The Eye Awakens
Cold.
That was the first sensation that dragged Lin Xian back from the edge of oblivion—cold clinging to his bones, cold seeping through torn robes, cold settling into a heart that didn't quite belong to this world.
He lay on his back in an abandoned courtyard, moss creeping over cracked stones, the air thick with the damp breath of dawn. Far above, Azure Cloud City awakened with the rising sun: the clang of swords atop tall pavilions, disciples shouting as they sparred before breakfast, the scent of spirit herbs floating from the surrounding peaks.
Up there, the city thrived.
Down here, a corpse opened its eyes.
Lin Xian—or the soul now inhabiting this fragile shell—exhaled slowly as consciousness settled. For a moment he didn't move. He simply stared at the drifting mist as memories crashed into him, not his memories, but sharp fragments of humiliation, fear, and loneliness.
A trembling voice crying.
Servants laughing as they poured waste water on him.
A dying heartbeat whispering curses at the heavens.
Then,
A shiver ran down Lin Xian's spine— another memory surfaced, clearer and sharper than the rest.
Not his own memories, no—these belonged to the shattered soul that had once inhabited this frail shell. He saw it all in vivid, blood-soaked flashes: the jeers of his kin echoing in the family's shadowed training hall, their faces twisted in contempt for the "trash" who couldn't cultivate.
Lin Tianhao's sneering visage loomed largest, his fists descending like hammers forged from malice.
"You dare call yourself a Lin?" Tianhao's voice snarled in the memory, each word punctuated by a brutal strike. Fists pummeled his ribs, cracking bone with sickening snaps. Boots followed, stomping down on his chest, his arms, his face—driving the air from his lungs until black spots danced in his vision. Servants watched from the corners, their laughter a cruel chorus, while elders turned blind eyes, whispering of "necessary discipline" for the family's shame.
Blood filled his mouth. He remembered curling into a ball, whispering pleas that fell on deaf ears, his dantian already crippled and useless against the onslaught. Tianhao's final blow—a savage kick to the temple—had sent him spiraling into darkness, his last thoughts a whirlwind of rage and despair: Why me? Why this endless torment? Then he thought he was dead, Yet here he was, alive—reborn in the ashes of that brutality.
He let the memory flood wash over him, then whispered, voice raspy but steady.
> "So this… is mortality."
A cold, controlled fury tightened in his chest—quiet, but absolute.
His surroundings felt heavy, painfully real. The body beneath him was weak, bruised, half-rotten from neglect. Yet even in ruin, the truth was clear: this was no ordinary vessel. This was the remains of Lin Xian—eldest son of Lin Yuan, once a respected elder of the Lin Family's old sect branch. Once, their bloodline had been bright as fire. Now, it was ash.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips—more irony than amusement.
> "How fitting for Nirvana's rebirth—to begin in ashes."
He pushed himself upright. Pain lanced through cracked ribs, sharp and unforgiving, but he welcomed it—it reminded him he was alive.
His pale fingers shook from blood loss, elegant even covered in grime. Once, those hands had shattered stars and silenced gods. Now they trembled like those of a starving mortal.
Even so…
> "Weak, yes," he murmured. "Temporary… but temporary is enough. These hands will kill mortals and immortals the same—soon."
---
A Flicker of Warmth
A softer memory flickered—warm, gentle, painfully innocent.
> "Big Brother, don't skip breakfast again!"
A childish laugh like wind chimes.
Lin Xue'er—twelve years old, brave to a fault, the single ember of warmth in this cold family. She would sneak spirit pastries into his sleeves after her lessons and whisper:
> "When I grow up, I'll protect you."
Even when the clan mocked him, she had never once wavered.
He felt something tighten in his chest. The old Lin Xian had died choking on blood—alone, humiliated. But he'd died thinking of her.
That alone was enough to steady his breath.
---
Predators Approaching
A harsh shout snapped the peace in half.
> "The trash is alive?!"
Footsteps approached—fast, unrestrained, full of vicious delight. Three youths in dark training robes entered the courtyard like hungry wolves. The Lin crest—a silver phoenix wing—glinted on their chests.
Lin Tianhao stood at the front, handsome but cruel, his aura rippling with smug confidence. Peak Mid-Stage Mortal Vein Realm at his age—he flaunted it like he already owned the world.
He smirked down at Lin Xian.
> "You should've stayed dead, brother. Now I'll have to bury you twice."
His followers laughed. One kicked a clay jar; it shattered, spraying red dust everywhere.
Lin Xian brushed dirt from his sleeve, voice soft but sharp enough to cut:
> "Twice is inefficient. A true assassin only kills once."
The three paused. Confusion flickered—then Tianhao's sneer deepened.
> "Still spouting nonsense. You couldn't kill a chicken even if it begged you."
He raised his hand.
Heat surged.
A crimson rune flared across his palm.
The Phoenix Ember Palm ignited, flames swirling into a blazing wing.
Stones beneath their feet cracked under the heat.
The old Lin Xian would have begged.
This one simply watched the flames approach—expression still, gaze cold.
Then—
The Eye Awakens
A golden spark flickered in his left eye.
Time… slowed.
The phoenix flame froze mid-leap.
The embers hung in the air like suspended rubies.
The sound vanished as if swallowed whole.
Lin Tianhao's sneer stretched into a thousand distorted reflections—each one a twisted version of his own fear.
Then the illusion shattered.
A silent shockwave rippled outward—pure golden force.
The phoenix flame recoiled violently, spiraling back into Tianhao's chest.
His robes ignited.
His eyes widened.
He saw himself kneeling—bleeding—dying—over and over—thousands of variations of his own defeat compressed into a single heartbeat.
The illusion lasted only a second.
To Tianhao, it was eternity.
The flames died. He stumbled back, gasping for air.
His two companions stared in horror. The stones beneath Lin Xian had cracked in a perfect circle.
> "W-what… what is this?" Tianhao shuddered.
Lin Xian opened his mouth—but agony stabbed through his skull.
The golden light snapped shut.
Blood trickled from his nose, sparkling with faint motes of fading energy.
> "Nothing," he rasped. "Just… a petty trick."
Tianhao hesitated, fear quivering behind his anger—until he suddenly convulsed and spat a mouthful of blood, his eyes wide with a terror he couldn't name. The profound backlash from the shattered illusion had ravaged his spirit. He fled then, not with a threat, but like a beaten dog. His followers scurried after him.
Silence fell.
---
The Crippled Vessel
Lin Xian remained kneeling, chest heaving. The shimmering pain behind his eye finally receded, leaving dull throbbing in its wake.
> "One second," he muttered. "And this body nearly shattered."
He pressed his palm to his chest. His heartbeat fluttered unevenly, meridians frayed from years of damage.
> "A crippled dantian… no wonder this boy couldn't sense qi."
His smile was faint but sharp.
> "But that won't stop me. The Heaven-Slaughter Nirvana Scripture feeds on ruin. Even a broken vessel can burn the heavens."
He leaned back against a cracked wall, exhausted yet strangely alive. Memories of cosmic wars flickered—empires turned to ash, star realms collapsing under his will.
Up there, he had been unstoppable.
Here?
A single spark almost killed him.
> "A crippled vessel," he whispered. "But the will of a god remains."
Deep within him, something stirred—space itself trembling in microscopic ripples around his beating heart.
Thunder rumbled across a cloudless sky.
Somewhere unseen, a golden ripple spread like an ancient eye slowly opening.
---
Evening
Moonlight washed over the ruined courtyard. The estate was quiet—too quiet. Only the soft crunch of footsteps broke the stillness.
> "Big Brother?"
Lin Xue'er slipped through the broken gate, clutching a small basket. Her soft hair was tied with a crimson ribbon, eyes bright as moonlit water.
She rushed to his side, kneeling beside the bed of straw he had dragged under the eaves.
> "You're awake! They said you… they said you were dead again…"
He chuckled weakly.
> "Seems I disappointed them."
She puffed her cheeks.
> "Don't joke about that! I—I brought you steamed buns and honey water. Cook says you're not supposed to have them, so I… um… borrowed them."
Warmth—not physical, but strangely grounding—spread through his chest.
He touched her cheek gently.
> "Thank you, Xue'er. But you shouldn't be here. If Father or the elders see—"
> "Father's always scolded for protecting you," she said quickly. "He won't mind this time."
Her voice softened.
> "He argued with the elders today. They said you were a disgrace. Father hit the table so hard it cracked."
A flicker of guilt ghosted through his eyes.
> "Tell him… not to waste his strength. This trash will take care of himself."
Her eyes shimmered.
> "You're not trash."
He smiled—real, for once.
> "One day, perhaps the world will agree with you."
He tousled her hair gently, a gesture unfamiliar but natural.
When she finally left, humming softly, the courtyard felt less desolate.
Lin Xian turned his gaze to the rising moon, its pale light catching the faint gold hidden deep within his iris.
> "A crippled dantian… a broken world…"
"Let's see how far this body can climb."
The night wind stirred.
Deep within him, the Heaven-Slaughter Nirvana Scripture whispered awake—and fate shifted ever so slightly, like a blade sliding free of its sheath.
"Tomorrow, the Lin family would learn what true disgrace looked like."
He closed his eyes.
In the darkness behind his eyelids, a golden eye opened wider.