My name is Song Beichuan.

The Black Stone Sect? It was a speck of dust, a tiny sect no bigger than a palm. My parents were insignificant disciples within it. I didn’t even have time to learn their faces before they died. I heard a passing evil cultivator slaughtered them in passing, like crushing two ants beneath his boot.

Not long after, the entire Black Stone Sect followed them into oblivion. I was lucky. I’d sneaked into the mortal city to play that day. When I returned, I found only scorched earth and a carpet of severed limbs.

My parents didn’t leave me much. A few low-grade Spirit Stones, a manual for the common-as-dirt [Qi Guiding Art], and a [Breath Concealment Art] they couldn’t even master themselves.

But it was enough.

From that day on, I learned the only truth that matters: in this world, you can rely on no one. The only person who will save you is yourself.

The life of a rogue cultivator is like rolling in a muddy swamp.

I met all kinds of trash. There were the backstabbers who smiled while sharpening their knives. The hypocrites who preached virtue while their bellies rotted with depravity. And the pitifully stupid ones—the kind who, if you gave them a crumb of sweetness, would rip out their own hearts to serve you.

I learned fast. I became an expert at reading people.

For the idiots, I sold dreams. I fed them lines about “brotherhood” and “life and death together.” They would get hot-blooded and teary-eyed, willingly throwing themselves into danger to be my stepping stones and meat shields.

I gained a reputation. A gang gathered around me, calling me “Big Brother.”

Hah. Laughable. Pathetic.

As long as I performed well—said a few stirring words, shed a single tear at the right moment—they would genuinely die for me.

Relying on these “good brothers,” along with my own wit and talent, I clawed my way out of the mud. Foundation Establishment. Golden Core. I became a rogue cultivator of some renown.

As for that evil cultivator who wiped out my family?

I found him. Years later.

He was old, decrepit, his cultivation stagnant. I toyed with him for days, like a cat with a maimed mouse. Finally, I Soul Searched him, making him taste every torture in my repertoire before he breathed his last.

Looking at his face twisted in agony, I waited for the satisfaction.

I felt nothing. Just cold ice.

Evil cultivators? They are just desperate wretches. Their “unorthodox methods” were riddled with flaws.

Later, I met Xuan Zhou.

He was an anomaly. Born into a declining family, yet possessing terrifying talent. Worse, he was genuinely good. Refined, gentle, kind-hearted, and deeply loyal.

In the swamp of rogue cultivators, he was a unicorn.

I saw through him immediately. This type was the easiest to use.

I reinvented myself. I became his mirror image: polite, scholarly, and fiercely loyal. We became best friends. He probably thought he had found a kindred spirit.

But the Golden Core stage is a cruel filter. Progress slowed to a crawl. Both Xuan Zhou and I hit a wall.

Friends advised us to join the Six Major Powers. I knew I had the talent, but I also knew the Cloudmist Sect’s entrance exam involved the [Heart-Questioning Sword].

My hands were stained with blood. My heart was a web of schemes. I would trigger the sword instantly.

I refused, claiming I was “too free-spirited” for sect rules. But privately, I knew I needed a way up.

Then, during a ruin exploration, I found a peculiar technique: the [Heart Severing Art].

It allowed the user to temporarily sever specific memories and emotions, sealing them away to be recovered later.

It was a godsend.

I immediately set my sights on the Cloudmist Sect—specifically their [Nine Revolutions Jade Condensation Scripture], known in the dark corners of the rogue world as a top-tier “harvesting” technique.

I performed surgery on my own soul.

I carefully selected the ugly parts: the memories of using my “brothers” as cannon fodder, the sadistic pleasure of torturing enemies, the forbidden arts I’d stolen from evil cultivators.

Snip.

I used the [Heart Severing Art] to lock them away.

When I walked up Spirit Sword Peak, I was no longer Song Beichuan the cynic. I was a rogue cultivator with a clean background, decent talent, and a pure heart dedicated to the Dao.

I passed the tests easily. I became the disciple of the old Daoist of the Star generation. I received a new name: Wang Chuan.

Life on the mountain was comfortable. Resources were abundant. The spiritual qi was thick.

I made new friends. Wang Ya, a mature and reserved cultivator—though in my eyes, just a stubborn, honest fool. I played the role of the gentle, polite, diligent junior brother perfectly. I was a fish in water.

Time flew. Centuries passed in the blink of an eye.

Wang Ya, Xuan Zhou, and I all reached the late Golden Core stage. Wang Ya was the golden child, increasingly valued by the sect.

And Xuan Zhou?

He struck gold. He married the Number One Beauty of the Southern Domain, Yun Wanqing.

I crushed the jealousy rising in my gut. I smiled, presented a generous gift, and wished them a hundred years of harmony. He latched onto the Cloud Raiment Pavilion. His resources eclipsed mine and Wang Ya’s combined.

Only I remained stuck.

I hit a bottleneck I couldn’t break.

I tried everything. Alchemy. Talismans. Puppetry. Divination. Arrays.

My master advised me to “focus on one path.” Laughable old fool. He was about to die of old age; what did he know about success? Sure enough, he kicked the bucket soon after.

I inherited Spirit Sword Peak. I became the Peak Master.

But the title brought no breakthrough.

Staring at my stagnant cultivation, I felt true panic for the first time.

was I going to end up like my master? Sitting in a cave until my lifespan ran out, turning into a pile of yellow dust? Was the Nascent Soul realm truly an impassable chasm?

I began frantically traveling, throwing myself into dangerous secret realms.

Finally, on a desolate seashore, I found it.

A group of deranged cultivators. Their cultivation was low, but their power was violent, chaotic, and terrifying.

I slaughtered them easily. On their corpses, I found strange black threads. They wriggled like living worms, emitting an evil aura that made my heart race.

I captured mortals for experiments.

I discovered these black threads could induce the deepest desires and madness in a human heart. They were volatile, nearly impossible to control.

Soon, I found “Patient Zero”—a mortal who had stumbled upon the black threads and ridden their power all the way to the Golden Core stage.

I subdued him and dissected him like a frog.

I found the method.

Absorb a small amount of the black thread’s power. Then, use the [Heart Severing Art] to surgically remove the resulting madness, keeping only the raw power and the hunger for more.

It was walking a tightrope over a pit of hell. One slip meant eternal damnation.

But I had no choice. The power was intoxicating. I could feel my bottleneck loosening.

However, relying solely on the [Heart Severing Art] wasn’t sustainable. I needed a “trash bin.” A container. A host that could bear the brunt of the corruption, allowing me to siphon the purified power safely.

I searched for decades.

In a remote, backwater dimension, I found the perfect target.

An old Emperor who was trying to extend his life by harvesting the Life Essence of his own people.

This fool was no different from the evil cultivator I killed centuries ago. His methods were laughably crude. I subdued him effortlessly, using the black threads to corrode his mind and turn him into my puppet.

There, I made a breakthrough.

I attempted to fuse Life Essence with the Black Energy. To my surprise, the Black Energy neutralized the resentment clinging to the Life Essence.

Refined Life Essence provided the fuel. The Desire-controlling Black Energy provided the spark. Like Yin and Yang, they spun perfectly in my palm.

The Black and White Origin was born.