The Zhengde Emperor's Reign, Second Year, Eighth Month, Sixth Day—Midnight.
In the vast heavens above, a slender crescent moon hung amidst a sea of stars, shining with a serene glow.
Once a stable and peaceful empire under the previous emperor, the realm had begun to crumble under the rule of his young successor. The new emperor cared little for governance, indulging instead in pleasures and luxuries of the throne. Worse still, he dismissed the loyal and capable officials of his father's reign, replacing them with sycophants who catered only to his whims. The empire and its people were all but forgotten.
Because of this, the long-dormant flames of war at the Mongol borders began to stir once more.
Within the empire, corruption festered among those in power, and the livelihoods of the common people deteriorated. Bandits and outlaws rose in the mountains, plains, and even the seas.
Years of costly wars had weakened the Silk Road trade, forcing the empire to rely more on maritime commerce. But now, pirate uprisings ravaged the sea routes, dealing a devastating blow to the empire's economy.
And so, the once-prosperous trade and wealth of the realm plummeted at an alarming rate.
An era was beginning to show signs of collapse. If things continued this way, rebellion and power struggles would soon erupt.
The people, sensing the impending doom, spent their days and nights in silent dread.
Yet the silver moon in the sky remained tranquil and indifferent—either unaware of the world's suffering or perhaps quietly praying for its peace as its gentle light bathed the land.
Then, suddenly—
The heavens darkened in an instant. Not a single cloud obscured the sky, yet the stars and moon vanished as if swallowed by an unseen force. It was as if some great evil had descended upon the world.
And it had.
A massive, crimson coffin, wreathed in roaring flames, streaked across the sky like a bolt of lightning. Yet no sound accompanied its descent—no rush of wind, no tremor in the air. It was eerily silent. The world lay in hushed darkness.
The coffin flashed across the imperial heavens, appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye.
Though it vanished, the sky remained shrouded in unnatural night.
Then, from a small thatched hut perched atop a mist-veiled mountain peak, a beam of white light shot upward, piercing the heavens.
The light halted midair, revealing a man.
His hair was as white as clouds, his robes pristine and immaculate. His very presence radiated a brilliance that rivaled the moon. His features were so refined, so flawlessly beautiful, that even women would gaze upon him in awe.
Could a man truly be so breathtaking?
The man in white glanced down at the sea of clouds below, then turned his gaze upward once more.
A single flicker of flame descended from the darkened sky.
With a mere flick of his sleeve, the man caught it.
It was not a flame, but a single burning feather.
The man in white studied it for a moment, his fingers moving subtly as if calculating something.
"...Hm."
He exhaled softly, shook his head, and then—like a wisp of wind—returned to the thatched hut atop the misty peak.
Moments later, the unnatural darkness lifted, and the heavens returned to their usual starry splendor.
Most of the world slept through this strange event.
But those with the eyes to see… had witnessed it.
×××××××××
At that same moment, on a secluded cliff west of Mount Emei, a middle-aged man practiced an intricate martial arts footwork beside a campfire.
"The first evasion stance is truly difficult to master..."
So engrossed was he in his training that he failed to notice the sudden shift in the heavens above.
Nearby stood a modest tent, divided into three sections.
In one room, an eccentric old man snored loudly, deep in slumber.
In another, a frail-looking woman lay in restless sleep. Her closed eyelids trembled slightly—lost in a dream.
What dream, none could say.
But the faint smile on her lips suggested it was a beautiful one.
**End of Prologue.**