Wang Chen didn't know what Ming Yao thought of him—and even if he did, it would not have mattered in the slightest. He had long since stepped beyond such fragile attachments. To him, love was not some sacred miracle sung about in legends, but a transaction like any other. People loved because there was something to gain—status, security, warmth, survival. He understood that truth clearly and felt no resentment toward it. That was simply how the world functioned.

Perhaps saints, those mythical fools preserved in scripture, could love without expecting anything in return. Wang Chen knew himself well enough to admit he was not one of them.

As his thoughts drifted, the space beneath his feet subtly contracted and unfolded, rippling like a calm tide. Reality itself nudged him forward, carrying him steadily in the direction of the distant Phoenix and Dragon Dojo. Compared to his earlier frantic rush, his pace was unhurried now, almost relaxed, as though the world no longer pressed upon his shoulders. The moment Seven Rainbow City faded behind him, the weight in his chest eased, and for the first time in a long while, his mind felt clear.

With his grasp of the Non-Existence Authority, fate itself was no longer a shackle. If he desired fortune, he could draw it in as easily as breathing. From this day onward, luck would never again dictate his survival.

Below him, the land of the Azure Dragon Continent streamed past like a living mural of ruin. He saw cultivators locked in desperate combat, bodies torn and bloodied, some burning their very souls to delay an inevitable end. Soldiers screamed as demonic claws ripped through armor; others collapsed silently, eyes empty, their qi exhausted. Demons crawled across scorched plains in endless tides, their warped bodies twisting as cursed essence seeped into the soil itself, poisoning rivers, forests, and mountains alike.

It was devastation on a continental scale.

And yet, amid all that ruin, two places still stood.

Seven Rainbow City was one of them. His own territory was the other.

Wang Chen's gaze narrowed slightly as that realization settled deeper. He could understand, to some extent, why the demons failed to capture Seven Rainbow City. After all, calamity had a strange instinct for self-preservation when it came too close to true annihilation. But his one City was different. Its survival didn't fully align with any logic he could immediately grasp.

"What could be the reason?" he murmured softly, curiosity stirring as his eyes traced the distant horizon.

Fate, it seemed, still had secrets left to bare its teeth at him.

His instincts kept pricking at the back of his mind, an unyielding warning that there was something hidden City—something ancient and powerful enough to make even demons hesitate. It wasn't a formation, nor was it a single cultivator's aura. It felt deeper than that, like a presence embedded into the city's very bones. And yet, no matter how he probed with divine sense or traced fate's threads, its true nature remained obscured.

"I'm already a walking disaster for them," Wang Chen muttered with faint sarcasm. "There really shouldn't be anything left in this world that frightens demons more than me."

The moment the thought crossed his mind, the subtle connection between his soul and the ancient beast egg pulsed again.

Stronger this time.

Wang Chen's steps slowed mid-air. His pupils tightened, attention snapping inward as that familiar, uncomfortable sensation crawled up his spine. The egg was stirring—not the slow, passive siphoning from before, but an active, impatient agitation, like something inside was finally done waiting.

"…So you're waking up now?" he murmured.

His emotions twisted into a complicated knot. Anticipation, irritation, and a trace of dread coiled together in his chest. He wanted to see what kind of existence could devour fortune so brazenly, yet the memory of being pushed to the brink of ruin because of it still left a sour taste in his mouth.

If this thing thought it could just hatch without explanation, it was sorely mistaken.

"I'm not dealing with this out in the open," Wang Chen decided calmly. "Not after everything."

Without hesitation, he plunged downward.

The sky blurred as he accelerated, the world folding beneath him. His divine sense expanded like an invisible net, sweeping across mountains and ruined plains in an instant. Several demons lurking among the shattered terrain stiffened as his presence brushed past them, their instincts screaming danger.

They never had time to act.

A thin thread of qi flickered through the air, almost lazy in its motion—and the demons dissolved into nothingness, their existence erased so cleanly that even residual malice failed to linger.

Silence followed.

Wang Chen did not slow. He chose a secluded mountain range riddled with natural leyline disturbances, the kind of place where even demonic scouts rarely lingered. Landing soundlessly, he raised a hand, eternal sword intent flowing like water. Stone parted without resistance, layers of the mountain peeling back as though welcoming his intrusion.

In mere moments, a vast underground chamber took form.

As the last wall settled, a faint abyssal fragrance seeped up from the depths below, ancient and oppressive, coating the cavern like an unseen veil. Wang Chen adjusted a few formations with a flick of his fingers, sealing the aura tightly within the mountain so that not even a trace leaked outward.

Only then did he finally exhale.

After checking every formation, every fault line, every possible intrusion point one last time, Wang Chen relaxed his shoulders. The tension that had followed him since Seven Rainbow City eased, replaced by focused anticipation.

"All right," he said quietly.

With a thought, the waiting space opened.

The ancient beast egg appeared before him, hovering silently in the center of the chamber—its surface webbed with deep cracks, faint light pulsing from within like a slow, ominous heartbeat.

Pop! Pop!

The sharp, brittle sounds detonated through the cavern, rebounding off stone walls like funeral bells tolling in rapid succession. Each crack was louder than the last, heavy with an ominous finality that pressed against Wang Chen's chest.

The egg before him was no longer whole.

What had once been a smooth, ancient shell was now riddled with fractures, jagged veins of light spreading outward as if something inside was tearing free from confinement. Every pulse sent a tremor through the chamber, dust drifting down from the ceiling in fine, ghostly sheets.

Wang Chen inhaled sharply, the chill slicing straight into his lungs.

As if responding to his unease, the egg moved.

A dull thud echoed from within the shell—then another. The rhythm was unmistakable, unnervingly synchronized with his own heartbeat. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Above his brow, the single-petaled lotus of fate shimmered faintly.

Wang Chen froze.

"…Just what the hell is going on?"

For the first time in a very long while, genuine shock surfaced in his eyes. He could feel it clearly now—the pull, the resonance. The egg's agitation wasn't merely physical. It was connected to him.

"How can we be sharing the same fate?" he muttered, disbelief threading his voice.

That wasn't supposed to be possible.

Fate was singular. Even bonded beasts possessed their own destiny threads, however faint. Yet the feedback looping through his soul told a different story—one that shattered every precedent he knew.

Thoughts raced through his mind at terrifying speed, countless theories flashing past only to be discarded.

Then one possibility refused to fade.

"…Did you never have a fate to begin with?" he whispered.

The memory of the egg devouring his fortune surfaced again, clearer now. Not greed. Not hunger.

Compensation.

As that realization formed, the egg's shell could no longer hold.

The fractures spread all at once, light bursting outward as the shell peeled open like a blooming flower. Shards fell away in slow arcs, clattering softly against stone.

Cuckoo!

A clear, bright cry rang through the cavern—lighthearted, almost innocent.

Something small and vividly colored tumbled free, its body striking the ground with a soft thud.

"Oh—!"

Wang Chen's heart leapt. He surged forward instinctively, a dozen protective thoughts colliding at once. Fragile newborn. Ancient beast. Fate-linked existence.

Before he could reach it, the tiny creature stirred.

Delicate wings unfolded, feathers shimmering with iridescent hues that shifted between gold, azure, and crimson. With a clumsy flap, it lifted itself into the air, wobbling slightly before finding balance.

It flew.

Awkward, uncertain, yet undeniably alive.

The little bird circled Wang Chen once… then again… its shadow tracing slow rings across the stone floor. Its eyes—clear and unnervingly bright—never left him.

Wang Chen stopped where he stood, his earlier panic dissolving into stunned silence as the realization settled.

This thing hadn't hatched into the world.

It had hatched into him.

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

The clear, melodious cries echoed through the cavern, layering over one another until the cold stone walls seemed to hum in response. The sound wasn't sharp or domineering like most spirit beasts he had encountered. Instead, it carried a strange warmth, an intimacy that settled directly into Wang Chen's chest, bypassing reason entirely.

For a brief moment, he simply stood there, stunned.

He didn't recognize the creature's species. The plumage was unlike any beast recorded in the ancient bestiaries he had read, its colors shifting subtly as if reflecting something deeper than light alone. Yet the call felt familiar—not learned, not inherited, but instinctive. As though the bird was calling to something that already belonged to it.

Calling to him.

Wang Chen let out a quiet breath and, despite himself, forced a small smile. Slowly, carefully, he extended his hand, half-expecting the creature to flinch or retreat.

It didn't.

The bird fluttered down at once, landing lightly on his palm as if it had always known that was where it belonged. Its tiny claws curled gently against his skin, warm and real. Then it leaned forward, its soft beak brushing against his fingers in a clumsy but unmistakably affectionate gesture.

Wang Chen froze.

That single touch unraveled the tension coiled tightly around his heart. The fear, the frustration, the resentment over nearly losing his fortune—all of it ebbed away like mist under sunlight. He looked into the bird's eyes and found no cunning, no malice, no calculation.

Only innocence.

"…You really have no idea what kind of trouble you caused, do you?" he murmured softly.

The bird tilted its head, letting out another cheerful cuckoo, utterly unconcerned.

Wang Chen sighed, shaking his head faintly. Whatever he had been prepared to feel—anger, suspicion, wariness—none of it could survive in the face of something so pure. If this creature truly shared his fate, then it had been born into a cruel world through no choice of its own.

As he continued to observe it, something else caught his attention.

Faint motes of radiant light began to drift from the bird's feathers, falling like slow snowflakes. They didn't disperse. Instead, they lingered in the air before him, gathering and weaving together with deliberate precision.

Lines formed. Curves followed.

Ancient sigils emerged—complex, elegant, and layered with profundity far beyond ordinary runic formations. Each symbol pulsed softly, resonating with the same rhythm as his fate lotus.

Wang Chen's expression sharpened.

"This…" he whispered, eyes narrowing as comprehension ignited within them.

The creature wasn't merely alive.

It was teaching him something.

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