Chapter One: Prologue

Broken Cloud Mountain Range lay at the border between Jin Prefecture and Qing Prefecture in the northern region of the Flying Cloud Empire. Its peaks rose and fell in endless, uneven waves, stretching across thousands of miles—a timeless landscape weathered by millennia of wind, frost, snow, and rain, as if unchanged since the dawn of time.

But all this remained so only until that fateful day. The sky, once a boundless blue with not a cloud in sight, was suddenly split by a tumult of thunder and lightning. Black clouds surged and churned as if intent on devouring the world itself. The people of Jin and Qing, alarmed by this unnatural spectacle, watched in terror as a bolt of lightning, bright as a silver serpent, shot down from the distant heavens. A pillar of blinding white light, charged with the force of utter destruction, struck the heart of Broken Cloud Mountain Range with a roar that shook the earth and the sky. At that moment, the ancient mountains split in two, as if cleaved by some primordial axe.

Heavenly thunder had descended. Whether it was an omen of fortune or disaster, no one could tell, and the people of both provinces lived in fear, burning incense, praying, and examining their own hearts, begging the gods for mercy.

Days passed, then weeks, but no further signs from heaven followed. Instead, that fateful lightning strike had left a lasting change: the merchants who once had to detour hundreds of miles to cross from Jin to Qing, forced by the impassable mountain barrier, now found a narrow path—scarcely a yard wide—where the mountains had been torn asunder. The time it took to travel between the two provinces was shortened by more than ten days.

As time wore on, anxiety gave way to joy. The narrow ravine, not even two yards wide, grew ever busier, teeming with travelers—some visiting family, others conducting business, all enjoying the newfound ease of passage. With this slender corridor, the two provinces were no longer divided by a chasm, and the flow of people and goods increased, bringing prosperity to both lands. The people named this heaven-sent, threadlike path the “Spirit-Link Passage.”

“Hyah! A reward of a hundred high-grade spirit crystals for the capture of Yang Yan—after him, now!”

It was noon. The sun blazed down mercilessly, and travelers rested their carriages along the passage, seeking respite from the heat and a brief rest from their journey.

Suddenly, a shout rang out. All eyes turned towards the entrance of the passage, where dust billowed and horses thundered. More than twenty men, all clad in black, rode one-horned steeds and brandished weapons that glinted coldly in the sunlight. Though their faces were hidden behind dark cloths, the aura of death and violence they exuded was unmistakable.

Not far ahead of the riders, a middle-aged man fled. His clothes were torn and soaked in blood, his face smeared with crimson and dirt, yet his bearing was undiminished, his features noble and unbowed. Though pursued by over twenty horsemen, he betrayed little panic, only glancing occasionally at the infant cradled in his arms, and then a flicker of concern would cross his eyes.

As the riders drew near, the crowd saw clearly: the man carried a swaddled baby in his arms.

“Anyone still in the passage in ten breaths dies!”

Panic swept the onlookers. Having already sensed danger from these black-clad riders, they now fled to either side of the path in terror, leaving their belongings behind as they scrambled for safety at either end of the ravine. The leader's threat had made it clear: anyone caught in the crossfire would not be spared.

Unlike the chaos among the travelers, a dozen figures leapt from several carriages at the far end of the passage—also dressed in black, their faces veiled, clearly in league with the mounted pursuers.

“Yang Yan, you have nowhere left to run. Hand over the Devouring Treasure Pearl, and you and your son will be spared!”

The leader of the black-clad men reined in his horse and leveled his blade at the fleeing man, his voice harsh and cold.

The passage was blocked at both ends, and sheer cliffs loomed on either side—a barrier no ordinary man could hope to cross.

Yang Yan, as the man was called, seemed to understand the desperate situation. He halted, turned slowly, and met the leader’s gaze with a steely look.

“I have never met you before. Why must you destroy my family? For what reason?”

“I act on behalf of another. A man’s innocence is his only crime when he holds a coveted treasure! If you hand over the Devouring Treasure Pearl, I will spare you and your son!”

Yang Yan’s eyes narrowed, but he did not reply.

Three days ago, these uninvited guests had stormed his residence, weapons drawn, slaying everyone in sight. In the chaos, he and his wife Liu escaped with their two children, only to find themselves relentlessly pursued, their enemies determined to annihilate the entire family.

In the confusion, he was separated from his wife and three-year-old daughter, and now, carrying his infant son, he had fled to this Spirit-Link Passage.

If only he could cross it, he would be in Qing Prefecture. Just yesterday, during a brief lull, he had managed to send word to his sworn brother, Sun Tianyang, asking for help. Given the influence of the Kunyang Sect in Qing Prefecture—and his brother’s status as its leader—he had hoped that salvation was within reach.

But where hope had begun to blossom, it was now cut off. Blocked ahead and behind, with cliffs on either side, there was truly no escape.

Was this the end of the Yang clan?

If it were only his own life at stake, death would be no great loss. But the child in his arms was the last of the Yang bloodline—should he perish here, how could Yang Yan face his ancestors?

“Yang Yan, have you decided? My patience grows thin!”

The leader frowned at Yang Yan’s silence, his voice cold.

“If you want the Devouring Treasure Pearl, come and take it yourself!”

Yang Yan’s grip tightened on the child as he spoke, his voice heavy with resolve.

These men had come with murder in mind, hiding their faces, and most of his household already lay dead. Even if he surrendered the treasure, it was unlikely they would let him or his son live.

And indeed, as he suspected, his reputation was well known. Yang Yan had become famous at a young age, a formidable cultivator in the Spirit-Link realm, undefeated among the younger generation of Jin Prefecture’s sects, especially for his Frost-Ice Nether Palm. His handsome features had earned him the epithet “Jade Son of Frost-Ice.”

The leader was not blind to the threat a dying Spirit-Link cultivator posed, and so had planned to promise mercy in order to seize the treasure, and only later slaughter the Yangs.

“If you insist on defiance, you have only yourself to blame! Kill him!”

His ruse seen through, the leader’s eyes turned icy as he raised his sinister blade. All his men, both mounted and on foot, roared and surged forward, weapons flashing, to crush Yang Yan between them.

“Bang! Bang!”

Yang Yan’s face was grim. Holding the infant in his left arm, his right hand formed a seal, and immediately a layer of pale blue ice coated his palm. Moving like a tiger among wolves, he met every blade and spear with his right arm. Any weapon that touched the icy blue palm shattered instantly into swirling flakes of frost.

“Frost-Ice Nether Palm!”

With a fierce shout, Yang Yan seized the moment when his enemies were stunned by their shattered weapons. He raised his right hand, blue light intensifying, and struck forward at five black-clad men. The crystalline palm print shot out, silent and swift; the five men had no time to dodge before they too crumbled into glittering ice.

“Now!”

Delight surged in Yang Yan’s heart. The enemy’s formation was broken—a rare chance. If only he could escape the passage and reach Qing Prefecture, there might yet be hope.

“Well done, Jade Son of Frost-Ice—your Frost-Ice Nether Palm is truly formidable!”

A mocking laugh rang out. The leader spurred his mount, leapt skyward, and landed nimbly before Yang Yan.

Yang Yan’s face suddenly set with grim resolve. He ignored the leader, throwing back his head and laughing fearlessly.

The black-clad men exchanged wary glances, uncertain, even the leader frowning, unsure of Yang Yan’s intent.

After a moment, Yang Yan’s laughter faded. He reached into his robe and withdrew a smooth, milky-white pearl.

“The Devouring Treasure Pearl! You’ve finally come to your senses?”

The leader’s heart leapt as Yang Yan revealed the pearl—surely, he thought, the man was now willing to buy his son’s safety. But before he could rejoice, his smile froze.

Yang Yan ignored him. He gently placed the pearl in his infant son’s swaddling, his rough fingers brushing the child’s face—a rare tenderness glowing in his otherwise resolute eyes.

“My child, whether you live or die now depends on your fate.”

With these words, he took out a bloodstained cloth and tucked it into the child’s bundle.

Having done this, Yang Yan gathered all his icy blue spiritual energy into his legs. With a sudden leap, still holding the baby, he sprang towards the cliff face.

The leader blinked in surprise, then sneered. “Yang Yan, don’t waste your strength. Even with your power, you cannot cross the void. You will never escape!”

He thought Yang Yan was merely making a futile last stand. But even as he spoke, a change occurred: halfway up the cliff, as Yang Yan’s strength gave out, he hurled the infant upwards with all his might.

“Yang Yan, do you wish for death?!”

The leader came to himself, his gaze turning murderous.

“Hahahaha!”

Plummeting back down, Yang Yan laughed wildly, almost madly.

“I, Yang Yan, have lived proudly—if I must die, it will not be by the hands of petty villains like you!”

With those words, he gathered pale blue energy in his palm and, turning it inward, struck his own chest.

A dull boom echoed through the passage as ice fragments fluttered down. All the black-clad men stared silently, their faces unreadable.

“What are you waiting for? Get up there and bring back that brat and the Devouring Treasure Pearl!”

“Yes, sir!”

...