A mortal’s life is but a fleeting moment—decades of suffering, decades of joy. The pain the body can endure is always limited; often, before one even feels the ache, release has already come.

Ethan Carter stood at the edge of the cliff, thinking, “Well, I suppose I’ll have to suffer a bit.”

The bìfang guarding the sword let out a piercing, mournful cry as the man leapt into the sea of fire below the abyss.

The scorching wind rushed at him like flames, burning his flesh to charcoal in an instant. From hair and skin, the fire seared him layer by layer, down to the bone. His blood began to boil, vessels bursting within his body, tearing through the charred flesh. Every meridian in his body snapped. He coughed up a mouthful of ash—he couldn’t tell if it was from his heart or his lungs.

Next, he crashed into the earthfire magma. There was a hard crust on the surface, but his body was so sturdy that, even after falling from a ten-thousand-foot cliff, he didn’t shatter to pieces. His broken spine folded in half, flames soared high like banners, and the molten earthfire opened a maw, swallowing him whole, then exploded, spitting him back into the air.

Even then, he did not die.

If a person could truly experience being ground to dust, then all those so-called “unforgettable” moments in the mortal world would be nothing but ash on stone.

Under such repeated torment, the entirety of his life—its origins, joys, sorrows, anger—was boiled away with his melting consciousness, refined by the great fire until… he gradually forgot who he was. Only then did the disturbed magma settle once more, and his never-ending, unburned remains slowly sank.

At last, it was over.

Emperor Wu of Qi, Ethan Carter, son of Emperor Ping.

Emperor Ping was slain by the demon race, dying in battle at Chiyuan. While still alive, Ethan was made emperor in his stead. His youth was fraught with hardship; at twenty-three, he slew the demon king beneath the walls of Yong’an City, changed the era name to Qizheng, restored the nation and pacified the borders, his achievements rivaling the Five Emperors, yet he was ruthless and bloodthirsty, upending all order. He reigned for twenty-one years, took his own life in the earthfire of Chiyuan, leaving no remains.

Ten years later, the earthfire died out, Chiyuan was leveled, Emperor Wen erased the boundary stele and built the tomb of Emperor Wu.

Ages passed, and after a thousand years, a vast forest grew atop the ashes of Chiyuan.

The primeval forest of Chiyuan Grand Canyon became a tourist attraction.

Bzzz——

What’s that sound?

From deep within the earth came a vague, unsettling murmur, growing louder and closer.

So noisy…

His consciousness was forcibly awakened by the clamor, his senses betraying his will. After a thousand years of silence, his senses greedily reached out, hungrily absorbing every vivid detail around him. The chaotic world surged toward him, flooding his mind through his six senses—the feel of mud, the earthy tang, the sound of wind, falling leaves, footsteps, human voices…

Human voices?

He wondered in confusion, “How could there be people here?”

The question flashed by, and then, as his awareness revived, more doubts surfaced: “Why shouldn’t there be people here? Where is this place again? I… I am…”

Who am I?

He felt his body, tentatively tried to move, and heard a crisp “crack” by his ear. The wind brushed his forehead. He suddenly opened his eyes, tears stinging from the long-lost sunlight, and found himself lying in the debris… of a coffin.

“Oh,” he pondered for a moment in the coffin fragments, calmly concluding, “I might have just come back from the dead.”

Chapter 2

Outskirts of Yong’an City, Xishan Nature Reserve.

After two autumn rains, most of the red leaves on the hillside had fallen. At dusk, there were few visitors; aside from the lonely evening bell in the small temple atop the mountain, only the sound of wind remained.

It was already quite chilly, but after climbing the mountain, Dylan Foster was drenched in sweat—Old Brooks walked so fast, it was as if he had wheels of fire under his feet.

“Hey, Director Brooks, can we at least pretend to be a bit more elegant? Let me enjoy the scenery of your fine mountain!” Dylan Foster fished out an e-cigarette, stuck it in his mouth, and mumbled, “I’m afraid you’ll trip and do the splits if you’re not careful.”

“Cut the crap. Once I settle you in, I have to go to a meeting with Director Huang. You think everyone’s like you, with nothing to do all day but loaf around? Move it!” Director Brooks, full name Zachary Brooks, wore his uniform impeccably, his features sharp and his face clean and stern, exuding a meticulous precision. He shot his companion a cold glance, then climbed the steps, taking the staff passage up the mountain and entering the “No Visitors” backyard of the small temple at the summit.

There was a well in the backyard. After circling it three times counterclockwise, the bluestone tiles beside it slowly slid apart, revealing a passage just wide enough for one person. The steps were spotless, and small lights hung on both walls, bright but not harsh.

They walked inside for about five hundred meters before resurfacing, entering a dense forest.

As soon as Dylan Foster set foot in the woods, a thick fog suddenly rose, visibility dropping to less than a meter. Then, a white light shot out from between the trees, scanning over the two of them. There was a soft click, and a mechanical voice said, “Identity verified. Please watch your step.”

As soon as it finished speaking, a rumbling sound began, and the ground suddenly shifted.

Dylan Foster, caught off guard, leaned back to steady himself and whistled, “What happens if you fail the verification?”