Font Size:
“Boom—!”
A deafening crack of thunder tore through the darkened sky, shaking heaven and earth alike.
The man holding the infant flinched at the thunderclap, a wave of panic rising in his chest.
He quickened his pace, eyes darting anxiously from side to side, cautiously surveying the surroundings.
It was nearing dusk. Towering trees loomed on all sides, their dense canopies casting heavy shadows that made it nearly impossible to see the path ahead.
Before long, rain began to pour down in torrents, pelting his face with sharp, cold droplets.
At that moment, the infant in his arms stirred awake. Yet instead of crying, she opened her eyes wide, as though quietly observing something unseen.
Out here in the desolate wilderness, the man was unnerved by the baby’s gaze. His hands trembled, and he nearly dropped her in fright.
He instinctively swallowed hard, forcing himself to summon the courage to look down at the child once more.
Those dark, luminous eyes were as pure as a mirror, as if reflecting the evil within his heart.
A pang of guilt flickered across the man’s face. He muttered under his breath, “Don’t blame me… Blame your cursed fate. Born with demon eyes like that—better for you to die quietly on your own than to bring ruin upon an entire family. Only then can the rest of us live in peace.”
The rain was coming down harder now. The man rambled on, words disjointed and breath heavy, his body nearly at its limit.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally caught sight of the cliff ahead and let out a sigh of relief.
Quickening his steps, he approached the edge and glanced down at the child in his arms. She was still looking at him with those wide, unblinking eyes—silent, without a single tear.
A flicker of hesitation passed through his eyes. But then he recalled the string of misfortunes that had plagued his household lately, the strange and sinister occurrences that left everyone in constant fear. That momentary softness vanished.
He clenched his jaw, shut his eyes tight, and with ruthless resolve, loosened his grip—letting the infant fall into the abyss below.
Moments later, the distinct wail of a baby pierced through the rain, echoing briefly in the mountain valley. In the next breath, it vanished as swiftly as lightning—gone in an instant.
Startled by the cry, the man jumped, his face pale with terror. He instinctively stumbled back—only to trip over a jagged rock behind him with a heavy thud and crash to the ground.
Ignoring the pain, he scrambled up and fled, his movements frantic and erratic, as if some invisible force was chasing him—driving him to escape without a second’s delay.
…
Eighteen years later.
In a secluded, silent mountain valley, deep within the lush, dense forest, a young woman dressed in pale green carried a small bundle on her back as she made her way down the mountain path.
Her master’s parting words still echoed in Qingli’s ears.
Her master had told her that a tribulation lay in her fate—one she would not survive past the age of eighteen. The only way to overcome it, he said, was with the protection of Purple Qi. But she had no Purple Qi herself, and it wasn’t something one could simply take by force.
The only solution, her master explained, was to conceive a child who carried Purple Qi from birth. During pregnancy, the Purple Qi would remain within her, acting as a shield against her destined death.
Qingli was utterly bewildered. What kind of deadly fate required having a child to avert it? And where was she supposed to find a man capable of fathering a child imbued with Purple Qi? That made things even harder.
She was full of worry.
There couldn’t be more than a handful of men in the world blessed with Purple Qi! Finding one would be near impossible!
Still, she consoled herself—at least she could finally leave the mountain. She was only allowed to descend once a year, and every time, she had to follow her master’s lead. It was dreadfully dull. This time, she was on her own, and she fully intended to enjoy herself before going back.
Ming Valley, the stronghold of the Seven Mystics Gate, was located deep within a forbidden forest on the southern border of the Southern Kingdom. The area was known for its wild beasts, dense mists, and poisonous vapors—no ordinary soul would ever set foot here.
Once Qingli passed through the illusions cloaking the valley, she used lightfoot techniques to swiftly descend the mountain. Two hours later, she finally arrived at a small town at the mountain’s base.
The town was bustling. Vendors called out enthusiastically from their stalls. Realizing she had no money, she mimicked her master’s old trick and unpacked her bundle, arranging a small fortune-telling stall in front of her. In no time, her little stand was ready.
She sat behind it with practiced ease, full of confidence as she waited for her first customer.
Dressed in a pale blue robe, Qingli’s skin was as fair as freshly fallen snow. She had striking fox-like eyes—bright and clear, her irises pure as spring water. The corners of her eyes lifted ever so slightly, giving her an enchanting charm. Her petite face, no larger than a palm, was delicate and pale, exuding a quiet coolness tinged with youthful innocence.
Such an outstanding appearance contrasted starkly with her current act, drawing the attention of every passerby. Curious eyes fell upon her from all directions.
Qingli sat on her little stool, unbothered by the stares of passersby. She quietly pulled out a book and began to read, wholly indifferent to the world around her.
She didn’t know how long she had been sitting there when a portly man in fine clothes walked over with a friendly smile and asked, “Young lady, do you know how to tell fortunes?”
Seeing a potential customer, Qingli closed her book and looked up at him. Her gaze was calm, pure, and steady—nothing like the typical con artist’s.
“Yes,” she said. “What would you like me to divine? If I’m wrong, I won’t take a single coin.”
The man seemed even more intrigued by that. He chuckled. “Very well. If your reading is accurate, money won’t be an issue.”
Qingli offered a faint smile. In that moment, a glimmer lit up her tranquil eyes, and the smile reached their depths. Her expression was so beautiful it was hard to look away.
The man was momentarily dazed, caught off guard by her sudden radiance.
“What would you like to know, Sir?” she asked again, this time pulling out her divination compass and assuming a thoroughly professional demeanor.
And in truth, she was professional. As the sole heir to the Seven Mystics Gate, Qingli had been trained in a great many arts. Fortune-telling was just one of them—she also knew geomancy, physiognomy, exorcism, and even healing arts.
Her master often said she was the most gifted disciple he had ever seen. Born with a body of pure yin and the rare Celestial Eye, she could see all things in the world from the moment she was born. Without cultivation, she wouldn’t have lived past the age of three—her unique constitution made her a magnet for wandering spirits and wild ghosts that preyed on such rare energy to strengthen themselves.
From a young age, Qingli had studied mystical arts. Exorcising spirits and capturing ghosts was child’s play to her—naturally, fortune-telling and face reading were even simpler.
The man grew even more intrigued by her serious demeanor. He chuckled and said, “Then why don’t you tell me when I’ll have a son?”
Qingli glanced at him and noticed the sly, suggestive curve of his smile. Her eyes instantly turned colder. She examined his face carefully, then spoke in a calm, detached tone.
“Sir, according to your physiognomy, you will have no sons in this lifetime.”
The moment the words left her mouth, the surrounding crowd gasped, their eyes wide in disbelief. This girl really dared to say such a thing.
This man was the only son of the wealthiest family in town—what she said might very well be a death sentence.
People watching began to worry for Qingli, convinced she had just sealed her fate.
The man’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He stared coldly at Qingli. “Are you certain? A wrong reading might cost you your life.”
Murmurs rippled through the onlookers, but Qingli’s expression remained serene, untouched by fear. She looked as composed as ever.
“Very well. If I’m wrong, I’ll pay with my life.”
Qingli had always been confident in her skills. With this man, a single glance at his face was all it took—no need for deeper calculations.
The area between his brows was shrouded in ominous darkness, his Fate Palace deeply sunken, and his life line was broken—clear signs of an impending end. He wouldn’t live past three days. Naturally, a man who would soon be dead could not be said to have any children in his fate.
The man’s eyelid twitched at her calm certainty. He forced a smile. “One of my concubines was just confirmed pregnant, yet you say I’ll have no children? Clearly, you’ve miscalculated. And that means your life now belongs to me.”
“Come with me. From now on, you’re mine.”
Qingli replied evenly, “You truly will have no children in this life—because you only have three days left to live. What does it matter if your concubine is pregnant? That child is not yours. You’ll be dead in three days, and naturally, there will be no future chance for you to have children. My reading is not wrong. If you don’t believe me, wait and see.”
The crowd gasped. This was going too far—now she was cursing him to die?
Being told he would die, the man could no longer hold back his anger. His expression turned cold and hostile.
“Young lady, I advise you to think twice before you speak. Have you never heard the saying, ‘Disaster comes from the mouth’?”
Even with her beauty, the man’s patience had reached its limit.
Qingli remained as serious as ever, her expression unwavering. “Young Master, take this talisman. Three days from now, when you die, have your family burn it. You’ll be able to see me again. I will perform a ritual to guide your soul and ensure you pass on peacefully. Without me, you’ll become a wandering ghost, lost and alone. You’re a new spirit, so you won’t stand a chance against the more powerful, older ghosts. Eventually, you’ll be devoured. As for this reading, I won’t charge you for it—our profession doesn’t take money from those about to die. However, once you pass, for the ritual and guiding your soul to the afterlife, I must take payment. Have your family send the money after your death when they get my message in a dream.”
She continued speaking, pulling a yellow triangular talisman from her pocket and offering it to him.
The man did not take the talisman. Instead, he glared at her with malice in his eyes. His temper had truly flared now. What had started as a game to amuse himself had turned into a frustration he could not contain.
“Bring her to my mansion,” he ordered, his voice cold. “Treat her well.”
Two men in black armor appeared behind him, each carrying a sword at their waist. It was obvious they were martial artists.
Qingli sighed inwardly. People always judged her based on her appearance, never believing her predictions. Then, when things went wrong, they regretted it.
“Young Master, I advise you not to force my hand. If you believe me now, I will only charge you ten taels of silver for the ritual to guide your soul. If you refuse to listen, later, when you want my help to pass on peacefully, it will cost you one hundred taels. You should think carefully. Without my help, you will be a lost, wandering spirit, doomed to vanish.”
The more she spoke, the more outrageous her words seemed to the man. Enraged, he waved his hand, signaling his subordinates to act.
Qingli’s patience finally wore thin as her words fell on deaf ears.
With a swift motion, she rolled up the cloth and collected the items she had laid out on the ground, just as the two thugs moved in to seize her.
She nimbly turned, dodging their hands, and glanced at the man with disdain. Her voice was cold and firm: “Remember this—if you want to summon me after your death, it’ll cost at least two hundred taels. Otherwise, you can remain a wandering, restless ghost!”
Hmph! She had her own temper, after all.
With those final words, Qingli effortlessly dispatched the two thugs, and then looked at the angry man with an expression of disapproval. “Ungrateful.”
Without further delay, she fled. Her light footwork allowed her to move with incredible speed, leaving the men far behind.
Although she hadn’t made any money from her stall this time, she knew the money would come soon enough—just a few days, and her earnings would double. She wasn’t worried.
She wandered aimlessly down the street, checking the silver in her pocket. It would be enough for a few more days, so she found an inn and settled in, ready to wait for the payment and the soul delivery in three days.
After ordering a few dishes, she sat down in the inn’s main hall to eat. As she did, the sound of footsteps reached her ears, piquing her curiosity.
A man in a wheelchair was pushed into the inn. His face was simply breathtaking, almost otherworldly in its beauty—delicate features, a high nose bridge, sharp brows, bright eyes, and sensuous lips. Every part of his face was stunning, and his aura was one of unrivaled elegance.
Qingli was momentarily stunned. She had never seen such a handsome man before.
What was even more surprising was that this man was surrounded by a powerful, concentrated aura of Purple Qi. Though it seemed slightly damaged, it was still potent. If she were to intervene and repair it, his Purple Qi would only grow stronger.