My name is Mo Liang.

I was born a commoner in a brutal, patriarchal martial world. In a land where power determines worth, the weak are left behind to rot in the gutters. That's what happened to me.

My parents left me on the street when I was still a child. Another mouth to feed, they said. Less burden on the family. From that moment on, I survived on my own—never relying on anyone.

But not everyone was cruel.

There was one girl.

Li Yueran.

Even though she had barely enough food for herself, she always shared with me. One bun split in half. One bowl shared between us. Every day, no matter how hungry she was, she would make sure I had something to eat.

She was the first woman I ever loved.

We grew up side by side, two orphans scraping by on the streets of Jinghu City. Sleeping beneath broken stalls. Running from guards. Holding each other through storms. In that cold, unforgiving world, she was my only warmth.

One day, when I was about ten, Yueran took my hand and told me she wanted to show me something. I thought she had found food. Or maybe a place to sleep without rats.

But fate had other plans.

That day, we met him.

A martial master—wandering, cloaked in worn robes, with a long blade tied to his back. The people of the street whispered about him: The Wandering Warrior. A nameless swordsman who roamed the land, testing fate and training worthy disciples.

He looked at me with sharp, ancient eyes. "Boy," he said, "do you want to follow me?"

I hesitated. I looked at Yueran.

She clenched my hand and whispered, "Are you going to leave me just like that?"

Her voice shook something inside me.

I turned back to the master and said, "I will go with you—but only if you take Yueran as your disciple too."

At first, he refused. "She has no talent," he said. "She is weak."

But I didn't back down.

And finally… he sighed.

"Very well. Both of you shall follow me."

That was the beginning of our journey.

We traveled from city to city, mountain to mountain. I trained every day under Master's guidance. Sword forms. Breath control. Qi techniques.

I was a fast learner. I fought beasts and bandits, climbed cliffs and meditated under waterfalls. My blade grew faster, my qi stronger.

Yueran, though… she struggled.

She had no talent for cultivation. Her qi channels were weak. No matter how hard she trained, she couldn't progress. But I never left her behind.

I started earning money from missions. Hunting beasts. Escorting merchants. Catching criminals. I used that money to buy her herbs, pills—anything to help her grow stronger.

Even when she failed, I encouraged her.

Because I loved her.

I didn't care if she was weak. She was kind. She was mine.

Years passed.

I earned a name across the martial world.

They called me the Dark Sword Emperor—a shadow that cut through corruption and chaos.

With my master and Yueran, I founded a sect—Heavenly Sword Sect. What began as three people in a cave became one of the Five Great Sects of the Jinghu Region.

We built it from nothing.

Brick by brick. Blade by blade.

I made a promise to myself: one day, I would make her my wife.

The wedding was arranged. The banners were raised. Our sect was at its peak.

But the night before the ceremony... everything crumbled.

She poisoned us.

Me and Master.

The tea we shared to celebrate—the same tea we drank a thousand times before—was laced with a paralytic poison that froze our limbs but left our minds awake.

Master collapsed first.

I turned to her, confused, but unable to move.

"Yueran?" I choked out. "Why…?"

She looked at me—and the face I loved twisted into something grotesque. Her eyes were cold. Her lips curled in disgust.

"How could a mere roadside worm like you ever think you were worthy of me?" she sneered.

My chest tightened. "What… are you saying?"

She laughed.

"You really believed all that? That I cared for you? Fed you out of kindness?" Her voice was sharp, venomous. "I only fed you back then because I planned to sell you to a slave trader for coin. But you were pretty. Useful. And stupid."

I shook my head, breath catching in my throat.

"You gave me martial techniques, status, and a whole sect. You made it easy."

She stepped closer, crouching in front of me.

"The Demonic Cult gave me the technique," she said. "A qi-draining art that extracts power from others. I planned this for years. And now, I'll drain your master's qi first... then yours."

I watched, helpless, as she placed her palm on Master's chest.

A red glow shimmered. His body convulsed. His life force vanished like mist in the wind.

He was dead before I could scream.

"Stop..." I gasped.

She turned to me next.

"I always hated you," she said. "You, with your talent. Your kindness. Your useless loyalty. You made me feel small."

She placed her hand over my dantian.

"And now... you'll make me transcendent."

Pain exploded through my core. I felt my qi being ripped from me. My dantian—my foundation—shattered.

I blacked out.

When I woke, I was chained in a cart, heading to the countryside.

She didn't even bother killing me.

She sent me away—to be sold as a slave.

My martial life was over.

I tried to train again, but without a dantian, I was nothing. A third-rate thug beat me in a street brawl. My body trembled when I tried to control qi. My hands—once steady and sharp—were now weak and clumsy.

I was useless.

I was broken.

I started hating women.

All of them.

I began to believe none of them were sincere. That every woman had an intention. A knife behind her smile. A trap behind her kindness.

Then, one day, as I lay in a run-down inn, a stranger barged in.

"You're Mo Liang, right?" he asked.

I nodded.

"I lost a bet," he said, grinning. "And they said I'd get back what I lost if I killed you."

He stabbed me.

No warning. No grand battle. No glory.

And just like that, the Dark Sword Emperor died—not in war or honor, but over a bet.

An endless void.

That was all I felt.

There was no pain, no sound—just darkness stretching in every direction like an ocean of silence. I floated there, not knowing how long it lasted. An hour? A year? A lifetime?

Then, suddenly, a blinding light pierced through.

Warmth. Air. A heartbeat that wasn't mine.

And a voice—soft, gentle—murmuring something I couldn't understand.

I opened my eyes.

I was being held.

A man cradled me in his arms, his features soft and graceful. Long hair tied behind his head, silky robes wrapped around his slender frame. His smile was full of warmth, and his eyes glistened with joy.

He was beautiful.

And then, a shadow fell over me.

A tall woman leaned forward. Her face was sharp, her presence heavy. She took me from the man's arms and looked down at me with a blank expression—neither affectionate nor cruel. Her eyes studied me like I was a puzzle she couldn't solve.

That was the moment I knew.

I had been reincarnated.

Time passed like flowing water. My body grew, and so did my understanding of the world I now lived in.

Ten years later, I was no longer Mo Liang, the betrayed warrior of a patriarchal world. I was now Sima Rin, second son of the prestigious yet declining Sima Clan—a name that once shook the Murim world.

But this world… was wrong.

Here, everything was reversed.

Women ruled the martial world. They were warriors, generals, sect leaders, and monarchs. Men? Men were meant to be beautiful. Gentle. Obedient. Born to serve, to manage the household, to bear children and marry into powerful families like political tokens.

It made my blood boil.

In my past life, I was betrayed by the woman I loved. I died hating her and the system that allowed her to use me like a pawn. But this world—this matriarchal society—was even more twisted.

Here, every woman was like her.

At least, that's what I believed.

My mother's name is Sima Huizhen—the current matriarch of the Sima Clan. She is the embodiment of this world's ideals: powerful, commanding, and unwavering in her belief that gender roles are destiny.

She treats my father with polite detachment—like a decorative ornament that belongs in the background of her legacy.

My father, Sima Yulan, is the kindest soul I've ever met. He cooks, teaches etiquette, helps me dress in delicate robes, and constantly reminds me to "walk with grace" and "smile softly like a good young man should."

And I hate that part of him.

Not because he's weak—he isn't—but because he truly believes this is what a man should be.

I am not like that.

I was a warrior. I am a warrior. I refuse to let this world turn me into a delicate ornament.

I also have an elder brother—Sima Lianzhen.

Quiet. Observant. Overprotective to a fault.

He watches me constantly, always keeping women—especially outsiders—away from me. He rarely speaks, but when he does, his words carry weight. He has a sharp intuition, and I sometimes wonder if he senses the fire burning inside me.

Then there's my elder sister—Sima Qianlan.

Tall, proud, with sharp eyes like our mother. She is the young lady of the Sima Clan and carries the full weight of the clan's expectations on her shoulders. Her blade is fast, her words faster. She doesn't talk much to me—perhaps because I'm "just a boy"—but I can feel the tension every time we share a room.

My grandmother, Sima Ruyan, was the matriarch of the previous generation and now serves as the Supreme Elder of the Sima Clan. She is currently the strongest martial artist our clan. Her presence commands absolute authority.

And yet, despite all that power, I've never feared her.

Perhaps because she doesn't look at me with disdain... but with curiosity.

But there's one person in this family whom I cherish above all:

Sima Zhengqi—my grandfather.

He is the only man in this clan who once walked the martial path. A rare soul who rebelled against the rigid gender rules of his time. He forged a path of martial cultivation specifically for men. He fought with the elders of his generation, stood against tradition, and carved his own legacy.

He created martial arts techniques that didn't rely on physique —since men in this world have delicate physique —and instead focused on sharpness,breath control, and mental discipline.

Because of him, a few men in the clan are now permitted to train in secret.

Today is my tenth birthday.

And today is the day my grandfather promised to begin teaching me.

The wind carries the scent of dew and cut grass as I walk through the inner courtyard of the Sima estate. The stone path glows faintly under the morning sun. Disciples are training in the distance—women in red robes practicing sword formations, their movements crisp and deadly.

I ignore them.

Today is mine.

I reach the secluded training ground behind the bamboo grove. A place forbidden to most of the clan.

There, standing in the center of the old stone platform, is Sima Zhengqi.

His posture is tall and firm, his robes simple but clean. He holds a long wooden practice sword in one hand.

He turns toward me.

His face lights up with a warm, grandfatherly smile. "Well, well. The little Sima clan warrior has arrived."

I feel something in my chest stir.

I step onto the platform, barefoot, the stone cool beneath my feet. "I'm here," I say, trying to hide the excitement in my voice. "I'm ready."

He chuckles. "Ready to become the strongest in the world, are you?"

I nod without hesitation. "Yes."

His eyes narrow, not with skepticism—but with pride. "Then let's begin."

The sun was still low, casting golden light across the courtyard as I stood before my grandfather. His back was straight, his presence as unshakable as the mountains that surrounded our clan.

Today marked the beginning of my true journey.

He held a wooden staff in one hand, not to fight—but to teach. With a faint smile, he gestured for me to sit across from him on the stone platform.

"Before you learn how to fight," he said, voice calm and steady, "you must understand what you're fighting for—and what you must overcome."

He tapped the staff gently against the ground.

"The first thing you must learn… is what martial arts truly are."

I blinked. "A way to fight?"

My grandfather chuckled. "To some, yes. But martial arts is a path. A philosophy. A mountain. And depending on who you are, the meaning changes."

He turned his eyes toward the horizon.

"To one person, martial arts may be the path to protect their loved ones. To another, a way to seek glory. To someone else, it might be revenge."

I nodded slowly, listening.

"But on the ground level," he continued, "you can simply say this—martial arts make you more than an ordinary person."

He stepped onto the training platform and raised his voice with clarity, as if reciting ancient scripture.

"Every martial artist begins by choosing between two paths: the Physical Training Technique or the Internal Body Training Technique."

He gave me a pointed look.

"In this world, physical training is rarely practiced by men. Our bodies are not built the same as women's in this society. The physical path favors brute strength, external combat, and body fortification."

I remained quiet, understanding what he meant.

"We will take the Internal Training route," he said. "That path focuses on internal energy, breath control, and qi circulation."

He tapped the ground again.

"Now listen carefully. Every martial artist, regardless of path, must break through the same stages. These are known as the Martial Walls."

I leaned forward slightly, eager to absorb every word.

Third-Class Martial Artist

"The first wall," he said, "is the beginning."

"At this level, you become slightly stronger than an ordinary person. You can run faster, jump higher, endure more pain. It's your first step into the martial world."

Second-Class Martial Artist

"Once you break through, you become a second-class martial artist. Here, you can control internal energy—qi—and become ten times stronger than an ordinary man."

My eyes widened. That much of a leap?

He nodded, as if reading my thoughts.

First-Class Martial Artist

"At this stage," he said, "you gain access to martial essence—the soul of the martial techniques you practice. You are ten times stronger than a second-class martial artist."

I raised my hand. "Grandfather… what exactly is martial essence?"

He smiled, clearly pleased by the question.

"Good. You're thinking."

"Martial essence," he said, "is the power drawn from the technique itself. Every martial art form has its own spirit, its own intent. The more refined and profound your technique, the more essence it holds."

He added, "You can often judge a martial artist's level by the quality of their techniques. Some use third-class martial arts, while others train in first-class martial arts. The art you practice defines the strength you can command."

He then drew a diagram on the ground with his staff, showing three small lines beneath each stage.

"Each realm is divided into three levels—Initial, Middle, and Peak. Only after reaching Peak can you attempt to ascend to the next stage."

I took a deep breath. "How many stages are there?"

Grandfather's eyes gleamed as he continued.

Master Stage (Zongshi Jing)

"At the Master Stage, you can fully utilize both your internal energy and martial essence. Your power becomes refined and battle-tested."

"In this realm, you may even be qualified to establish your own sect in the jianghu."

The idea stirred something inside me.

A sect… of my own?

Grandmaster Stage ( Da Zongshi Jing)

"Here," he said, "you gain the ability to manifest Weapon Qi—the soul of your chosen weapon."

"Sword users will summon Sword Qi. Sabers, Saber Qi. Spearmen, Spear Qi."

"Your attacks will no longer rely solely on physical form or energy—but intention. A single slash filled with sword intent can split boulders."

Unrestrained Realm ( Xiaoyao Jing)

"In this realm, the limits of the human body no longer bind you. You can leap across rooftops. Run for days without tiring. Some no longer need food or sleep—only internal energy to sustain them."

"You become something… more."

Void Realm / Enlightenment Stage (Kongming Jing)

"They call this the stage of heaven and earth. In this realm, you begin to understand the laws of the world itself. Some call it the Void, others call it Enlightenment."

"At this level, you can perform Void Step—walking through the air as if it were ground beneath your feet."

My heart pounded.

To walk on air… like the legendary martial gods of old.

Transcendent Realm (Chaofan Jing)

"At this stage," my grandfather said slowly, "you break the barrier of age. You can live for over 200 years. Your body no longer decays like a mortal's. Your power transcends logic."

"Flying across clouds… commanding forces that ordinary warriors can't begin to imagine."

"One transcendent warrior can defeat a hundred from the Unrestrained Realm."

My jaw dropped. "A hundred?!"

He nodded. "Such is the leap between realms."

I stared at him, breath caught in my throat.

"Is that… the final stage?"

He paused.

Then his voice dropped to a whisper.

"No. There is one more."

He turned to the fading sun as if he were peering into time itself.

"It is a legend, spoken only in whispers. They call it the Immortal Stage ( Xian Jing). The realm where one leaves the cycle of birth and death. Where a human becomes… immortal."

I swallowed hard.

"Have you seen anyone reach it?"

He shook his head. "I've only heard stories. No one knows if it truly exists."

The sun had dipped below the mountains. The sky had turned crimson.

My grandfather smiled and tapped his staff against the stone one last time.

"That's enough for today. Go rest, Rin. Tomorrow, we begin your true training."

As we walked back toward the manor, my heart burned with new fire.

One day… I would climb those martial walls.

And I would reach the top.

No matter how high.