The moon hung low, veiled behind a curtain of mist, as shadows stirred beneath the ancient grove where silence reigned. Leaves whispered in the wind—soft, reverent, as if nature itself sensed the presence of something long forgotten.
A boy stood quietly among the silver-dappled trees.
Though he appeared no older than six, there was something unsettlingly timeless in his gaze—eyes that had seen more than a child ever should. This was Qian Yu, a soul reborn, one who had lived ten lifetimes. His spiritual awareness had sharpened into an instrument far keener than any other in this world.
Even with his current spirit power halted at only the thirtieth rank, Qian Yu could feel the subtle fluctuations in the air—faint ripples of spirit energy that no ordinary cultivator would ever detect.
And now, someone was approaching.
From the murky darkness emerged a tall figure clad in a pristine white robe, its hems embroidered with delicate threads of gold. His long hair, as white as frost, flowed past his shoulders like a winter stream. His steps were unhurried, but each one carried the weight of immense power—more than even the legendary Hao Tian Douluo.
The boy's brows lifted slightly, a flicker of recognition—calm, but not without curiosity.
A chuckle rang out—low and echoing, like a bell chiming at dusk.
"Hahaha... impressive," the elder said, his voice neither mocking nor cruel, but rather amused, as if he were greeting an old friend who'd changed their face.
Qian Yu tilted his head, expression composed. "If I'm not mistaken, you're from the Spirit Hall, aren't you?"
The elder gave a subtle nod but offered no further reply, his eyes quietly studying the boy. He was waiting. Testing. Measuring.
Qian Yu didn't need more than that.
"The pressure you emit... it surpasses even Tang Hao's. Only a handful in this world could rival Hao Tian Douluo, and you're clearly not Bibi Dong, the Pope. That leaves only one conclusion—you are the Grand Worshipper of Spirit Hall."
Those words hung in the air like a gong strike.
The elder—Qian Daoliu—paused mid-step. He hadn't spoken a word until now, hadn't revealed himself before this moment. And this child—no, this reincarnated being—had never laid eyes on him in this life.
Yet with one glance, the boy had unraveled his identity.
Either he possessed a mind like no other—or he was who Qian Daoliu had long suspected.
The ancestor, reborn.
"You're correct," Qian Daoliu finally replied, his voice low with awe.
Qian Yu stepped forward, his tone steady. "You came because you've read what I left behind—my records, the scriptures etched with my own hand."
Qian Daoliu's breath caught.
Until now, he had only theorized the boy might be the Ancestor's reincarnation. But to hear him speak of ancient words, left a millennium ago, confirmed something greater. This child had not only returned—he remembered.
"You... you truly are..." he whispered, voice trembling with disbelief.
"I founded Spirit Hall ten thousand years ago," Qian Yu said softly, the wind playing at the hem of his robe. "I ordered that my deeds be recorded, preserved within the Hall's archives. Alongside them, I left twelve tokens."
He extended his hand, and from his palm a small, glowing emblem floated through the air toward Qian Daoliu.
"One for the Founder, one for the Pope, and ten for the Worshippers," he continued.
Qian Daoliu caught the token. The moment his fingers closed around it, a familiar energy surged through him—ancient, commanding, impossible to counterfeit.
It was the real thing.
The Founder's Token.
And this child... This child was truly Qian Yu, returned from across the ages.
His hands trembled as he looked upon the boy with new eyes. Not as a stranger, but as a divine presence returned.
Qian Yu's expression remained gentle, his voice calm. "When I reached the peak of the continent's power, I chose not to ascend to the Divine Realm. Instead, I left behind a prophecy on the last page of the scriptures: Ten thousand years from now, I shall return and reign once more."
He raised his arm again, and from his palm bloomed a jet-black Nether Begonia—a spirit flower so rare and potent that it seemed to pulse with death itself. Yet within its ghostly aura shimmered the delicate essence of life.
Qian Daoliu dropped to one knee without hesitation. "I—Qian Daoliu, Grand Worshipper of Spirit Hall—greet the Ancestor."
Qian Yu nodded with serene acceptance. "There's no need for formalities."
The elder slowly rose, though reverence still clung to his posture. "Ancestor... if you've returned, why haven't you come back to us? Why remain hidden from Spirit Hall?"
Qian Yu's gaze drifted skyward, as if seeing far beyond the stars. "Because I seek divinity, and to become a god, one must walk among mortals—suffer, learn, grow. I've lost my former cultivation. Everything must begin again."
He glanced back at Qian Daoliu with quiet clarity. "Besides, even if I returned, who would believe me? As I am now, little more than a child, would anyone in Spirit Hall take my words seriously?"
Qian Daoliu lowered his head. "You are right. Spirit Hall is no longer under my command. All authority rests with Bibi Dong now. And her nature..." His voice dropped, wary. "She would not surrender control, even to the Founder himself. If anything, she might try to silence you."
Qian Yu's expression didn't change. "I understand her," he said softly. "She seeks unity. Peace. Power not for herself, but to bring order to the chaos. Her methods are harsh, but her goal is worthy."
He turned away, the glow of the Nether Begonia fading from his palm. "That's why I will not challenge her. Not now."
Qian Daoliu hesitated, then asked, "Then what are your plans, Ancestor?"
"I will continue to cultivate in obscurity," Qian Yu replied, his voice still like water. "For now, let only those who must know of my identity be aware. When the time comes, I'll return to Spirit Hall."
Qian Daoliu bowed deeply. "As you command."
A moment passed in silence before Qian Yu added, "I know your desire, Qian Daoliu. You seek godhood, do you not?"
The old man froze.
"I will show you the path," Qian Yu said quietly. "When the time is right."
There was no need to explain further. Even loyalty needed incentive, and Qian Yu understood that well. This promise wasn't a favor—it was a contract.
Qian Daoliu stood frozen, breath caught in his throat.
In that quiet forest, beneath the watchful stars, a new chapter had begun.
And the one who once ruled the world had returned—not as a conqueror, but as a seed planted once more in mortal soil, waiting for the right season to bloom.
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