"There exists a kind of birth… not born of flesh nor womb.And there exists a Dao… born from death itself."
The ashen-silver radiance still lingered at the summit of the Grand Sepulcher of Souls, pulsing gently in rhythm with Lâm Mạc's breath.
A single character—"Sinh" (Life)—etched in light, not brilliant nor blinding, but carrying an eerie ash-colored glow—cold, and yet undeniably alive.
Lâm Mạc stood motionless.
There was no elation in his chest.
Only a deep, grave silence—like the stillness before a great calamity.
For he understood: this "Sinh" was not simply rebirth.It was Sinh Quyết—the will to live on after death, the decision to walk forward even when the path no longer exists.
From the soles of his feet, a slow current began to rise—not true essence, nor Spiritual Energy.
It bore a different nature altogether—something far older than the heavens and the earth, a primordial force that had never been bound by the laws of the Dao.
It was—
Thái Sơ Khí – Primordial Breath.
Just then, a beam of light shot forth from the "Sinh" character and pierced into Lâm Mạc's brow!
His soul was yanked from his body and hurled into a swirling void of chaos.
There, within that formless plane, stood an ancient pillar—so vast it seemed to pierce through the Nine Heavens and Ten Earths. Countless archaic sigils spiraled around its base.
At the heart of it all stood a figure—genderless, indistinct, woven entirely from threads of ash and light.
As Lâm Mạc arrived, the figure opened its eyes.
"So… the Primordial has been knocked upon once more."
The voice held no divine might, no pressure of the Heavenly Dao.But each word pierced straight into Lâm Mạc's soul, making his spirit quiver.
"You have crossed the Abyss of Sentiment. You have endured the Path of Heartbound Memory.""Now… bear witness to the Origin of Inheritance."
The pillar began to turn.
And across its surface, a scripture emerged—engraved in blood-ash:
[Primordial Life Scripture – Chapter One: Life Without Fate]
"If the heavens bestow no fate, then birth your own Dao.If no one passes down the path, then etch it in blood.*If no roots exist, then forge roots from the void."*
The words vanished as they appeared, dispersing into streams of ash, piercing directly into Lâm Mạc's soul.
It was agony—like marrow being flayed.
Each fragment of memory within his mind was scorched by the ash, burning away every trace of his previous cultivation system—even the very concepts of Spiritual Roots, Spiritual Energy, techniques, and scriptures…
BOOM—!!
Outside, his body convulsed violently. Bloodlines howled. His limbs spasmed as though being torn apart.
In mere moments, his blood turned from crimson to ashen silver.Behind him, a layer of formless light shimmered to life—no shape, no form, no technique, no Dao…
Yet its presence shook the entire Grand Sepulcher of Souls.
Then, a final voice echoed in his mind—
"When you understand that 'life is not the same as living'… you shall enter the second tier.""From this moment forth… you carry the Hollow Fate."
Lâm Mạc opened his eyes.
The entire stone altar crumbled beneath him.
No more graves.No more memories.No more woman in white.
Only one remained—himself, standing amidst the ashes, bearing a Dao-path that had never been named.
"From now on, I shall not Cultivate through Spiritual Roots.I shall not wield Spiritual Power.*I shall not follow any Heavenly Dao written in scripture.*I will walk a path solely my own—*—the Dao of one who has died, and yet still stands tall among the ashes."