Fu Hong Jun’s face turned pale. Cold sweat soaked his skin as his small frame trembled beneath the suffocating pressure of the grey mist.

It drifted closer, its form still hazy and indistinct, yet the oppressive aura it radiated pressed down on him like a mountain, ancient and malevolent.

“Tell me, brat,” the voice from within the mist boomed, echoing like thunder rolling across a barren battlefield. “Do you wish to become my disciple?”

Fu Hong Jun clenched his fists, knuckles whitening as he forced himself to stand on shaking legs. His eyes met the glowing pupils hidden deep within the mist. Despite the terror gnawing at his gut, his voice remained firm and wary.

“I don’t know who you are. But I know. Nothing in this world comes free. What do you want from me?”

A low ripple of laughter echoed within the fog, like ancient spirits murmuring in amusement.

“Oh? A mere child, yet your thoughts are already this mature?” The voice snorted with derision. “Impressive… for an insect.”

There was silence. The weight of the presence grew heavier.

Then, the voice spoke again: deeper, more solemn this time.

“Before I answer you, I want to know your dream. Is it only to see your parents again?”

Fu Hong Jun froze.

Dream?

His lips parted, but no words came out. Slowly, he sat back down on the edge of the wooden bed, brows furrowed, his eyes distant.

After a long pause, he murmured, “I… I want to see my parents and ask them why they abandoned me.” His voice trembled slightly. Then, gritting his teeth, he continued with more force, “And… I want to become strong. Strong enough that no one can ever trample me again.”

The mist scoffed coldly.

“Such a small, fragile dream. Weak… like an ant. Hmph. But....” the voice paused, then continued slowly, “Very well. What I want from you is not something that can be done in a few days, or even a few years. When you reach the level I once possessed in my past life, then… I will tell you.”

Fu Hong Jun’s eyes narrowed.

“If you don’t ask me to do anything impossible… and you don’t demand I harm the people I care about… then I’ll agree.”

A booming laugh exploded from the mist, shaking the very air.

“Hahahaha! Not bad, not bad! To speak like this without flinching, you've got guts, brat.”

The mist raised what could only be called a hand-vague, formless, yet commanding.

“Then swear. Swear by the heavens and the earth, by your blood and soul, that you will become the disciple of Emperor Ye, and never betray me.”

Fu Hong Jun blinked.

Emperor Ye?

What an arrogant name…

But even as that thought passed, he felt something stir deep within his chest-a subtle pull, like fate itself shifting. A binding thread, ancient and invisible, now tightening around his path.

Without hesitation, he bit into his palm. Blood flowed freely. He let it drip onto the wooden floor, then raised his bloodied hand toward the heavens.

“Heaven and Earth! I swear upon my blood and soul. I shall become the disciple of Emperor Ye, and I shall never betray him!”

The moment the words left his lips, the world stilled.

A bolt of invisible force surged down from the heavens, piercing the thatched roof and striking Fu Hong Jun’s chest like lightning. He cried out and dropped to his knees, his body convulsing as ancient power flooded into his veins-searing, binding, unbreakable.

The mist hovered, then muttered, “Tch. Such a crude oath... But I suppose it will suffice. Brat, just don’t die too soon.”

And without further warning, the mist condensed into a thin stream and shot into Fu Hong Jun’s chest.

His body stiffened, then fell limp onto the bed, panting heavily.

Within the vast sea of his consciousness, the voice echoed softly.

“Rest. Tomorrow… I shall show you the true meaning of cultivation.”

Fu Hong Jun lay still, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts spiraled.

Emperor Ye… Who are you, truly? What kind of being have I welcomed into my soul? An emperor… or something far more terrifying?

He exhaled deeply and whispered, “Forget it… I just want to become strong…”

Soon, sleep overtook his weary body.

Late into the night, the wooden door creaked open with a whisper.

An aged figure stepped into the room—it was the village chief, Grandpa Ji. He had returned from a village meeting, his face lined with fatigue yet composed as always.

Seeing Fu Hong Jun sound asleep, he smiled faintly and approached the bedside. With gentle fingers, he lifted the boy’s wrist and checked his pulse.

The smile vanished.

“…This energy…”

His brows furrowed as his expression turned grave. With a flick of his fingers, he formed a rapid hand seal. A golden glow appeared at his fingertips. A circle of shimmering golden runes spun slowly in the air before merging silently into the boy’s chest.

If any villager had seen this, they would have been shaken to their core.

The old, one-eyed chief they believed to be a mere mortal… was actually a cultivator.

Grandpa Ji stood quietly, gaze distant.

“This boy…” he murmured. “His meridians… his soul imprint… what kind of fate is he carrying?”

With a heavy sigh, he turned and entered the inner room. His back seemed older, heavier.

Within the depths of Fu Hong Jun’s soul, the slumbering mist stirred.

“Oh? That old man…” the voice murmured in the void. “Interesting. That technique… it hasn't appeared in centuries. Hmph. Worthy of my praise.”

The mist folded its arms and gazed upward at the stars within the boy’s mindscape.

“Fu Hong Jun… your journey will be filled with pain and fire. But you belong to me now. Let us see how far you can go… my little disciple.”

Morning sunlight gently bathed the village.

Birds chirped. Roosters crowed. Villagers prepared for their daily work.

But Fu Hong Jun, usually an early riser, was sprawled on his bed like a lazy cow—snoring with a blissful smile.

Grandpa Ji stepped out of the inner room and saw the boy still snoring. He approached to wake him, but paused.

In the future, this child will rarely know peace. Let him sleep… just for today.

He shook his head and left for the market.

Inside the room, within Fu Hong Jun’s soul sea, Emperor Ye stared coldly at the boy’s sleeping form. A vein throbbed on his spectral forehead.

“This lazy, brainless brat… and he dares dream of becoming strong? What a joke.”

He floated out of the boy’s body, his presence chilling the air, radiating a red-black mist of ancient resentment. He formed a quick hand sign, inscribing a small rune onto the nearby broom with a wicked grin.

The broom floated into the air.

Emperor Ye pointed at the boy.

“Beat him.”

WHAP!

The broom slammed onto Fu Hong Jun’s backside.

“AHHH!!!! what the hell?!”

Fu Hong Jun jolted awake, flailing.

“Ghost! Ghost! AHHHH! Great Buddha, help me!”

The broom whacked him again.

“Stop! I surrender! What did I do?!”

From above, Emperor Ye laughed uproariously.

“Hahahaha! Brat, if you dare sleep like this again, I’ll beat you with a log next time!”

Realizing the ghostly voice belonged to Emperor Ye, Fu Hong Jun cried out:

“Stop! You old monster, stop!!! I won’t sleep again, ever!”

“You dare call me old?! Broom double the beating!”

“Nooo! Please, Master! Don’t!”

At the word ‘Master,’ Emperor Ye smirked and halted the broom.

“Go wash your filthy face. It offends my divine sight. Then return. I will begin your training.”

Groaning, Fu Hong Jun rubbed his bruised backside and hobbled to the bath.

Half an hour later, he returned, freshly washed.

“Master, I’m ready,” he muttered, still sore.

Emperor Ye snorted. “Brat, what do you think of power and wealth?”

“Eh? Does that have anything to do with cultivation?”

“Just answer before I change my mind and summon two brooms.”

“Alright! Alright! Power can control people… and wealth can buy meat!”

Emperor Ye almost spat ghostly blood.

“Stupid brat! Hmph. You're just a six-year-old after all…”

He took a deep breath and spoke solemnly.

“Listen well. In this world, there are three primary cultivation paths—Daoist, Buddhist, and Demonic.”

“Wait, Master. How about spirit cultivation? Aren’t you… y’know, my spirit?”

Veins popped on Emperor Ye’s translucent forehead.

“You dare compare me to a spirit companion?! Insolent child!”

“S-sorry, Master…”

“Now shut up and listen!”

“In the Daoist path, there are many branches: body refinement, spirit cultivation, and immortal ascension. Self-righteous hypocrites, the lot of them. In the Buddhist path-bald-headed nuisances preaching emptiness and enlightenment. Useless.”

“As for the Demonic Path... One road. One goal. Cultivation through chaos and will. Similar to Immortal cultivation, but forged through suffering.”

He stared at Fu Hong Jun.

“I can teach you any of the paths. Now choose.”

Fu Hong Jun went silent. Then thought:

“He says he can teach anything… but I should find out his path first.”

“Master… can you teach me powerful techniques? If so, I’ll follow your path.”

Emperor Ye stared at him for a long moment.

My legacy? My path? Will this boy truly walk the road I walked…?

“Are you sure?”

“I am,” Fu Hong Jun replied, eyes firm.

Emperor Ye’s expression turned unreadable, his form drifting like ancient smoke.

“My path… is neither of the three,” he said slowly. “It transcends Daoist hypocrisy, Buddhist emptiness, and Demonic chaos. I will not reveal its name to you now. When the time comes… you shall understand it.”

With a flick of his sleeve, he formed a profound hand seal. Glowing, ancient runes emerged in the air-letters shaped from primordial force-hovering for a breath before suddenly shooting into Fu Hong Jun’s forehead.

BOOM!

“AHHHHHH! It hurts!” Fu Hong Jun cried out, clutching his head as if it were about to split open.

His body twisted on the bed, veins bulging beneath his skin.

Emperor Ye hovered above him, arms crossed, voice cold as obsidian.

“Hmph. If such insignificant pain is beyond you, then you’re not qualified to walk my path, weak insect.”

The insult cut deeper than the pain.

Fu Hong Jun froze mid-scream. His breath ragged, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails drew blood. Grinding his teeth, he forced himself into silence, enduring the torment in grim determination.

Minutes stretched into hours. Sweat drenched his robes. His eyes turned bloodshot.

Finally, the agony began to subside.

Deep in his sea of consciousness, an image slowly formed—a ghostly tome, ancient and bound in crimson chains. Its title burned itself into his soul:

“Art of the Fiend God.”

“This is your foundation,” Emperor Ye’s voice echoed within him. “If you cannot complete the first level within a single month… expect three brooms to greet you.”

And with that, the mist dissolved and surged back into Fu Hong Jun’s body.

Silence fell.

Fu Hong Jun lay there gasping for breath. But despite the pain, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He sat up slowly, opened his eyes, and began to study the book now imprinted in his mind. That smile, however, quickly vanished.

His expression darkened.

“What the hell?! Body refinement? Heavy lifting? Muscle training?” His jaw dropped. “Tch… the thing I hate the most! I don’t want to look like Brother Ke, all muscles and no grace…”

He paused.

“…Ugh. Looks like I have to pay Brother Ke a visit.”

Elsewhere-Within the Forbidden Hall

A vast, shadowed palace stretched across a hidden realm, ancient pillars holding up a sky of eternal twilight.

Upon a jade throne sat an old woman in black robes, her face veiled, yet her aura vast as the ocean.

Below her knelt a young girl dressed in silver silk, her head bowed low.

“Master,” the girl said softly, “That presence… has appeared.”

The woman’s hands trembled.

“Xue’er… are you certain?” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Is it really him? Where is he? Take me there.Now!”

The girl bit her lip and bowed lower.

“Master… I cannot say for certain. I sensed only a faint trace of aura… it flickered and vanished. I will need time to investigate.”

The old woman took a deep breath, her voice trembling with urgency.

“Xue’er… you must find him. At any cost. Go. Immediately.”

“Yes, Master.”

The girl vanished into the darkness.

The throne room fell silent once more. The woman remained still for a long time, as if caught in the grip of a forgotten dream.

Then she slowly reached into her sleeve and drew out a half-broken jade slip,its edges cracked, its surface inscribed with ancient runes.

She stared at it, her voice no more than a whisper:

“After all these years… I’ve finally found you…”