My destined one is a peerless protagonist. One day, he’ll descend wearing golden armor, riding a seven-colored cloud, and in front of everyone... co kill !
…
The Primordial Heartlands is a world ruled by martial cultivation. Legend says that in ancient tis, a mysterious force split this realm into five great continents.
In the Western Region of the Eastern Continent, the ancient superpower known as the True Martial Sacred Ground dominates thousands of miles of land.
Within the True Martial Sacred Ground, white cranes cry in unison, auspicious clouds descend, and spirit springs surge to the sky like vast oceans.
Cultivators fly on swords, disappearing ten thousand miles in an instant.
Mighty warriors throw punches, shattering Black-Iron Martial Stone into fragnts with one blow.
…
South Goose Peak sits at the very heart of the True Martial Sacred Ground. The mountain soars thousands of ters like a tower, piercing into the clouds.
At its summit, white clouds drift, mist coils and curls.
Xu Zimo stood at the cliff’s edge, dressed in white robes finer than snow. His loose hair fluttered in the wind, and his deep eyes seed bottomless.
He stood alone, his thin figure unmoving as the wind made his robes snap and rustle.
“So... this counts as rebirth?” Xu Zimo muttered in shock. He stayed silent for three minutes, then three more.
“Isn’t rebirth supposed to be a protagonist’s thing? But damn it, I’m the villain in this story!”
Xu Zimo checked his body. This wasn't full reincarnation, it was a soul transmigration.
This body was so weak it was almost pitiful. He was sure he’d returned to when he was fifteen, right before starting cultivation.
But this ti, he didn’t co back with just mories.
Inside his abdon, a primordial sphere forged by the laws of the universe floated quietly. It gave off no light and looked plain and unremarkable on the surface.
But if one looked closer, they’d find an entire world within: radiant light, grass and morning dew, a rising sun.
The sphere constantly shifted. Even the tiniest trace of its power felt like it could level the mountain beneath him.
Xu Zimo sensed sothing familiar from it. Suddenly, his eyes widened in realization.
This sphere, he’d accidentally found it in his past life. He never figured out its full purpose, only that it had a special ability: it could tear through space.
He rembered the day he was defeated. He had poured all his God ridian Realm power into this sphere in an attempt to escape. Instead, it brought him back to this mont in ti.
That was why it felt familiar. The energy within, it was his own cultivation from the previous life.
He trembled with excitent. Give him just one year, and he could absorb this energy and return to the God ridian Realm.
The martial path is hard.
Harder than reaching the heavens.
Every step is a step into the sky.
Humans start at the Mortal Realm, training flesh and muscle, bones and skin.
They temper their internal organs and external body together.
Once the body is fully tempered, they open the ridian gates, connecting to spiritual energy, and enter the Spirit ridian Realm.
The full nine stages of cultivation are:
Mortal Realm,
Spirit ridian Realm,
ridian Forging Realm,
True ridian Realm,
Desolate ridian Realm,
Paragon ridian Realm,
Imperial ridian Realm,
Empyrean ridian Realm,
and God ridian Realm.
These are known as the ‘Nine ridians of Immortal Ascension’.
Xu Zimo looked at the horizon. He could use the sphere’s power to instantly complete his Mortal Realm training and step directly into Spirit ridian Realm.
Absorbing all of it in one year and returning to God ridian Realm was well within reach.
But he wasn’t rushing. First, he was still within the True Martial Sacred Ground, and his father monitored his progress closely. He didn’t want to draw suspicion.
Second, Xu Zimo wanted to savor this mont.
Everything was still here. Everything could still be saved.
His father. Ru Hu. Xiao Dingtian. And that girl by the Willow Riverbank, the one who cried in the wind, saying she just wanted an ordinary life with him.
In the end, he had failed them all. After countless near-deaths, he lost to the protagonist Chu Yang’s sword.
…
Xu Zimo looked to the distance, his white robes blending into the mist. The wind howled louder, and his smile turned wild.
“Chu Yang… In my past life, I was just a slightly bigger stone on your path to glory. With the help of Old Man Samsara, your cheat-code old master, I was nothing but a pawn on your board. But in this life, I will step off the board. I will control the pieces. The world is my board. All beings are my pieces. I will walk against my fate.”
…
Xu Zimo’s courtyard sat halfway up South Goose Mountain. Along the path, spirit herbs blood. Blue and violet-striped rainbows arced across the air. Sacred Beasts sprinted in the distance, glowing in godly light.
The spirit trees bore vibrant fruit, each one a treasure people would kill for outside. But here, they were re decorations.
When Xu Zimo reached the gate, his guard Zhang Zhongtian was already waiting respectfully.
“Young Master,” Zhang said, “the Sacred Vice-Lord sent word. If you’re free, please go see him, he has sothing to discuss.”
“Understood,” Xu Zimo nodded, walking with Zhang toward Green Mountain.
…
Three years ago, the True Martial Sacred Ground's current Sacred Lord reached the peak of the Empyrean ridian Realm. To seek that final step into the God ridian Realm, he gave up control of the sect.
He handed power to the second-in-command, Xu Qingshan, and went off into the mortal world to search for enlightennt in simplicity.
Since then, Xu Qingshan had beco the most powerful figure in the sect.
And Xu Zimo, was his only son.
It wasn’t an exaggeration to call him the Crown Prince of the entire sect.
…
Xu Zimo figured his father probably wanted to talk about cultivation.
He was fifteen now, just reaching the starting point.
Before fifteen, a person’s ridians and organs weren’t fully developed, too weak for proper training.
In the Primordial Heartlands, almost everyone began their cultivation journey at age fifteen.
…
When Xu Zimo arrived at Green Mountain, he didn’t see grand buildings or luxurious towers.
Only a small wooden hut, a clear, slow river, and a middle-aged man in a blue robe sitting peacefully by the water.
…
Xu Zimo stood quietly at the river’s edge, watching his father.
He said nothing. Xu Qingshan said nothing.
Father and son, silent, yet perfectly in sync.
After a while, a breeze stirred the air. Xu Qingshan slowly looked up.
He looked like any ordinary middle-aged man. His robe was simple. His presence was calm. There was no intimidating aura.
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