If one could see Wen Ran right now, they might think he had turned to stone. His body sat stiff, staring at the old cultivation manual, as if he had become as dumb as a wooden chicken.
"This..." His lips faltered, unable to form the words. The text before his eyes struck him with such force that his stomach churned, a sharp, twisting pain knotting in his gut. "Heaven Defier Manual…" he whispered, his voice trembling like a reed in the wind.
It wasn't without reason. In his past life, Wen Ran had encountered a man who had claimed to defy the heavens. That person's cultivation level had been far beneath Wen Ran's, yet his strength was inexplicably equal—perhaps even greater in certain aspects. The memory of their clash sent a chill through Wen Ran's veins.
But that man, despite his formidable power, had ultimately perished. One fateful day, the wrath of the heavens descended upon him. A storm unlike any Wen Ran had ever seen had torn through the sky, the deafening roars of punishment lightning echoing for miles. When it finally ended, there had been no trace of the man—only scorched earth and silence.
Now, this manual—the very name of it—felt like a cursed echo from his past. His fingers trembled as they brushed against its worn pages, the weight of its power and risk pressing heavily on his mind.
"By the laws of the heavens, mortals may not possess more than nine circles in one stage. Nine is the limit, but this limit is only for those who follow the orthodox path. We cultivators are born to rise against the heavens. Many have forgotten this truth, but we are the fighters of freedom. The Dao in our hearts will lead us to the path of immortality. Therefore, I, the Heavenly King, leave this manual to future generations. May fate guide it to one who will stand firm for their morals and rise above the heavens."
Wen Ran's voice trembled slightly as he read the text aloud, his hands trembling and sweat beading on his forehead. Each word felt like a thunderclap, shaking his very core. Even someone as ancient and battle-hardened as he was couldn't suppress the unease clawing at him. Heaven defiers… Even in his prime, they were beings he approached with caution and respect. Their power was unparalleled, but so too was their fate.
If this manual truly holds the key to such power, the opportunity it presents is monumental. To rise above everyone, to stand as a true sovereign of my own destiny, free from the chains of heaven's will... I want that. Wen Ran's heart burned at the thought.
But fate always exacted a price. The path of a heaven defier was paved with peril, and its end was always the same: death by divine wrath.
Unless… unless I can find a way to escape it.
The words echoed in his mind, his sharp eyes narrowing with both determination and fear. If this was truly his chance to defy the heavens, then he would take it—but he would do so on his terms, forging a path no one else had dared to walk.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Wen Ran's sharp instincts kicked in. He quickly stashed the manual away, hiding it beneath his tattered robes. If anyone found this on him, it wouldn't just be the Fang Clan—it would be the entire world turning against him.
His eyes flicked toward the door as it revealed a beautiful figure. Fang Jinyao stood there, her golden hair damp and cascading over her shoulders, her delicate frame wrapped in a towel. For a brief moment, Wen Ran froze, a flicker of awe crossing his face. But just as quickly, he steeled himself, shaking off the errant emotions.
A cultivator must not give in to the heart's desires, he reminded himself sternly. It's the number one rule for reaching immortality. Yet, despite his resolve, the remnants of the old soul within this body stirred, making him second-guess his thoughts for the briefest of moments.
Fang Jinyao's gaze lingered on him, and her golden eyes softened. Her expression carried a mixture of worry and curiosity as she took in his appearance—his tattered clothes, the scars etched faintly into his skin, and the wiry muscles that hinted at years of hard labor.
Her lips parted slightly as if to speak, but she hesitated. Her heart ached seeing him like this. "Wen Ran…" she finally whispered, her voice low and wavering.
But Wen Ran simply looked away, his expression indifferent, his focus unwavering as he sat cross-legged in the corner. His attention was wholly consumed by his cultivation, leaving no room for distractions.
Noticing that Wen Ran paid her little attention, Fang Jinyao decided to take a different approach. "It's late now. You should wash yourself… and then perhaps we could share the bed," she said softly, her golden eyes darting away as a faint blush crept across her cheeks. Her voice trembled slightly, betraying the storm of emotions within her. Unbidden memories surfaced—moments of intimacy with the old Wen Ran, the man she had once given her purity to. Now, those memories felt distant and bittersweet, a painful reminder of what seemed to have been lost.
Wen Ran's gaze remained calm, unreadable, as he replied, "Thank you, but I prefer to cultivate here. Please inform me in the morning if there are any tasks, Miss Fang Jinyao." His tone was indifferent, almost mechanical, each word cutting through her soft heart like a blade.
Her breath caught, her chest tightening at his detached demeanor. She understood he had lost his memories, but she had at least hoped for a flicker of familiarity, some lingering ember of love to remain in his heart. But there was nothing. Not a trace. Yet, rather than despair, her resolve hardened.
If I have to start over… I'll win him over again. From the beginning. Her delicate fingers clenched into fists as her determination solidified. One day, Wen Ran, you will love me again.
As night fell, silence filled the room. Fang Jinyao eventually drifted to sleep, her chest rising and falling steadily in the pale moonlight filtering through the window.
Wen Ran, seated in the corner, watched her for a moment before pulling out the Heaven Defier Manual once more. Its worn pages glowed faintly in the dim light, as if whispering promises of forbidden power.
"Tenth circle of Spirit Gathering… I can reach it," he murmured, his voice low but steady, "as long as I can endure heavenly punishment."
His gaze sharpened, his fingers brushing lightly over the ancient text. The idea of facing the wrath of the heavens didn't deter him—it fueled him. After all, what was another risk to a man who had already defied the gods once before?