The wind howled over Crimson Cloud Peak, high above the mortal lands where birds feared to fly. The clouds themselves parted for the proud spire, as if the heavens dared not obscure the sight of what was about to unfold.
A sea of cultivators had gathered—thousands from across the Eastern Realms—all drawn to witness the madness, the brilliance, and the boundless arrogance of a single youth.
On the center dueling platform, carved from ancient jade and etched with runes of suppression, stood Li Shibai.
Seventeen years of age. Core Formation. Battle record: unbeaten.
He wore black robes trimmed in lightning-silver, and his long dark hair fluttered behind him like a banner of war. His hands were tucked into his sleeves, back straight, eyes half-lidded with boredom. Around him, the air warped with barely restrained power.
At his feet lay the broken bodies of three Nascent Soul cultivators—elders of renown in their own sects, veterans of wars, legends in their territories. Blood dripped from their lips. One had a shattered leg, another a ruptured dantian, and the third lay unconscious with spiritual essence leaking from his shattered core.
Gasps rang through the crowd, but no one dared speak.
Then came his voice. Calm. Detached. Laced with disdain.
"Three. I expected five. At least one worthy of warming up my hands."
He turned slowly to the onlookers—disciples, elders, sect leaders, and rogue cultivators from every corner of the realm.
"Is this all the Nascent Soul realm has to offer?" Shibai asked, arching a brow. "So frail. So… theatrical."
"Li Shibai!" a voice barked.
A tall man in sky-blue robes leapt onto the edge of the platform. His aura blazed—a peak Nascent Soul cultivator. Elder Gu Jin, head of the Azure Flame Pavilion.
"You've humiliated honored elders!" Gu Jin roared. "What gives you the right to treat this sacred arena as your personal stage?!"
Shibai tilted his head slightly. "The right? I thought that was made clear when I broke Elder Wen's spine with a single palm strike."
"You—"
Shibai stepped forward. The platform creaked under his qi. His gaze sharpened, a blade behind silk.
"You've all grown soft behind your titles. Nascent Soul? A child's barrier. You people sit on mountaintops and write poems about balance, while true strength rusts beneath your robes."
Gasps rippled. Someone in the crowd whispered, "He dares mock the entire realm…"
Gu Jin's face darkened. He raised a trembling hand. "You think Core Formation is supreme? That you are above the laws of cultivation?"
"I do not think," Shibai said, voice like cold iron. "I simply know."
Gu Jin's face flushed with rage.
"Enough!" A thunderous voice cracked through the air.
A man descended from the skies, standing midair upon a cloud of crimson light.
All fell to silence.
Even Shibai narrowed his eyes slightly in recognition.
Sect Master Tianyan, head of the Crimson Cloud Sect. A Mystic Foundation cultivator. An immortal in all but name.
He regarded the arena with grave disappointment. "Li Shibai. You carry the legacy of Crimson Cloud. What is this spectacle? You defeat three seniors and declare yourself peerless?"
Shibai met his master's eyes with unflinching pride.
"No, Master. I defeat three seniors… and declare myself inevitable."
Murmurs rose. The arrogance. The sheer boldness of it—it was madness.
Tianyan's eyes gleamed with disappointment. "You were raised to walk the righteous path. But now your heart twists toward pride. Do you truly believe yourself capable of contending with the heavens?"
Shibai stepped forward, fists clenched behind his back.
"Tell me, Master—what is righteous about kneeling forever before the thrones of the Five?"
The name struck like thunder.
The Five Mystic Emperors.
The absolute apex of cultivation. Five beings who ruled the world from beyond reach. For millennia, their thrones had never changed hands.
Shibai continued, voice growing sharper with each word. "Everyone speaks of balance. Of maintaining the sacred number. But why must we accept that only five may reign? Who wrote that law? And why do we tremble beneath it?"
Tianyan's expression turned cold. "Because the Will of the World itself enforces it. That is the truth of our cultivation path."
Shibai smiled—sharp, cold, and luminous with madness. "Then I will break the truth."
"Your words…" Tianyan said slowly, "reek of heresy."
"My actions," Shibai corrected, "will echo through eternity."
He turned away from the platform, walking to the very edge of the arena. His back was straight, his pace steady. As he passed the crowd, some moved aside in awe, others in fear.
"You're mad…" someone whispered.
"Arrogant…"
"No. He's going to do it."
Shibai stopped at the steps and looked skyward. Above the clouds lay the Ascendant Gate, that mythic place spoken of only in legends, where the Five sat, and where all who dared to rise would be tested.
His voice was soft, but it carried like a blade across the wind.
"I am Li Shibai. Son of Heaven, butcher of the weak, heir to no one. I will not beg for a place. I will take it."
He stepped off the platform.
That night, storm clouds gathered above Crimson Cloud Peak.
In the deepest chamber of the Sect's restricted pavilion, Shibai sat alone in meditation, surrounded by golden lotus petals floating midair. His Core trembled, pulsing with impossible density. His spirit roots quivered at the edge of a realm forbidden.
He opened his eyes. They glowed with abyssal light.
He whispered, "Come then, Ascendant Gate."
"Let me show the world what happens… when destiny is challenged by certainty."
Far, far above, where stars flickered like ancient eyes, a single bell began to toll.