The heavy stone door of the Mirror Moon Sect's weapon vault towered before Li Tianming like a silent guardian of forgotten ages. Its surface was carved with intricate runes that shimmered faintly beneath the touch—ancient sigils woven with a power that whispered through the air. The glyph on Tianming's palm pulsed in response, as though recognizing a kindred mark within the seal.
Ye Qingsi stood quietly at his side, her veil fluttering slightly in the cold draft leaking through the temple walls. "This vault is bound not by brute force or mere cultivation," she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. "It is locked by the intent of those who seek entry. Only those who walk the Inverse Path — those who refuse Heaven's script — can unlock its doors."
Tianming closed his eyes for a moment and let his qi settle. He recalled the bitter lessons of the First and Second Rites: the cost of inversion, the twisting of fate's laws, and the silent defiance that now defined his path. With measured breath, he centered his spiritual energy and extended the thread of his Fate Furnace, weaving it carefully into the runes carved on the stone.
A low rumble echoed through the ancient temple, vibrating through the very bones of the mountain itself. The runes flared with cold, blue light before shattering like fragile glass. The massive stone door slid open slowly, grinding against ancient tracks as dust and stale air spilled out, revealing the secrets hidden within.
Inside the vault, pale ethereal light bathed the chamber. Long-forgotten weapons and relics were arranged with care and reverence—rows of swords with blades like liquid silver, spears carved from starsteel, and strange talismans humming softly with forgotten power. Each artifact told a story of battles long past, of cultivators who dared challenge the heavens and lost.
Tianming's eyes roamed the room with a mixture of awe and hunger. This was not merely an armory — it was a tomb for broken ambitions and abandoned dreams.
Then, in the center of the chamber on a pedestal of black stone, a singular item caught his attention.
It was a broken shard of deep black jade, dark as a void, etched with a reversed yin-yang symbol—the same emblem Ye Qingsi bore on her neck. The shard seemed to pulse with a heartbeat of its own, as if alive and waiting.
Tianming stepped forward, his heart pounding in rhythm with the faint thrum of the artifact. As his fingers closed around the cold jade, a surge of energy exploded inside him—a tempest of memories, whispers, and visions. He saw flashes of past battles, the clash of mighty cultivators, and the chilling presence of a figure he had only heard about in legends—the Unwritten Sovereign, Yi Cangxue.
In that instant, Tianming felt the weight of Yi Cangxue's ambition and sacrifice. The shard was no mere relic; it was a fragment of the Void Mirror, a forbidden artifact said to contain the power to absorb and reflect fate itself—an unthinkable power that could rewrite the rules of cultivation.
Ye Qingsi's voice echoed softly beside him, as if carried on the same wave of energy. "That fragment is the key to the next stage of your path. The Void Mirror was Yi Cangxue's creation—crafted to challenge the heavens by bending fate's very essence. But it was also cursed, for those who wield it risk becoming nothing but shadows, lost to the void."
Tianming's mind raced. The power this shard promised was intoxicating, but the price was unclear. To command fate itself was a dangerous game—one that even Yi Cangxue had not fully mastered.
Suddenly, the chamber trembled. The air thickened with a heavy, oppressive pressure as ancient seals hidden in the walls flared with fiery red light. The subtle hum of the vault's defenses rose into a low, menacing growl.
"We're not alone," Ye Qingsi warned, her voice sharpening with urgency. "The sect's ancient guardians have been triggered—remnants of cursed cultivators trapped between life and death, sworn to protect these relics for eternity."
From the shadows emerged twisted figures, half-corporeal and grotesque. Their bodies flickered like mist caught between worlds, eyes glowing with malice and despair. Their forms were warped by the lingering curses of their failed rebellion—some wielded shattered weapons, others moved with unnatural speed.
Tianming's hand tightened around the Void Mirror fragment. Without hesitation, he summoned the Threadstealer Gu. Threads of fate spiraled out, weaving around him like a living armor, each strand humming with both protection and potential.
The cursed guardians lunged, their attacks wild but relentless, driven by ancient hatred. Tianming moved with the precision born of countless battles, dodging and countering. Each strike of his threads severed their cursed ties, unraveling their power bit by bit.
But the guardians were many, and they adapted quickly. One managed to slash through his defense, tearing a shallow wound across his arm. Pain flared, but his cultivation held steady.
He focused on the shard in his palm. A sudden pulse of power burst forth, rippling through the chamber. The shard reflected the attacks, absorbing their destructive force and releasing it back as brilliant beams of light that shattered the guardians into smoke and ash.
As the last of the cursed cultivators dissolved, silence fell once again.
Tianming lowered his hand, the Void Mirror fragment warm and pulsing softly, as if satisfied.
Ye Qingsi approached, her violet eyes reflecting the flickering light. "You've passed the first true test of the Mirror Moon Sect. But this is only the beginning. That fragment holds secrets you have yet to uncover, powers you may not fully control."
Tianming nodded, his gaze resolute. "If the heavens want to see how far I can defy them, then I will show them a path they cannot erase."
Outside the temple, the sky darkened as clouds swirled ominously. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled—a sound that echoed through both the mortal realm and the heavens.
The war for fate was only beginning.