Chapter 3 — The Anomalies
The ninth month arrived.
Deep within a small courtyard hidden by fate , cries of labor echoed beneath the night sky. The sound was raw, strained, yet unwavering, as though challenging the silence of heaven and earth.
Luo Xin'er lay upon the bed, her fingers digging into the sheets as she clutched her swollen belly. Her face was pale, drained of blood, yet her eyes burned with an unyielding light. Sweat streamed down her temples, soaking her hair, while the life within her stirred violently—each movement like a hammer striking her very soul.
It was not the struggle of an ordinary birth.
It was resistance.
Resistance from the heavens.
Her body trembled as invisible pressure bore down upon her. It felt as though the world rejected the arrival of the child she carried.
She gritted her teeth, forcing the pain back down her throat. Her voice was hoarse, yet firm.
"No matter what the heavens decree… no matter how the world names you…" she whispered, each word trembling with resolve, "I will protect you, my son."
At that instant—
The world shook.
The sky above the courtyard darkened without warning. Clouds gathered as if dragged by unseen hands, twisting into massive whirlpools of chaos. Thunder rumbled like the drums of war, its echo spreading across mountains, rivers, and kingdoms throughout the Central Plains.
A terrifying aura surged forth.
It was vast.
It was ancient.
It was oppressive beyond reason.
Cultivators thousands of miles away stiffened, their hearts jolting as divine sense instinctively spread outward.
"What is this pressure?!" an old monster exclaimed, rising abruptly into the air. His robes flapped violently as his expression twisted in shock. "A mortal woman giving birth… yet the heavens tremble like this?!"
Across the Central Plains, cultivators halted their cultivation one after another. Pills shattered in trembling hands. Seals were broken mid-formation. Eyes snapped open as gazes turned toward the same distant direction.
Boom!
Lightning tore through the heavens, bolts crashing into one another and ripping open the firmament. Winds roared across the land, flattening forests and uprooting ancient trees. Beasts howled in terror, fleeing without direction as if sensing an instinctive doom.
No one dared approach.
From afar, figures stood frozen, voices hushed and trembling.
"Is it… the birth of a heavenly child?"
"No… impossible. No mortal birth could summon such calamity. This is an omen—either boundless fortune… or endless disaster!"
Within the small courtyard, Luo Xin'er's cries reached their peak.
Her body arched as she pushed with everything she had left. Her heart pounded violently, yet tears streamed freely down her cheeks—not from despair, but from fierce, overwhelming resolve.
Then—
A shrill, pure cry pierced through the chaos.
It was sharp.
Clear.
Unyielding.
The heavens responded.
Clouds twisted violently, then shattered apart as if torn by unseen blades. Thunder froze mid-roar before collapsing into silence. The oppressive aura surged outward, forcing even nearby beasts to stumble backward, wings flapping, tails dragging across the earth.
And then—
The anomaly descended.
From a rift torn open in the heavens, seven golden dragons emerged.
Their scales shimmered with divine brilliance, each movement echoing like the pulse of creation. Their eyes were ancient, filled with solemn authority. They coiled through the sky, circling above the courtyard, not in rage—but in acknowledgment.
As if recognizing something.
Between their massive forms, a vast golden scroll unfurled.
Its presence alone bent the light of the world.
The Dao Art Scroll.
A legendary artifact spoken of only in broken legends—a scripture said to contain the true path of the heavens. No sect had ever possessed it. No emperor had ever laid eyes upon it.
Golden radiance poured from the scroll, washing over the earth like a falling sun. Entire kingdoms glowed beneath its light. Mountains reflected its brilliance. Rivers shimmered as if infused with life.
Across the Central Plains, cultivators fell to their knees instinctively.
Even proud geniuses—those who had never bowed in their lives—felt their souls tremble.
"The Songs…" an ancient Saint whispered, his voice shaking. "The Songs Against the Skies…"
His eyes widened in awe.
"The melody of creation has answered the birth of this child."
Back in the courtyard, Luo Xin'er held the newborn tightly against her chest.
His cries were strong.
Clear.
Alive.
Tears streamed freely down her face, glistening beneath the golden rain of Dao light. Her arms trembled under the weight of the heavenly pressure, yet she did not loosen her hold.
She whispered, her voice breaking:
"Luo Xiao Tian… my son… the heavens themselves sing for you."
Thus, beneath a sky torn open by divine dragons and Dao light, Luo Xiao Tian was born.
A single cry from a newborn engraved his existence into destiny.
Eighteen years passed.
Silence swallowed the anomalies.
The small courtyard faded into obscurity, becoming nothing more than a forgotten dwelling on the edge of a quiet kingdom. To outsiders, it was ordinary—unremarkable.
Yet within those walls lived a boy whose birth once shook the heavens.
Luo Xiao Tian.
He now stood tall and straight, his white hair flowing like moonlight down his back. His face was calm, almost indifferent, his eyes clear as starlit skies yet carrying a depth no one could truly fathom.
At his waist hung a simple wine gourd.
He drank often.
Not for indulgence—but because the bitterness grounded him.
To most, he looked like a carefree wanderer, a youth destined for mediocrity.
Only two knew the truth.
His mother.
And the old man.
"Your existence threatens the balance of the heavens," the old man once said quietly, standing at the edge of the courtyard. His voice carried neither fear nor pride—only inevitability.
After eighteen years, he left.
No farewell ceremony.
No destination given.
"Look after your mother," he said. "We will meet again."
Then he vanished.
Luo Xiao Tian watched silently.
He did not chase.
He understood.
For eighteen years, he cultivated.
Yet something was wrong.
Normal cultivators, upon reaching the fifth level of the Renegade Warrior Realm, would ascend into the Renegade Lord Realm.
But he did not.
He had already reached the seventh level of Renegade Warrior—yet the threshold remained sealed.
Worse still…
He sensed more levels ahead.
Levels that should not exist.
Frowning, Luo Xiao Tian clenched his fist.
"This path…" he murmured softly, "is not meant to be walked easily."
Soon after, he and his mother left the courtyard behind.
They moved to the Qing Kingdom, settling into a newly purchased yard. His mother went out to make arrangements.
Luo Xiao Tian remained behind.
Standing alone, wine gourd in hand, he gazed at the empty courtyard.