The Gift of Death

Legends say heaven never favors mortals.

But heaven had once made an exception… and the world paid the price.

Beneath the blood-stained moon, the ancient peaks of Mt. Longwei whispered of a boy who was betrayed, killed by those he once called blood... yet refused to stay dead. A cursed star carved into his chest, a divine power buried deep in his veins — the Gift of Heaven — awakened upon death.

His name...

Tyan Shi — once a gentle soul, now reborn with eyes that held storms, vengeance, and eternal power.

But fate is never so simple.

For amidst a palace of jade and moonlight, hidden within the Silver Blossom Sect, danced a girl with a voice like the wind and beauty that rivaled even the divine maidens her name, Xuneer.

They were destined to meet.

But not to love without blood.

Chapter One: The Night of Burning Snow

The snow fell backwards that night — rising into the heavens instead of falling to the ground.

In the remote valleys of Luori Province, a funeral bell rang once.

Then silence.

Tyan Shi stood alone by the burning pyre, his eyes void of tears, lips drawn in a sharp line. The body before him wasn’t just his master — it was his father in all but blood. And the very sect that swore loyalty had turned against him.

“For power, they killed him,”

“For peace, I’ll destroy them.”

His voice cracked the silence like a blade through glass.

Suddenly, the wind shifted. Snow paused mid-air. The mark on his chest glowed — a crimson lotus blooming slowly across his heart. His knees buckled, and visions surged through his mind: ancient dragons crying, a golden throne breaking, a silver-haired girl crying beneath a full moon.

The heavens had awakened.

Tyan Shi screamed.

The fire turned blue.

Elsewhere…

The Silver Blossom Sect, known across the eastern realm for its elegance, silence, and deadly arts. Beneath the moon pavilion, a girl danced alone on jade tiles. Her robes flowed like clouds. Her long silver hair shimmered under the lantern light.

Xuneer — a disciple too talented for this mortal plane. But her eyes held sadness no beauty could hide.

She paused mid-spin, her hand tightening around a red ribbon tied on her wrist.

“He’s returned…” she whispered.

As if pulled by fate, her heart skipped. The string between her soul and his — severed long ago — had suddenly burned again.

She hadn’t seen him in five years. She thought he died in the betrayal.

But destiny, as the old ones say, is not a straight path. It coils like a dragon waiting to strike.

Chapter Two Preview: The Reunion in Flames

Tyan Shi descends from the mountains, power raging uncontrollably within.

Xuneer is ordered to assassinate a “rogue demon cultivator” — unaware it's the man she once loved.

A duel beneath falling petals turns into a deadly flirtation.

The truth begins to unravel… and war whispers on the horizon.

Yanlu City, during the Ghost Lantern Festival

The city was burning.

Not with flame — but with light.

Paper lanterns floated like fire spirits into the sky. Crimson, gold, and ivory glows shimmered across rooftops and waterways, their flickering shapes mirrored in the slow-moving canals that split Yanlu in two.

It was the Ghost Lantern Festival, the one night in the year when the living spoke to the dead.

But for Tyan Shi, the dead never left.

They followed him like shadows.

He pulled his hood down tighter, weaving through the crowded night markets. Children wore fox masks and danced around burning incense sticks. Elderly monks knelt at shrines, whispering names of lost sons and daughters. Lovers tied silk wishes to trees heavy with flame-colored ribbons.

Tyan didn’t belong in this city. Not anymore.

Not among laughter. Not beneath lanterns.

He wasn’t here for joy.

He was hunting.

The Ghost of Vengeance

His target was a name from the past: Elder Gulan — once the third-ranking sword master of the Golden Tempest Sect, now hiding as a traveling merchant under an assumed name.

Gulan had helped orchestrate the betrayal.

The day Tyan had been dragged into the courtyard, falsely accused of harboring forbidden power…

The day they shattered his guqin, burned his robes, and left him for dead…

Gulan had stood at the edge of the flames.

Now it was his turn to burn.

Tyan slipped down an alley where the noise of the festival thinned. The laughter grew distant. Only drums remained, and the faint chime of bells swaying in temple winds.

He passed a woman lighting incense. A child crying for a lost father. A beggar singing an off-key ballad about a river god’s curse.

Tyan’s chest tightened.

Not from pity. From memory.

> “Don’t think. Just act,” he whispered to himself.

But his fingers brushed over the scar on his chest, where the glowing Heaven’s Vein mark had started to stir again. It hadn’t throbbed this strongly since the night he first woke from the grave.

Something was near.

Something familiar.

The Silent Tea House

He arrived at an old wooden gate, barely standing. The name on the signboard was half-worn: House of Autumn Leaves.

A former meeting place for scholars and exiles. Now abandoned. Or so they thought.

He pushed the door open.

The scent of burnt herbs filled the air. Dust danced in the slanted light of a single flickering lantern. The room was empty — no furniture, no cups, just scorched floorboards and a trail of footprints left in ash.

At the center was a mark drawn in quick, delicate strokes —

A silver blossom.

Tyan stared.

A sound rose in his chest, but never made it to his lips.

His vision blurred for a moment.

Not from pain.

From recognition.

But he didn’t say her name.

Not yet. Not aloud.

Instead, he drew his sword just an inch — the air around it crackled.

> “So… I’m not the only one hunting ghosts tonight.”

Above the Lanterns

Across the city, perched atop a quiet temple roof overlooking the water, Xuneer stood barefoot in the moonlight.

Her robes flowed with the wind, white and pale violet, like cloud threads woven from starlight. Her silver hair gleamed faintly, bound loosely with a red ribbon — frayed at the edge, old.

She didn’t watch the lanterns. She watched the city’s shadows.

Beneath her calm expression was a storm she no longer fought.

> “He's alive,” she whispered.

The spirit fox at her feet — a creature woven from mist and charm — shifted nervously.

> “I felt it, too,” she added. “He’s in this city. He doesn’t know I’m here. And I… don’t know if I want him to.”

She looked down at her hands — one of them still bore a scar from that night five years ago.

The night she made the choice that split them apart.

A soft breeze carried the scent of sandalwood from the festival streets.

And something else.

Fire. Old fire.

Her fingers curled into fists.

> “I’ll find you,” she whispered. “But not yet. Not like this.”

Fate, Delayed

Back at the tea house, Tyan stood in silence.

No enemies came. No ambush. No sign of Gulan.

Only that silver blossom, drawn with graceful intent.

He bent down, touching the edge of the mark — it was still warm. Still fresh.

But she couldn’t have known he would come here.

Could she?

The stars shimmered over Yanlu City, scattered like brushstrokes across the ink-dark sky. A soft mist crept in from the northern riverbanks, weaving through alleys and temple rooftops. The night had grown quieter now—lanterns dimmed, music faded. But for those who stayed awake, the world had shifted. There was a hum in the air, like something old and forgotten was beginning to stir again.

Far from the city’s heart, a hidden path curved through a grove of ghost-pines. The trees were tall, narrow, and oddly silent—as though even the wind dared not disturb them. And at the end of that path, nestled in the roots of the mountain, was the Moon Pool Cavern.

Few knew it existed. Fewer dared to enter.

But Tyan Shi did.

A Memory Beneath the Surface

He stepped through the stone archway, ducking slightly as he entered the narrow mouth of the cave. Water trickled along the walls, glowing faintly with spirit moss—blue-green veins of light pulsing like breath. The air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of ancient incense and cold stone.

He walked slowly, careful not to disturb the silence.

He wasn’t sure why he was here. He had been tracking Gulan’s trail for hours, but the clues had turned to smoke. Instead of leading to vengeance, they had led… here.

To stillness.

To memory.

At the center of the cavern, a shallow pool reflected the moonlight streaming from a crack in the ceiling above. The surface was so clear it looked like glass. In the center of the pool stood a single stone lantern—unlit, moss-covered, worn by time.

Tyan knelt by the edge, letting his fingers hover above the water. The ripples of his presence spread outward, and for a moment, the reflection staring back at him wasn’t his.

“...Xuneer?”

He blinked.

The image vanished.

Only his own weary face remained.

He let out a breath and sat back. The old wound over his heart pulsed—slowly, rhythmically, like it remembered something he didn’t.

He closed his eyes.

Somewhere Else, Not Far

Up on a distant ridge, hidden among the brush and watching the same cave entrance through a veil of leaves, Xuneer sat quietly with her knees pulled to her chest.

She had followed the same path from a different direction. Traces of celestial energy had led her here—unfamiliar, but unmistakably... tied to him.

She hadn’t stepped into the cave. Not yet.

She couldn’t bring herself to.

“Why are you here?” she whispered to the wind, though she already knew.

She had sensed his presence days ago. Not directly. Not through the eyes or ears. Through something deeper. A thread that never truly broke.

The same scar on her hand—left from a night long buried—had begun to ache the moment she stepped into Yanlu.

And now, he was only a few feet away. A thin wall of earth and silence between them.

But still, she waited.

Her spirit beast, the fox made of mist and light, curled around her protectively.

“I’m not ready,” she whispered, though it hurt to say it.

“He shouldn’t see me like this. Not yet.”

She remembered the last time she saw him—not as he is now, cloaked in mystery and fire—but as he was then, smiling beneath cherry blossoms, dragging his guqin through muddy roads, humming songs out of tune.

He had loved her.

And she…

She had let him fall.

The Water Moves

Inside the cavern, Tyan stood again, walking slowly around the pool’s edge. His sword, slung across his back, pulsed once with a dull crimson light—just enough to cast his shadow long across the far wall.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t cry.

But he did hum.

Just a note. Two. A fragment of a tune from long ago.

A song she used to sing when she couldn’t sleep.

The melody was off. His voice was hoarse. But it was enough.

Outside, in the trees, Xuneer stiffened. Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her chest.

“That song…”

She closed her eyes and let the sound drift to her like wind over water.

He’s really here.

He remembers.

Fate’s Whisper

Neither of them crossed the line that night.

Tyan never saw the figure hidden in the trees above.

Xuneer never entered the cave.

But something passed between them anyway—a presence, a recognition, like the stars had taken notice.

He left the cavern an hour later, walking away with his head lowered, the song long faded.

She stayed until sunrise, curled among the roots, watching the path he had taken.

Not ready to face him.

But no longer afraid to follow.