In the 4 467 899 325th year of Tianxia, the Liantai Sect—once the ruling dynasty and whispered of in both awe and apprehension—stood accused of breaking the Natural Order.

  For centuries, the Liantai Sect walked paths that few dared to tread, cultivating in ways that stirred equal parts reverence and unease among their peers. Their methods were said to pierce the veil between life and death, weaving together forces the rest of the cultivator world swore were never meant to meet.

  To their rivals, Liantai Sect’s cultivation was a dangerous heresy, twisting Heaven’s laws to force what should not be. To their allies, it was a rare mastery, a refinement of ancient wisdom that others dared not attempt. Truth and slander tangled together, until no one could say where one ended and the other began.

  Either way, when the verdict came, it was swift and merciless.

  At the command of Sui Baolan (隨暴蘭)—a powerful Immortal and partner to Yun Yanlin (雲彦霖), the Leader of Tian’an Sect in Taishan Province—the cultivator world fell upon Liantai Sect’s mountain strongholds. By the next dawn, the mountain gates had fallen, the Sect’s libraries burned, and the rivers ran dark with ash. Only a few, nameless and uncounted, slipped away into the night.

  Yet, one household was spared: the household of Ze Lujin (澤陸瑾), once called the Princess of Liantai Sect. The annals recorded no formal reason, and her survival remained shrouded in ambiguity. Rumours swirled through the corridors of power like smoke: some declared she was a hostage; some claimed she had betrayed Liantai Sect, turning against her own to save herself; others whispered of a secret affair with Yun Yanlin (雲彦霖), a liaison that had produced twin sons whose very existence may have shielded her family from annihilation. No official acknowledgment was ever made, yet in the corridors of power, the implication sufficed to silence dissent.

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  Ze Lujin’s mercy was the quietest of conspiracies, a delicate compromise between loyalty, desire, and the pragmatics of politics.

  When the dust settled, Tian’an Sect assumed guardianship of Liantai Sect’s lands and halls. Yun Yanlin assumed the title of the venerable Emperor of Tianxia. Official proclamations named it an act of protection to prevent further disorder, though to some, it looked far more like conquest.

  The once-proud Liantai Sect’s halls now bore Tian’an banners, its teachings repurposed, sanitised, and rebranded. Techniques once considered forbidden were quietly folded into Tian’an’s curriculum, disguised as innovations rather than inheritance. Only fragments of Liantai’s original writings survived, locked away in archives, their pages burned, stolen, or hidden. Scholars who dared read them were warned that knowledge itself could be punishable.

  As his first decree, Yun Yanlin, declared that any who continued to practice the forbidden techniques of Liantai Sect were to be seized, bound, and put to death if they resisted.

  It was, he claimed, the price of peace.

  Little remains of Liantai Sect. But in the shadows beyond Tian’an’s reach, whispers persisted. Some records painted Liantai Sect as blinded by hubris, seduced by the audacity of their own potential. Others suggested a sanctuary devoted to enlightenment beyond mortal understanding, its methods harsh but rooted in necessity. But history preserved neither verdict, leaving only the question of morality, and the lesson that no one should ever wield too much power, for absolute authority inevitably becomes a threat.