was never random.
It was selection.
And names are anchors.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The sky collapsed.
And Zhuo Yi Mao died.
He opened his eyes.
Dark wooden ceiling.
Smell of medicine. Herbs. Weak body.
Breathing shallow.
A child's body.
Seven years old, perhaps.
Frailty like thin paper.
He did not move immediately.
He listened.
Footsteps.
A woman's voice breaking into sobs.
"Yi Mao… my son… please wake up…"
His pupils constricted.
Yi Mao.
His name.
Not the title Demonic Sovereign.
Not some sect identity.
His Earth name.
Zhuo Yi Mao.
His heart beat once.
Slowly.
So the condition activated.
He closed his eyes again.
Internally—
Something else screamed.
The original soul.
This body's owner.
The child named Zhuo Yi Mao.
Soul vs soul.
The final trial.
There was no hesitation.
No morality.
No apology.
He entered the consciousness space.
Darkness.
A small trembling figure stood there.
The child.
Crying.
"Please… don't take me…"
Zhuo Yi Mao observed him clinically.
Fear response. Attachment dependency. Underdeveloped ego structure.
It lasted thirteen seconds.
That was how long the resistance endured.
When he opened his eyes again—
He was alone.
The soul had been erased.
Not sealed. Not merged.
Erased.
Complete dominance.
The cycle had ended.
No more transmigrations.
No more resets.
This life would be final.
The woman rushed forward.
She hugged him.
Warm.
Trembling.
Her tears soaked into his shoulder.
He felt—
Discomfort.
His muscles stiffened.
Warmth was inefficient.
Attachment created weakness.
He let his body tremble slightly.
Pretended confusion.
Survival instinct.
Her fingers brushed against his back.
For a fraction of a second—
Her breathing stopped.
Then resumed.
Interesting.
She felt something.
But she said nothing.
He stared past her shoulder.
At the wall.
At nothing.
At the beginning of something new.
Outside, the Zhuo Clan estate stood silent beneath a pale sky.
Power struggles simmered. Heirs contested. Second wives calculated. The clan head watched.
And in a small room—
A thousand-year demon king lay in a dying child's body.
Smiling faintly.
He had won.
The cycle was complete.
Now…
He would decide what to do with eternity.
End of Chapter 1