prologue
To become a god, one must commit great acts of heroism or otherwise to even be glanced upon. Stories that would be passed down for generations, and you must watch your step to be worshiped. Mind your words, your manners, your insignias and symbols. Do not be garish, do not be blunt. Do not gossip, do not curse, do not do anything that may make you lose the favor of your loyal devotees.
It is the same for cultivators striving to become one of these figures of divinity and symbols of protection and power. Perhaps you will gain favor this way, perhaps not.
All of this is bullshit. Because, you can still lose everything while doing everything right – one person can cry wolf and twist your words into vain, arrogant shit. And who is going to stop them and come to your own defense?! No one!
Anyone can suffer.
A young, humble cultivator from a particularly infamous clan who had been utterly perfect in the eyes of his people and those across the land. He smiled with nothing but sincerity, his gaze as gentle as the soft drops of morning dew on leaves – speaking respectfully to his elders – and not to forget, astonishingly handsome. Though with a slight feminine undertone to his features, as he took after his mother, this prince had maidens throwing handkerchiefs, flowers, and occasionally themselves at him.
But, even then, he still suffered a terrible fate.
The clan he had come from turned up to have deep, mortifying roots and secrets of crimes so horrible and astonishing, a siege was declared immediately to eradicate them and keep the cultivation world and mortals safe from a fate at the hands of these near demonic cultivators.
These crimes were discovered to be from a very specific family name, the Xuan Clan of Qihua.
Abuse on other clans, misuse of power, and other heinous acts committed by those of higher rank inside of this twisted family name. This was absolutely unacceptable.
And, yet, what became of this poor young man?
Well, his name was Xuan Cheng. Son of the family head of the clan, Xuan Tai, and younger brother to his beloved sister, Xuan Yimu, who was an awaiting bride anticipating her marriage banquet just months before she was killed as well.
Though when the incident had taken place, Xuan Cheng begged and pleaded, swearing on his own life that he was oblivious and blithe to his clan's crimes. Even if you can't spare me, at least spare my jiejie. Please, she hasn't done anything, he had tried to plead all of those years ago. But this seemed to do little, except for causing him the worst death.
Xuan Cheng had been taken by the Wei Clan, beaten, tortured, and had been victim of other gruesome acts as an act of triumph and superiority established. Grimly enough, they tossed his ashes off the cliff of the highest mountain of Qihua, not a single thought or prayer to his name, ever again.