Thunder Weeps, Heaven Falls(Léi Qì Tiān Zhuì)

Chapter 1: Thunder Beneath the Silk Veil

Rain tapped softly against the paper window, like the gentle hands of a ghost. The night was still, thick with the scent of medicine and wet soil. Beyond the manor walls, Azure Tempest City slept beneath a curtain of drizzle—but inside the Lei household, a quiet storm was about to awaken.

In a dimly lit room layered with silken drapes, a frail boy lay motionless atop a cedar bed. His skin was pale, his breath shallow. Born sickly and ridiculed as useless, the third son of the Duke was long forgotten by most—even the servants no longer whispered his name.

Until now.

A sudden crack split the silence—lightning flashed, illuminating the boy’s shut eyes. And then…

They opened.

Not with fear, but with unfathomable calm.

They were no longer the dull brown of a forgotten child.

Now, they gleamed a deep storm-blue—piercing, eternal, and burning with wrath held across lifetimes.

---

“So… this is the vessel I’ve been given.”

The boy—no, the soul—sat up slowly, the voice inside his mind both familiar and foreign.

He could still hear it—the laughter of betrayal. The sneering voices of his former allies as he stood alone beneath a dying sky. Feng Jiutian. Mu Yiran. Zhao Wusheng.

He had been moments away from godhood. But they… they had stolen it from him.

And now—

"You’ve taken everything. Now watch as I take it back."

---

A startled gasp broke the moment.

“Y-Young master?!”

It was a small voice—gentle, frightened. A maid stood at the door, soaked from the rain, her eyes wide in disbelief. Xiao Yu, he remembered. She had always brought warm tea in secret. She had cried the day this body nearly died.

Tiān Lán turned to her, slowly. His gaze was not cruel—but it was no longer that of a twelve-year-old noble child.

It was the gaze of a god who had touched the heavens... and been thrown down.

---

From the courtyard outside, a sudden bell chimed. A small silver bell tied to an old branch—one that never rang, even in storms.

But tonight, it rang once.

Then again.

Twice.

Then one last time—sharp, clear, and full of ancient sorrow.

Thrice.

And far away, in a forgotten ruin buried beneath centuries of moss and silence, something stirred.

The Mirror Bell had awakened.

The rain had returned to the sky.

...Now, they gleamed a deep storm-blue—piercing, eternal, and burning with wrath held across lifetimes.

Then came the thunder—not from outside, but inside his mind.

A memory.

---

[Flashback – The Day of Ascension]

The sky had burned gold that day.

Countless cultivators watched from mountains and clouds as Tiān Lán, wrapped in flowing azure robes, floated at the center of the Divine Ascension Altar. Lightning danced around him like dragons. His body had already begun to break, shedding its mortal shell, reshaping into something greater.

He stood on the edge of godhood.

Just one final strike of the Heavenly Tribulation.

Just one breath more...

Then—

“Now.”

The voice had come from behind. Cold. Familiar.

Tiān Lán turned—too late.

Mu Yiran, the one he had once called brother, drove a jade blade into his spine—right where his soul flame burned.

Zhao Wusheng shattered his core with a soul-binding talisman.

Feng Jiutian, smiling like a prince of heaven, whispered as he pushed him into the abyss:

> “You were too bright, Tiān Lán. You made the rest of us look like shadows.”

They didn’t even let him scream.