The Rising Cloud Sect. A mid-tier sect nestled within the verdant mountains of the lower realm — not powerful enough to stand at the apex, yet far from insignificant.
In the outer disciple courtyard, a youth stood silently by the edge of a small lotus pond, gazing at his reflection. His robes were plain, his spirit roots barely awakened, and yet… his face was enough to stir envy in heaven itself.
Ling Xian.
A name few remembered. A presence most ignored.
He had no background, no patron, no extraordinary talent. Just a pretty face and a quiet demeanor that made him easy to overlook — unless you were someone who valued appearance over depth.
Like her.
"Junior Brother Ling," a soft, melodic voice called out.
He turned, startled to see Lan Yuer, the top inner disciple of the sect — elegant, cold, and so beautiful that even core elders softened their tones when addressing her. Her silvery blue robes shimmered as she approached, drawing the attention of every nearby disciple.
Ling Xian blinked. "Senior Sister Lan?"
She smiled faintly. "You're quite the mysterious one, aren't you? Always alone, always quiet… yet with a face more captivating than some crown princes."
"I… I don't think I'm anything special," he said, bowing respectfully.
She laughed, a clear and pleasant sound. "Humble too. But I'm curious — where are you from, truly? A face like yours doesn't belong to a no-name outer disciple."
Ling Xian hesitated, not out of pride, but confusion. Why was she talking to him? There was no warmth in her eyes — only interest. Calculating curiosity.
Unseen by the two, a group of disciples watched from behind a pillar, their expressions twisting with envy.
"Lan Yuer is talking to him?" one sneered.
"Is she blind? That trash has no talent."
"He's just a pretty face. Let's remind him where he stands."
Later that night, beneath a half-moon sky, Ling Xian walked alone toward his small dwelling on the outskirts of the sect.
He never made it.
A shadow moved behind him.
Then another.
And another.
Before he could react, fists slammed into his ribs. A foot crashed into his spine. He collapsed to the ground, coughing blood.
"You think you're special, huh? You think someone like Lan Yuer would really want a trash like you?"
"Let's see how pretty that face is after we're done."
The beating was brutal. They didn't even use spiritual energy — only raw violence. Blood soaked the earth. Bones cracked. His vision blurred.
And then, finally, stillness.
Cold.
Dark.
Silent.
But deep within that broken shell… something stirred.
A whisper of divinity.
A flicker of ancient memory.
So this is how it ends?
No… not this time.
Suddenly — a pulse.
The night trembled as a golden strand of soul erupted from the void, spiraling into the broken body.
Bones mended.
Veins burned.
Memories flooded in like a tsunami — ancient battles, forbidden techniques, celestial dual cultivations beneath soul moons… the cries of enemies, the warmth of lovers.
Ling Xian had returned.
But this was no longer the God of Destruction.
This was a boy's body.
A second chance.
And a much colder fire now burned in his heart.
His eyes snapped open.
Clear. Piercing. Ancient.
Ling Xian sat up slowly, drenched in blood, surrounded by silence. His body still weak… but his soul radiated something terrifying.
He looked at his own hands.
"So... this is my new body."His lips curled into a faint smile — not of amusement, but of promise.
You beat me to death for being beautiful?
You'll beg for death when I'm done.
He stood. Step by step. Slowly. Calmly.
The first step of a god… walking once more among mortals.