For a fleeting moment, Jin Wu floated in a void, weightless and unmoored. The stillness was absolute, the silence deafening. Then, without warning, he felt a pull—an invisible thread of energy extending from his navel. It yanked him forward with the force of a fisherman reeling in a great catch. Faster and faster, he hurtled through the nothingness, the void stretching into a tunnel of light. Stars streaked by, glimmering and distant, like the last echoes of a dream.
Clouds swirled in his path, endless and churning, before they parted like a veil. He emerged into the world of the living, and everything came crashing back—the weight of gravity, the pulse of life, the agony of existence.
The scream came first. A guttural, primal cry of pain as his body—cold, broken, and lifeless—began to glow from within. The overwhelming presence of his soul surged, far too vast for the vessel that now contained it. His physical body writhed as every fiber of his being strained under the pressure, and then the reformation began.
It started with the bones.
Twenty-three bones from the frontal bone to the hyoid. Twenty-six from the atlas to the caudal vertebra. Twenty-five from the sternum to the ribs. Sixty-four bones from the collarbone to the fingertips. Sixty bones from the femur to the toes. Two in the waist and six minor bones. Two hundred and six bones in all—each shattered, each reforged.
The fractures sent pain lancing through him like lightning, but the fire of reconstitution burned brighter. His bones fused together anew, denser, stronger, as though tempered in the forge of his own soul.
Then came the muscles.
They tore apart in waves, cords snapping like the strings of a broken zither. The tearing was relentless, yet new fibers wove together with every rupture—thicker, more resilient, and more efficient. His once-sluggish body ache transformed into a sense of fluid power. He could feel the strength taking root deep within him.
And then his organs.
The heart stopped. For a split second, his chest was silent, empty. Then it restarted with a deafening thrum, hammering in his chest like a war drum. The lungs followed, collapsing in a fiery burst, only to inflate again with the capacity to draw in deeper, purer breaths. His liver, kidneys, stomach, spleen—every vital organ strained under the tremendous surge of energy coursing through him. Each one cracked, burned, and then rebuilt itself anew, shining with vitality.
Every cell in his body died and was reborn in that moment.
The unbearable pressure behind his skull built to a crescendo, as though his very thoughts expanded to accommodate the changes within. The trigram patterns of the River Path blazed across his mind’s eye, embedding themselves into his consciousness. The whispers of the Flow resonated within him, endless and eternal.
As his body aligned with the infinite currents of the Flow, his soul, too, seemed to awaken, drawing forth memories buried deep within. The dusty library of the Eternal Harmony Sect flickered before his eyes, its peaceful halls alive with the soft murmurs of disciples studying late into the night. He saw the Ferrets—Shadow’s defiant gaze as he practiced sword forms, Rabbit’s laughter echoing through the kitchen as he sneaked another sweet bun. He heard the quiet wisdom of Healer Li and the stern, steady voice of the Sect Master during a long-forgotten lesson.
The memories surged like a flood, vivid and unrelenting, their edges sharpened by the same energy that now pulsed through his veins. These weren’t fleeting recollections—they were threads woven into the currents of his soul, inseparable from the Flow that now defined him.
Finally, the torrent of energy receded, leaving behind a body that felt alien yet familiar. Jin Wu’s chest heaved as he took a shuddering breath, the searing heat within replaced by an icy chill that crept over his skin.
The transformation was complete.
Slowly, Jin Wu opened his eyes, the glow of rebirth dimming. The air was sharp and cold, biting at his lungs with each inhale. He felt the ground beneath him—solid and real, scattered with ash and splinters. He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers. They felt powerful, crackling with latent energy just beneath the surface, but they were still his hands. The calluses from a lifetime of labor were still there, the faint scars that told the stories of battles long past.
His gaze caught on a shard of broken glass nearby, reflecting his face. For a moment, he hesitated, his stomach knotting with dread. The transformation had felt monumental, like a rebirth. Yet when he leaned forward, the face staring back at him was the same.
A man in his sixties, gray-haired and weathered by time. The deep lines etched into his skin remained; the streaks of silver threading through his hair hadn’t vanished. He looked… old. Yet, his reflection carried something new—an unmistakable light behind his eyes, as if the flowing currents of the River had taken root in his soul and now shone through.
“So, even rebirth can’t erase the weight of age,” Jin Wu muttered to himself, his lips curling into a wry smile. “But maybe that’s for the best. I wouldn’t know what to do with a young face anyway.”
For a brief moment, he marveled at the sheer vitality coursing through him. His senses felt sharper, his movements lighter, his strength unbound. But then, the air hit him—thick with smoke and blood—and reality crashed down like the rubble around him.
Pushing himself to his feet, Jin Wu finally took in his surroundings. The remains of the Eternal Harmony Sect stretched out before him. What was once a place of peace and learning now lay in ruins. The grand library he had used for decades was a husk of its former self, its stone walls scorched and crumbling, its shelves of ancient texts reduced to ash and rubble.
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The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of burning wood. The silence was deafening—an unnatural stillness that pressed against his ears. The absence of life was palpable, more oppressive than any sound of battle could have been. Bodies littered the ground, scattered across the courtyard and among the ruins.
Jin Wu’s chest tightened as he scanned the devastation. He had seen destruction before—on battlefields and in the aftermath of sieges—but this was different. This had been his home, his sanctuary. And now it was gone.
But amidst the grief, a flicker of determination took root. The Flow coursed through him, guiding his thoughts like a steady current. He wasn’t dead. And as long as he drew breath, he wouldn’t let the story of the Eternal Harmony Sect end here.
“Where are the Ferrets?” he muttered under his breath. Jin Wu’s chest tightened. The devastation was immense, and for a moment, he feared the worst. But then, a memory pierced the fog of grief: his instructions to the Ferrets.
“Shadow, by the cot. Turn the stone a quarter to the left. Go in and close it. Don’t let anyone stop you. Don’t come out until I come for you.”
His voice echoed in his mind, and his eyes darted to the remnants of the library. Hope surged in his chest, though it warred with dread. What if they hadn’t made it? What if the invaders had discovered the hidden room? He didn’t dare to dwell on those thoughts.
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The library was littered with the charred remains of young disciples, their lifeless forms sprawled amidst ash and rubble. The acrid stench of burnt wood and flesh lingered in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. Jin Wu’s steps faltered as his gaze fell upon a familiar face, half-buried in soot and debris. The boy had hidden next to him during the attack.
Beyond the ruins of the library, the once-pristine sect grounds were unrecognizable. Broken tiles from the grand northern pavilion crunched beneath his feet. The indestructible pillar that once stood proudly in the pavilion was shattered, and its top half—where the founder’s token had been displayed—was gone.
The sect’s silence was oppressive, broken only by the rustling of leaves in the morning breeze. As Jin Wu moved through the devastation, the stillness weighed on him, each step heavier than the last. He searched for survivors, but every building told the same grim story. The Sect Master lay slumped against a tree, his robes stained with dried blood. Healer Li’s broken body hung limply from a branch, her gentle hands now lifeless. The hallmaster’s headless corpse sprawled across one of the garden paths, his sword arm still clutching his broken blade.
Jin Wu clenched his fists as his breath hitched. This was no ordinary attack. This was butchery.
When he finally reached his grotto, it was in the same state as the rest of the sect—his belongings were reduced to ash and debris. He stared at the ruins for a long moment, his mind numb. Then, his eyes fell on the cot, or rather, what remained of it. The trap door beneath it was ajar, and its stone cover partially shifted.
“Shadow, by the cot. Turn the stone a quarter to the left. Go in and close it. Don’t let anyone stop you. Don’t come out until I come for you.” His own words echoed in his mind.
Hope surged, clashing with dread. His hands trembled as he approached the open trap door, each step slower than the last. When he reached it, he hesitated, steeling himself before peering inside.
The room was empty. The “Ferrets” were gone.
He fell to his knees, his body shaking as the weight of everything crashed down on him. For a moment, he could barely breathe. Then, his eyes caught something—a faint smudge of dirt, shaped like a footprint, on the stone floor. His breath caught. They made it out. It was a thread of hope, frayed but unbroken, enough to pull him back from the edge of despair.
Tear-filled hours passed as Jin Wu gathered the remains of 253 of the sect’s members into a single mound. He moved like a man possessed, his grief driving him forward. Each fragment of bone, each trace of ash, he handled with reverence, his movements slow and deliberate. Yet it gave him hope since it meant some had escaped or were at least alive.
He knelt by the Sect Master’s body, his hands trembling as he reached out. He remembered the quiet strength in the Sect Master’s voice, the way his words had once lit a fire in the hearts of the disciples. That fire was gone now, leaving only ash and silence.
He paused at Healer Li’s remains, a wave of memory washing over him. Her steady hands had once patched him up and given him a new life. Now those hands were lifeless, her care reduced to a memory.
By the time the mound was complete, the sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving the sect cloaked in shadows. Jin Wu raised his hand, forming a seal as crimson energy gathered in his palm. A sphere of pulsing light took shape, crackling with heat as it hovered above the remains.
He hesitated, his eyes lingering on the mound. Long-forgotten memories surfaced—his clandestine meetings in the library, the bets and schemes they had concocted, the laughter when they won, and the gloom when they lost. It was all gone.
Rage swelled within him, drowning his grief in a tidal wave of fury. Without another thought, he let the crimson sphere fall. It struck the mound and exploded in a blaze of red and orange. The fire roared to life, devouring the remains as if fueled by his pain, his loss, his unspoken promise.
The fire burned all night. Jin Wu sat motionless, watching the flames until they smoldered into ashes. By dawn, the caretaker who had traded his sword for a broom was gone, replaced by something darker, something colder.
The first light of dawn crept over the ruined sect. Jin Wu stood, his grief buried beneath a resolve as cold as the morning air. He moved through the rubble, collecting what remained of the sect’s belongings. To his surprise, much of it had been left untouched. Spirit stones, pills, elixirs, weapons, and artifacts—all the wealth of the Eternal Harmony Sect lay discarded. The attackers had taken only lives.
When his search was complete, Jin Wu turned his attention to a body nestled awkwardly among the branches of a tree. It was a man in his thirties, clad in armor beneath tattered robes. Jin Wu’s sharp eyes caught a glint of something hidden in the folds of the man’s tunic. Reaching out, he retrieved a jade slip.
His breath hitched as he read the contents. Twelve sects were listed, their names etched in neat rows. At the very top was the Eternal Harmony Sect. His grip tightened around the slip, and his knuckles became white as fury welled within him.
The man’s daggers and jade slip disappeared into Jin Wu’s dimensional ring. He was about to burn the body when a shift in the Flow caught his attention. The currents around him twisted unnaturally, the air growing heavy with energy. Jin Wu’s senses sharpened as he felt them approaching—fast and purposeful.
He turned just in time to see five women descending from the sky, their light blue robes fluttering like petals in the wind. Each one stood on a gleaming sword, their movements precise and graceful.
The first woman, a Core Formation cultivator, pointed at him, her voice sharp and commanding. “Apprehend and question him!”
Jin Wu flinched, allowing fear to flicker across his face. His hunched back returned in an instant. He backed away, his hands raised in a gesture of submission. “Please, don’t hurt me!” he stammered, his voice trembling, his posture that of a harmless old man.
Inside his mind, however, his Portent Art was already at work. “Four Foundation Establishment cultivators. One Core Formation. Careless. Their Qi shields are weak,” he murmured inwardly.
Outwardly, he played the part of the frightened caretaker, shuffling backward as if too scared to run. All the while, five invisible Dragonflame Swords hovered in the Flow, their edges aimed at the women’s hearts.