This was the Master of the Ask Heaven Pavilion and Gu Xiu’s eldest senior sister: Nian Zhaoxi. She was a master of divination, a seer whose predictions of the sect’s fortunes had earned her boundless respect. Even the Sect Master, Guan Xuelan, treated this reclusive disciple with the utmost courtesy.

But now, the esteemed seer was consumed by a primal terror.

“This is impossible!” she hissed. “There must be some mistake!”

Nian Zhaoxi frantically produced six copper coins. Before the ritual was halfway through, the coins disintegrated into dust, crushed by an invisible, celestial force. Refusing to yield, she produced a sacred turtle shell. The divination had barely commenced when the shell buckled and collapsed inward, as if smashed by a divine fist.

Gritting her teeth, she manifested a starry chessboard. This time, the backlash was even more violent; the board appeared for a mere second before splitting perfectly in two, as if cleaved by a jagged blade. These were artifacts she had refined with her own life essence. Their destruction sent her into a fit of coughing, her blood staining the floor as the heavenly backlash tore through her.

But Nian Zhaoxi no longer cared for her life. Determination flared in her eyes. She reached into her robes and pulled out an ancient bronze mirror. It did not shatter, but her life essence began to drain into it at a visible rate. She forced the divination one last time.

She succeeded.

A figure flickered onto the surface of the bronze mirror: a man with snow-white hair and white robes. His back was turned to the world, exuding an aura of profound loneliness and transcendence. Suddenly, as if sensing her gaze, the figure in the mirror turned to look back.

That single glance caused the bronze mirror to explode into a thousand jagged shards. Nian Zhaoxi spat out a final mouthful of vital blood and collapsed, knocked unconscious by the force of the mirror’s destruction.

“Senior Sister! Eldest Senior Sister! Wake up!”

An anxious voice pulled Nian Zhaoxi back to consciousness. She opened her eyes to see her third junior sister, Xu Wanqing, hovering over her with a face full of concern.

“Senior Sister, divination is an act of defiance against the Heavens,” Xu Wanqing chided worriedly. “You forced a reading today; had you not stopped in time, your lifespan would have been extinguished entirely. What could possibly be worth such a risk?”

“I…” Nian Zhaoxi hesitated. The omen she had glimpsed was too heavy; to speak it aloud would invite heavenly retribution not just upon herself, but likely upon Xu Wanqing as well.

Recalling that white-haired figure, she snapped back to reality and scrambled to her feet.

“Senior Sister, your lifespan has been severely depleted! You need rest—”

“There is no time! I must see him!”

“Who? I can help you find them.”

“I need to find our junior brother.”

“Junior Brother has entered the Sword Pavilion for seclusion,” Xu Wanqing said. “You won’t find him there.”

“Gu Xiu went to the Sword Pavilion?” Nian Zhaoxi frowned.

“Gu Xiu? He is no longer our brother,” Xu Wanqing replied coldly. “I am talking about Junior Brother Jiang Xun; he is our only brother now.”

“Not our brother? What… what are you saying?”

Xu Wanqing sighed. “Senior Sister, you were in seclusion and didn’t know. Gu Xiu signed a Spirit Contract of Renunciation with Master today and has left the Sacred Land forever.”

“What did you say?” Nian Zhaoxi felt the world tilt.

“Gu Xiu was jealous of Jiang Xun,” Xu Wanqing continued. “He felt Master and the rest of us favored the youngest, so he threatened to leave. Master was so enraged she granted his wish immediately. He is no longer one of us.”

Nian Zhaoxi stopped listening. Her mind raced between the transcendent figure in the mirror and the sudden collapse of the sect’s fortune.

“When did he leave?” she demanded, grabbing Xu Wanqing’s arm.

“During the Si hour, I believe.”

The Si hour! That was the exact moment the sect’s destiny had begun to bleed away.

“Where is he? Where did he go?”

“Senior Sister… why are you so—?” Xu Wanqing paused, startled by her intensity. “He used an Oath; his traces are gone. No one cared where he went… he’s a cripple, after all.”

Nian Zhaoxi’s fury erupted. “Gu Xiu endured five hundred years of hell for this sect! And you let him walk away just like that? Without even a guard to protect him?”

“Well… it was Master’s decision,” Xu Wanqing stammered. “He’s just a mortal now. He can’t have gone far. The only place he could go is Qingxuan City at the foot of the mountain.”

Before she could finish, Nian Zhaoxi vanished in a flash of light, flying out of the pavilion. She had to find him. If that figure in the mirror was Gu Xiu, then the sect had just cast away its own soul.

But her search was in vain.

Gu Xiu had not headed for the city. Instead, he had turned toward the Tianqi Mountain Range—a perilous wilderness teeming with savage beasts. Having witnessed the future, he knew better than to underestimate Jiang Xun. In that other timeline, even as Gu Xiu withered in the sect, Jiang Xun had never stopped plotting his death. He would not assume he was safe just because he had left.

To the rest of the world, the mountains were a death trap. To Gu Xiu, they were home. Five hundred years ago, he had trained here countless times. He knew every ravine and ridge.

He sat now in a hidden cave he had carved out centuries ago. It was protected by ancient concealment arrays he had once set up for his own seclusion. He had even left spirit stones here for fellow disciples in case of emergency, but five centuries had passed without a single soul finding this place.

He cleaned the cave, activated the concealment array with the ancient spirit stones, and sat by a small fire. He looked at the two items before him: the green bamboo pole and the nameless ancient tome.

In the vision, he had realized their true power. The bamboo pole was a divine tool for “fishing” across realms, but it required cultivation he didn’t yet possess.

He picked up the tome. He had memorized its cryptic text over the last three years, but had gained nothing. In the vision, he saw that even Jiang Xun had held this book for years without success. It was only at the brink of death that Gu Xiu had grasped its secret: it was a manual for starting over from zero.

“That vision… if I treat it as a past life, then I was born to be a tragic sacrifice,” Gu Xiu whispered. “Fortunately, I don’t have to follow that path anymore.”

He drew a dagger. Without a moment’s hesitation, he plunged it into his own heart.

The pain was a white-hot scream, but he didn’t stop. He dipped his finger into the blood flowing from his chest and began to write on the blank cover of the tome. In the vision, he had written “No Regrets” to show his loyalty.

This time, his insight was different. He wrote two characters: “Wu Kui”—No Shame.

As the final stroke was completed, Gu Xiu’s heart stopped. His hands fell limp.

But then, the characters erupted in a blinding golden light. The tome rose, hovering above his head, and began to disintegrate. Fragments drifted down like glowing butterflies, merging into his flesh.

Inside his body, the fragments acted like divine rain on parched land. His shattered meridians were rebuilt, widened, and strengthened, etched with glowing patterns: Innate Saint Rhymes. This was a tier of physique that surpassed even the natural gifts Jiang Xun boasted.

The butterflies didn’t stop. They bored into his bones—bones scarred by five hundred years of war—and transformed them. Every one of his 206 bones became a Supreme Dao Bone.

Finally, the glowing butterflies swirled toward his ruined dantian, ready to ignite a new sea of Qi.