The gentle hue of morning sun filtered through the intricately carved wooden windows of the Bai Manor. The room was silent, save for the faint rustle of silk curtains swaying with the breeze. On the wide bed of silverwood, a young boy lay with eyes half-lidded—neither awake nor asleep.
Li Bai.
He was only seven years old, yet his features bore the weight of generations. Born with the blood of a divine general and a celestial-blooded mother, he looked at the ceiling with dazed eyes, heart pounding to an invisible rhythm.
"Primordial Dao..."
A voice had echoed in the depths of his mind the previous night—a celestial voice, as though spoken by the heavens themselves. But that was not all. A vision followed—a dream, or perhaps a fragment of fate.
He remembered...
A vast, empty sky, darker than any night—space itself. Suspended in that void was a man, a figure wreathed in imperial crimson robes embroidered with falling suns. His long black hair fluttered as if the cosmos bowed to his presence. A flaming red symbol burned on his forehead, and in his right hand, an obsidian spear hummed with divine power.
Before him was an army—an ocean of soldiers numbering in the billions. Their armor shimmered like galaxies, their presence enough to collapse mountains. And yet, the man stood alone, unmoved.
Then he turned—and for a moment, his gaze met Li Bai's.
A gentle smile. One of unspeakable sorrow and boundless pride.
The next instant, the world ignited.
He descended like a comet, spear in hand, crashing into the heart of the army. War erupted—screams, lightning, blood, and law clashing with law. His spear carved through heaven and earth, his robes flowing like flame.
And in the end…
He stood atop a mountain of corpses, his body riddled with spears, swords, and arrows, blood trailing down his chin.
Three figures with an aura no weaker than the warrior's descended from nothingless as if ripping space itself—cloaked in robes of heavenly silk, their presence like stars born from law itself. They laughed with cruel divinity.
The man roared one final time and lunged—wounded, dying, defiant.
And yet… he fell.
But before his final breath, he pointed a glowing finger at Li Bai. A beam of celestial light streaked through space, piercing the boy's forehead.
He woke up.
Gasping. Sweating. Trembling.
---
"Young Master!"
A raspy, aged voice pulled him from his thoughts.
The door creaked open, and in stepped Uncle Zhao, face weathered by decades of hardship. His silver beard trembled as he rushed to Li Bai's bedside, kneeling beside him.
"Are you alright, Young Master? I felt your spiritual aura erupt last night—something happened, didn't it?" His eyes, always sharp, now brimmed with genuine concern.
Li Bai looked up at the old steward—the only person who had never turned his back on him.
"I… saw something, Uncle Zhao," Li Bai murmured. "A dream. A man… with a spear… fighting alone… and dying. But he smiled at me. And then… something entered my forehead."
Uncle Zhao's mind puzzled by the dilemma was struck with an idea....
"Could it be…?" he whispered."You have awakened your dao path--"
"What's that?" Li Bai asked.
But before Zhao could answer, a deep, resonant hum filled the air.
Dum... Dum... Dummmm...
A haunting sound echoed across the manor—the Gurgan, a sacred warhorn used only when high-ranking officials approached.
Zhao's face turned pale.
"The Xuan family," he said bitterly.
---
Narration
Years ago, when General Huan Bai disappeared, the Bai family's power crumbled like ancient stone under rain. Allies turned into vultures, circling to pick at what remained.
But Zhao stood firm.
Through diplomacy and sacrifice, he forged a lifeline—an alliance with the Xuan family, led by Xuan Li, one of the continent's remaining Divine Generals. The treaty allowed the Bai family to retain its Ducal status.
Until now.
---
At the manor's main hall, courtiers knelt. Servants bowed so low their foreheads touched the marble. And at the highest seat, framed by red jade pillars and black phoenix banners, sat a man whose very presence crushed the air.
Xuan Li.
Hair as white as moonlight, eyes like storm-swept oceans. His robe—woven of Heavenweave Silk, bore the patterns of black dragons and phoenixes circling around a sword.
He was not as mighty as Huan Bai, but his aura screamed Battle Saint.
He raised his hand. The hall went silent.
"The agreement between the Xuan and Bai families… ends today."
His words fell like thunder.
Gasps echoed. Zhao trembled, but kept his back straight.
"Young Master," he whispered to Li Bai, who now stood beside him, still confused but beginning to understand.