Yue Ling's fingertip brushed gently across the petal—soft, trembling, cold. The Orchid Tears Petal, despite its delicate appearance, pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. As if waiting for her. Then in the blink of an eye, her vision clouded. Her breath caught.
A battlefield exploded before her eyes.
Burnt skies. Rivers dyed red. Cries of the dying echoed in her ears, thick like thunder. Standing at the center was a monstrous force—an army of dark-robed figures, their eyes glowing blood red. Each of them bore the same sigil on their foreheads: Mo Xuánzāi — Demon Sword Clan, long thought erased from history. The last force that tried to destroy the cultivation world.
Their blades weren't normal weapons. They were forged from fallen stars, devouring spiritual qi from the land as they slashed through cultivators, even shattering heavenly artifacts.
Yue Ling's hands trembled.
Then, the scene melted into mist.
A new realm appeared. One unlike anything she'd seen before—a land suspended between time and space, where all five elements flowed freely. Water weaved in threads of silver across the air, fire danced silently in spheres, wood pulsed green beneath glassy earth, and metal shimmered as veins through the mountains. In the center… a void.
Still. Bottomless. Beckoning.
A voice—no, a whisper—filled the realm.
"Only the one who bears them all… can finish what we failed."
But the void rejected completeness. The memory continued:
"The bearer of all five will suffer the most. The void consumes what shines brightest."
Those with one or even three elements were tolerated. But anyone whose body carried the full resonance of the Five Elements… was doomed to be hunted by the remnants of the Mojiàn, cursed by imbalance itself.
The scene shattered again. This time, into something older. A memory Yue Ling had never lived, yet felt rooted in her blood.
A tribe.
Faces hidden beneath silver hoods. Their land veiled by snow and silence. These people—once allies in the Great War—had vanished. No maps showed their domain. Only a single echo remained:
"When balance crumbles, seek those who dwell in the heart of nothing."
And then—nothing.
The memory cracked.
Yue Ling gasped.
But before she could find her breath, the flower pulsed again—and she was pulled deeper, into another world.
She stood in her old disguise—plain robes, dirt on her cheeks, a cap too large for her head. The same disguise she wore when sneaking into the outside village. Familiar voices rang out.
"The ugly duckling is here again!"
"Hurry, cover the stalls! She's cursed!"
Sour laughter. The stench of spilt soup. Rotten fruit was thrown at her. Her body flinched before she could remember she wasn't really there.
It wasn't a memory.
It was an illusion.
But it felt too real.
Then, the scene changed again. She sat in front of Grandfather Yue. He sighed, voice heavy.
"There's no need for you to cultivate. Your destiny is different. Just enjoy life. Live simply."
Then the beating. Her body remembered it. Fists. Sticks. Screams muffled by soil. Her mind recoiled. This wasn't supposed to be the test. She was supposed to pass.
She was supposed to remember who she was.
But she forgot.
The illusion continued.
Yue Ling lived the years as if it were reality. Days passed. Then months. Then centuries. She stopped resisting. Her identity thinned like fog. She smiled when expected. She kept her head low. She never questioned Grandfather Yue's words.
Until one day, her heart stirred.
She was watching the sunrise over the pond, alone, when a question pierced her stillness.
Why am I always the useless one?
The question tore a hole into her illusion. Memory flooded in behind it.
She remembered the beatings. The scorn. The hunger to prove herself.
And then more questions came:
Why won't Grandfather Yue let me leave the world?
Why does no one else live with us?
Why have I never seen my mother?
Why can't I cultivate?
Who am I… really?
The questions burned through her illusion like fire.
She stormed to Grandfather Yue in the illusion and shouted, tears in her eyes.
"I would rather die than stay useless! If I can't cultivate, then let me end this life!"
He remained silent, and in that silence, something inside her snapped. A light flared in her soul.
And the illusion broke.
It shattered into a thousand lotus-shaped shards.
She stood in the village square, the same one where they had mocked her. Now, she faced the crowd head held high, fury blazing in her eyes.
She raised her voice.
"I am not useless!"
The echo of her voice tore through the illusion. Her heartbeat thundered.
Above her, the Orchid Tears Petal—which had quietly grown into a small tree over the years—began to shake. Its branches quivered, its petals multiplied. From a single glowing petal, it now bore three—each radiating a soft blue glow. Not fully bloomed, not complete. But more than before. More than ever.
She was pulled from the illusion, breath ragged, drenched in sweat, her hands covered in glowing pollen.
She fell to her knees, trembling.
"Another test… and I nearly failed again."
She touched the now-transformed flower. The scent that rose from it was no longer faint.
It was the fragrance of awakening.
The Orchid Tears Petal had evolved.
And so had she.
But what awaited her next… she couldn't predict.
Because she knew now—this wasn't just about cultivation. It wasn't even about revenge.
It was about truth.
And truth, in a world of illusions, was the hardest thing to hold.