Epilogue – "The Last Breath of Tian Jue"
The winds of Silent Cloud Peak howled like mourners, dragging ribbons of mist across the jagged cliffs like shrouds for the dead. The sky hung heavy with storm clouds, refusing to weep. Only the wind cried—for the man who sat alone on the mountain's edge.
Tian Jue sat cross-legged, his spine straight but frail, like a spear long left to rust. His robes, once pure white and embroidered with the crest of Heavenfall Pavilion, hung in tatters. Threads of silver hair drifted across his hollowed face, and his once-bright eyes—eyes that had seen realms rise and fall—now glowed with a dim, dying light.
Around him, the world pulsed with the faint rhythm of spiritual qi, but it danced just out of reach. His meridians, once rivers of fire and might, were cracked and dry. His dantian trembled with every breath, each inhale a war against collapse. Even his soul flickered, a lantern in a storm.
Still, he sat.
And waited.
Behind him lay the ruins of Heavenfall Pavilion, the sect he had built with blood, bone, and boundless will. Once it had stood tall among the great powers of the cultivation world, a sanctuary for orphans, exiles, and broken geniuses. Now it was nothing but shattered stone and scorched earth, lost to betrayal—just like his family.
"So this is what's left of me," he murmured, voice like cracked jade.
A cough wracked his body. He bent forward, staining his sleeve with blood darker than ink. It wasn't the first time today. Or the hundredth. The ninth curse had begun to devour not just his body—but his will.
Nine curses, hidden in the depth of his soul since birth
The winds howled like mourning spirits.
On the edge of a shattered cliff, beneath a sky torn open by divine wrath, Tian Jue, once the 30th ranked powerhouse under the heavens, knelt in silence. His robes were torn, stained with blood both his own and of those he once called kin. His hands—those hands that once shaped mountains and cut through realms—now trembled as he leaned on a cracked sword, its edge dulled by time and sorrow.
The nine invisible curses, coiled deep within his soul since birth, had eaten away at him like silent demons. He never knew their names, never heard their whispers—but they watched, always, dragging misfortune behind every step he took. Even in glory, he had been alone. Even in triumph, hollow.
Now, his body was breaking. His soul was fraying.
And above him… the heavens watched.
A vast, spiraling tribulation cloud formed—far more massive than any he had faced in all his years. It wasn't the tribulation of ascension. No. This was Heaven's Judgment, the kind that comes only for those who dare to defy fate too many times.
"So, you won't even let me die in peace," Tian Jue coughed, spitting blood, but laughing bitterly. "How many times must you strike me down?"
Lightning cracked overhead. Not one bolt. Not two. But nine, each a different color, each representing one of the hidden curses that clung to his soul.
The Cursed Nine, now revealed.
He raised his face to the sky, defiant to the last. His soul may be broken, his destiny twisted, but he had kept his promise—to live, to search, to one day reach her again.
But time ran out. His body couldn't endure.
"I've failed you… Mei'er."
A single tear fell from his eye—before the heavens screamed.
The lightning fell.
One curse shattered.
Then another.
And another.
Each bolt that struck him did not destroy him, but unbound him, unraveling the chain of curses one by one. The agony was beyond mortal comprehension—his soul screamed, his bones cracked open, and his dantian collapsed entirely.
Yet Tian Jue smiled.
In that moment of death, when his soul was supposed to scatter—something else answered. Not the Heavenly Dao. Not the curses. But a will older than both. Buried deep in the core of the cosmos.
The lightning condensed into a sphere of golden-white flame and pierced his chest. And his body turned to ash.
But his soul… disappeared.
---
Years later…
In a quiet mountain village far from any sect or war, a child woke up screaming.
He was only six. Thin, fragile, with eyes far too calm for someone so young.
His mother rushed in, holding him close. "Jue'er! It's okay—it's just a dream. Just a dream."
But the boy didn't answer. He was staring at his hands. Small. Weak. Mortal.
And in his chest—he could feel it.
The curses were gone.
The Dao was silent.
But deep inside, buried under the fragile layers of this child's soul… was himself. Tian Jue. Not a mere memory, not a reincarnated soul seeking revenge, but a reborn will. His spirit had survived Heaven's wrath, shed its chains, and started anew.
The boy clenched his fists.
"I failed once. Never again."