Chapter 1

Fan Shen struggled to keep his eyelids open, counting on his fingers the meaningful things he had done in his life. Before he could finish counting with his five skinny fingers, he sighed and sadly gave up. The pungent smell of medicine in the ward was always so strong. The old man in the next bed had already reported to the Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha a few days ago, and it was probably his turn in a few more days. He had a rare disease, myasthenia gravis, the kind that was particularly suitable for the male lead in a romance novel. It was said to be incurable, and on the day he would die, he wouldn't be able to move anything except for his tears.

"But I'm not the male lead in a romance novel," Fan Shen mumbled, but due to the loss of function in his jaw muscles, it came out as a string of incoherent murmurs. He looked at his middle finger, feeling sorry for himself, "I'm still a virgin."

...

He had indeed not done anything particularly meaningful in his life, except for helping old ladies cross the road, giving up his seat on the bus, and getting along well with his neighbors and classmates, even helping them cheat on exams. Fan Shen was a good man in the traditional sense, but useless. His parents had long passed away, leaving him alone in the hospital, waiting for the day his life would end.

"Good people don't get good rewards."

On a quiet night, Fan Shen could clearly feel his throat muscles slowly relaxing, unable to contract anymore, and his respiratory muscles gradually becoming as weak and powerless as a rubber band that had lost its elasticity. The clean young nurse from the hospital was nowhere to be found, and beside him was an auntie, her eyes filled with pity, muttering something.

"Is this what it feels like to die?"

The fear of death and the longing for the taste of life stirred a complex feeling in his heart. The fact that he was being tended to by this auntie, rather than the cute young nurse he had longed for, only added to his sorrow. Feeling utterly desolate, he let his eyes droop, looking at the black cloth on the window that blocked the sunlight, thinking that life was truly as lonely as dog shit.

...

...

Feeling utterly desolate, a wet drop slid from his eye.

Fan Shen felt sad and licked the liquid that had slid from his eye to his lips, only to be surprised to find that his tears were not only salty but also had a hint of a metallic taste—could it be that because he rarely bathed in the hospital, even his tears started to smell? He couldn't help but curse in his heart, "You damn fool, crying your eyes out, thinking you're the male lead in a romance novel?"

But he soon realized something was wrong. Why could he still stick out his tongue to lick his tears? According to the doctors, his tongue had long lost its ability to move, and its only function now was to easily slide into his esophagus, blocking his airway and making him one of the rare geniuses who could commit suicide by swallowing his tongue. Then he found that it was easier to open his eyes, his vision was much clearer than before his illness, and the scene in front of him was bright and clear. A bamboo basket was right in front of him.

Fan Shen, who had been in a daze, suddenly saw a shocking scene through the bamboo slats. A dozen or so black-clad figures, exuding a fierce and deadly aura, were wielding sharp weapons and charging at him! He didn't have time to determine whether this was a dream or a strange experience before death; he instinctively ducked his head and covered his face with his hands, a choice any ordinary person would make like an ostrich.

Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh... The sound of weapons cutting through the air filled the air!

Then came a series of muffled groans, followed by silence. After a while, Fan Shen felt something was wrong and cautiously separated two fingers of the hand covering his face, peeking out. The bamboo basket divided the space into many sections, and through the gaps, he could clearly see several dead bodies on the ground, blood flowing everywhere, and the air filled with a pungent smell.

Fan Shen was terrified. The scene in front of him was too real, and he couldn't come to his senses. Then he suddenly thought of his hands. Could his hands move? Could his illness really be cured? What was happening in front of him? Was this just a dream? Would he still be the paralyzed man lying in the hospital bed, waiting to die, when he woke up?

If that were the case, he might as well stay in this dream, at least his hands could move, and his eyes could blink. He thought sadly and touched his wet face. When he pulled his hand back, he found it covered in fresh blood. The wet drop from his eye was actually someone else's blood that had splashed onto his face. Fan Shen stared at his hands in shock, screaming in his heart that these were definitely not his hands! In front of him were a pair of incredibly white and adorable small hands, stained with blood, looking like white lotuses blooming in a battlefield, definitely not the hands of an adult!

The emotional shock hit Fan Shen all at once, leaving him dazed, with countless questions and overwhelming fear occupying his mind.

...

This was the 57th year of the Qing Dynasty. The emperor was leading a large army to fight the Western Barbarians, and the Count of Sining was also in the army. The capital was governed by the Empress Dowager and the Council of Elders. One day, a fire broke out at the Taiping Villa by the Liujing River in the outskirts of the capital. A group of night warriors took advantage of the fire to break into the villa, killing everyone in sight, committing a shocking massacre.

A young servant of the villa managed to escape with the young master, pursued by a group of black-clad assassins. They fought their way to the southern road outside the city. The assassins did not expect the disabled young servant to be a formidable warrior, and reinforcements arrived from behind the hills—these reinforcements were even more terrifying!

"Black Knights!" The assassins, almost all killed by crossbow bolts, lay in pools of blood, groaning. The reinforcements, clad in black armor, their weapons gleaming in the moonlight, held crossbows that were only allowed in the military. They had already killed most of the assassins with their rapid-fire bolts.

In the center of the black knights was a middle-aged man in a carriage, pale-faced with a sparse beard. He looked at the young servant carrying the child and nodded, then lightly clapped his hands.

The clapping was the signal to attack!

A group of knights charged into the ranks of the wounded assassins like scythes in the night, showing no mercy. Suddenly, a mage in the ranks of the assassins raised his staff and began to chant, and everyone could feel an unknown energy gathering around the hills. The middle-aged man in the carriage frowned but did nothing. A black shadow darted out from his side, like a hawk in the night sky, moving swiftly.

A sharp sound, and the mage's chanting stopped abruptly. His head flew high, and blood rained down.

The middle-aged man in the carriage shook his head, "The mages from the West always fail to understand that in the presence of true power, magic is as useless as the prime minister's pen."

The black knights confirmed the area was secure, made a hand signal, and reported that all the assassins had been eliminated. The knights parted, and the carriage slowly moved forward to the young servant. The middle-aged man, with the help of his subordinates, sat in a wheelchair, his legs unable to move, and slowly approached the young servant, who stood straight as a spear. Looking at the bamboo basket on the young servant's back, the middle-aged man's pale face finally showed a hint of redness.

"At least nothing happened."

The young servant, his face covered by a black cloth, held a black iron rod that was not quite a sword, with blood still dripping from it. Many dead bodies lay around him, all skilled assassins with bloodstains on their throats, indicating a fatal blow.

"I need an explanation for this," the young servant said coldly, his voice steady and emotionless.

The middle-aged man in the wheelchair showed a brief look of concern, "I will give you an explanation, and I must also give an explanation to the master."

The young servant nodded and prepared to leave.

"Where are you taking the child?" the middle-aged man in the wheelchair said coldly, "You're blind. Do you want the young master to wander the world with you?"

"This is the flesh and blood of the young lady."

"This is also the flesh and blood of the master!" the middle-aged man said coldly, "I can ensure the child's safety in the capital."

The young servant shook his head and pulled the black cloth from his face.

The middle-aged man knew that the young servant would only listen to the young lady, even the master couldn't command him, so he sighed and tried to persuade him, "Once the master returns, he will surely resolve the issues in the capital. Why do you have to take him away?"

"I don't trust your master."

The middle-aged man frowned, seemingly annoyed by the young servant's words, and after a moment said, "Can you feed a child, teach him to read? What can you do besides kill?"

The young servant was not angry, gently pushing the bamboo basket, "Lame, you seem to only know how to kill."

The middle-aged man smiled coldly, "This time, it was just the nobles in the capital. Once the master returns, I will deal with them."

The young servant shook his head.

The middle-aged man's hand gently caressed the wheelchair, trying to guess what the young servant was afraid of. After a moment, he frowned, "I know what you're afraid of, but in this world, who else can protect the child from unknown dangers besides his father?"

The young servant suddenly spoke, his voice still emotionless, "A new identity, a life without interference."

The middle-aged man thought for a moment and smiled, nodding.

"Where?"

"Danzhou Port, the master's mother lives there."

After a moment of silence, the young servant finally accepted the arrangement.

The middle-aged man smiled and wheeled behind the young servant, reaching out to take the child from the bamboo basket. Looking at the child's beautiful face, he sighed, "He looks just like his mother, so beautiful."

He suddenly laughed, "This little guy will surely have a bright future."

His subordinates, standing silently in the distance, were shocked by their leader's happy laughter, wondering how important this child was.

"Hmm?"

The young servant tilted his head, taking the child back. Though he was more innocent than most, he didn't want the child's face to be too close to the hands of this "snake." He used a single word to express his polite question. The middle-aged man smiled, looking at the child's face, his smile having a particularly frightening quality.

"A two-month-old child, able to wipe the blood from his face, and after such a terrifying night, still sleeping so soundly. Truly, he is..."

His voice dropped to a whisper, ensuring his subordinates couldn't hear, "the child of a Celestial Lineage."

The middle-aged man, who held great power in the capital and was ruthless, could make any official confess within two days, and had a sharp eye, but even he didn't realize that the child was not sleeping soundly but had fainted from fear.

...

Celestial Lineage, "Celestial" refers to the heavens, and "Lineage" refers to bloodline.

Celestial Lineage means the bloodline left by the heavens in the human world. According to legend, every few hundred years, a Celestial Lineage would awaken in the human world.

This bloodline could represent an unstoppable force, like the great general in the distant Nasu Kingdom, who, at a critical moment in the nation's history, single-handedly assassinated most of the members of the barbarian council. Some Celestial Lineages would show great talent in art or wisdom, like the Western mage Boll, who died three hundred years ago, and his playwright wife, Fubo. No one could prove that they were the bloodline left by the heavens to protect the suffering human world, but they brought peace and many other things to humanity. All Celestial Lineages eventually disappeared without a trace, leaving no evidence of their existence, only vague records.

The middle-aged man in the wheelchair was one of the few who knew that Celestial Lineages truly existed. For some unknown reason, after Fan Shen died, his soul came to this world and was reincarnated into a baby, and this baby's father or mother was a mysterious Celestial Lineage.

By dawn, the battlefield had been cleaned up, and the carriage slowly moved onto the stone road leading east. Behind the carriage, a group of black knights and a pale middle-aged man in a wheelchair formed a strange and eerie scene. The carriage jolted over the stones, waking the baby lying on a soft silk cushion.

The baby's eyes, somewhat lifeless, left the faces of those who had saved his life and looked ahead, unlike a typical baby whose gaze would wander, unfocused and clear. No one knew that this tender little body contained a soul from a different world. The curtain in front of the carriage fluttered in the wind, revealing a corner of the green mountains and the long, retreating stone road, like a series of scenes rewinding.

In front of the carriage, the young blind servant tightly gripped the iron rod, his eyes covered by a black cloth, obscuring his vision and the sky.