In the other half of Shenchuandi—the cursed side untouched by divine order, ruled instead by monsters, fallen gods, and abyss-born kings—the land breathed decay.*
Even among the demon clans, there existed one place so steeped in dread that even the strongest demons dared not approach it—a place where names were erased from fate, and stepping too close meant being devoured by madness itself. Though it lay at the very center of the Demon Realm, no map dared mark it, and no soul dared wander near. It was a place spoken of in broken whispers, feared not for what it held—but for what it remembered.
This was not a battlefield.
It was a sentence.
Here, where thoughts twisted into curses and the air tasted of ash and forgotten screams, sat one who lived through the Age of Calamity—a **demon god** too dangerous to be slain, and too cursed to be forgiven. The **HeavenlyDAO** itself had punished him, binding his existence to the dark side of Shenchuandi.
Atop a ridge of shattered mountains rose his domain—a castle born of suffering and shadow, built from molten black jade, veined with lava and flowing blood. Rivers of flame ran beneath its bridges. The sky above never changed, locked in eternal twilight. Its walls breathed like wounded beasts, and inside, all light bent away in fear.
At the heart of it stood a throne room lit by nothing but the glow of damned souls and the dripping of blood into bottomless pits. Ancient skeletons hung suspended in midair, wrapped in chain-seals that still pulsed with divine symbols—proof of battles against things greater than men or gods.
There, upon a jagged throne of collapsed celestial cores, he lay—motionless. Though seated, it was as if death itself had paused. His feet were shackled by ancient chains, glowing faintly with divine light, as if bound by the very essence of the heavens. His cloak was made from the skin of devoured spirits, and his horns curved back like a broken moon. He did not move, nor speak, nor breathe. And still, the abyss obeyed him.
The massive stone doors creaked open.
Mist curled inward as three shadows entered, kneeling instantly before his presence.
"My lord," one of them said, the voice distorted by ancient oaths, "it is done. The child has been taken through an unknown teleportation array. Its energy shattered along the pathway. We cannot trace him."
The silence that followed was more terrible than a scream.
The demon god slowly opened his eyes—slitted and violet, gleaming with fury long restrained.
"Hmph… so the Sheng Clan chose to throw him into the dirt," he said with a slow, mocking smile. "Sent him to crawl among ants."
The air cracked. Dark qi rolled off his body in waves, twisting the stone beneath him.
> "Send word across the Zhenxiu Realm. Let the sleeping cults rise. Let those who serve the dark remember their oaths. Tell them—the hunt begins."
> "Search the entire Zhenxiu Realm. Seek the child—the one who bears a lotus upon his forehead, cloaked in heaven's silence."
The demons looked at one another, confused.
"But… my lord…" one of them began.
He raised a hand, and silence returned. He said nothing more.
From that cursed throne, a silent ripple spread—through dark rivers, black clouds, and the hearts of those who still served the old blood.
◆
Since the child vanished through the teleportation array, the skies over the Sheng Clan quieted. The invading forces retreated, bound by divine threat and shaken awe. Yet the silence that followed was not peace—it was absence.
Inside the once-bright chambers of the Sheng Clan, Lianyu sat alone, her arms empty, her soul restless. She gazed at the horizon day and night, not knowing where her son had gone, only that he was beyond reach. Her tears had long since dried, yet the ache only deepened.
Tianhai stood guard atop the ancestral tower, unmoving, a mountain of grief and fury held in check. No enemy dared return, but the wound in their family—and in fate—remained.
Far below\... the world kept turning.
◆
*In the Zhenxiu Realm, beneath the reach of heaven, destiny quietly plants its roots...*
On the outskirts of the **Fengxuan Kingdom**, far from the bustle of sects or cities, there stood a lonely stretch of forest known only to hunters and hermits. And among the foothills of **Mount Hengxuan**, shrouded in early mist and missed, there lay a humble wooden house.
The wind that night carried no ordinary chill.
Inside the house, the couple sat quietly, eating a simple meal of vegetables and rice. Though time had passed, sadness still lingered in the mother's eyes. Her husband remained silent, chewing slowly, lost in thought.
Suddenly, a gust of wind howled through the cracks in the house's frame. The flame flickered. Then another gust. Then a third—stronger, colder.
The trees outside began to shake. Thunder cracked in the sky.
Heavy rain burst forth in an instant, hammering the roof like falling stones. The lantern dimmed as the wind howled louder, and the moon outside vanished behind surging black clouds.
The man stood, his eyes narrowing.
And then—he saw it.
A golden light burned through the sky like a falling star, silent but fierce, trailing flames of ethereal brilliance. It split the clouds like a blade of fate and began to descend—toward the old forest shrine, just beyond their home.
For a moment, the entire mountain glowed.
"Li Mei!" he called. "Come out—look at the sky!"
The woman stepped outside, wiping her tears. She gasped as the golden light spiraled toward the grove where they had once prayed nightly… begging the heavens to bless them with a child.
Without another word, they ran.
◆
The old stone shrine lay deep within the forest, surrounded by gnarled trees and overgrown moss. It had not been touched in years. But now, the air shimmered with divine warmth.
And at the center of the shrine—**lay a child**.
That child was wrapped not in ordinary clothes, but in a single golden cloth—soft, radiant, and shimmering faintly under the moonless sky, as if woven from dawn itself. A mysterious **pendant** hung from his neck, its surface etched with ancient symbols neither of them recognized.
The baby did not cry. He only slept—his breath steady, as if untouched by the cold.
Li Mei dropped to her knees, eyes wide with disbelief.
"A child…? From the sky?"
The man approached cautiously, feeling a pressure around the boy—not hostile, but heavy, like standing before something sacred.
Li Mei's eyes filled with tears again, but this time they were different. She looked to her husband.
"He looks… like our son."
He hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Maybe the heavens… took pity."
"We prayed here," she said softly. "Every day. For a child. And now…"
The man looked at the baby again. He felt no ordinary spirit. This was something deeper, but… perhaps this was fate. A second chance. A thread from the heavens.
"Then we raise him," he said firmly. "No matter where he came from. We'll protect him."
Li Mei cradled the child in her arms as if he had always been hers. He stirred gently, pressing his tiny hand to her chest, and the pendant at his neck glowed faintly—just once—then dimmed.
The name etched in the divine pendant shone faintly for a moment: **Sheng Mo**.
The man read it slowly. "Sheng Mo… A name strong enough to carry the heavens and humble enough to walk among men."
They wrapped him in fresh cloth and carried him back to their house, placing him in the same cradle that had known only tears just hours before.
Outside, the wind changed.
No one in the Fengxuan Kingdom knew of the child's fall that night. No sect sensed the divine ripple in the mountain air. But far above, in realms unseen, ancient eyes still watched.
And in the mortal cradle of **Zhenxiu Realm**, a new chapter had quietly begun.
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💬 *What did you feel during this chapter? Was it the demon god's quiet wrath or the silent hope of a child reborn that struck you most? Leave your thoughts below and help shape the journey of Sheng Mo.*