Xuan Immortal World
Within the grand hall of the Heavenly Emperor's Palace, a respectful yet urgent voice echoed through the vast chamber.
"Master, you do not need to descend to the mortal realm yourself. A task so minor can be entrusted to your disciples."
The speaker was a sage-like figure, robed in flowing celestial silks, his presence calm and dignified. Dao rhythm resonated naturally around him, bending the flow of spiritual energy in gentle waves. He was none other than the Heavenly Emperor himself, the ruler of the immortal realms.
Countless ancient figures stood silently around him, each exuding a terrifying immortal aura. These were the peak existences of the current age, sovereigns of their own domains. Yet all of them held their breath, their eyes focused on the man seated in the center of the hall.
That man looked nothing like the supreme being he was. His robes were simple, his posture lazy, almost like a mortal lounging under the sun. Yet his eyes held the vastness of the cosmos, deep and ancient, as if they had seen the birth and death of countless stars.
"It is decided," he said, letting out a lazy yawn that broke the tension in the hall. "Destiny calls. I'll go to the mortal realm myself. This calamity that's coming in a hundred thousand years isn't something I can ignore."
He shifted slightly in his seat, resting one hand on his cheek as he glanced at the Heavenly Emperor with a faint smile.
"Little Ming, back when you were sneaking peaches from my garden and blowing up spirit herbs with every failed breakthrough, you didn't look so serious. Now look at you—Heavenly Emperor, acting all proper."
The immortal throne seemed a little too small for the man being teased. The Heavenly Emperor lowered his head, unable to respond. He, who ruled the immortal world, who made gods kneel and heavens tremble, was silent before the man he called Master.
The one who now claimed to descend to the mortal realm was no ordinary being. In his previous life, he had come from a modern world, a reader of xianxia novels who had unexpectedly reincarnated—not in the lower realms, but straight into the highest heavens. He had no system, no miraculous treasure, only a comprehension ability so terrifying it defied logic.
Born into a noble clan, he rose quickly, breaking through realm after realm with ease. He surpassed the limits of the world itself, becoming a being whose true cultivation could no longer be measured. Even he wasn't sure how powerful he had become.
But that power came with solitude. Revered as a god, worshipped by disciples and feared by enemies, he found little joy in his existence. Despite teaching countless immortals—including the very man now sitting on the throne—his days felt hollow.
Perhaps the mortal world could offer him something different. A simpler life, unburdened by reverence and expectations. Maybe even someone who would look at him not as a deity, but as a man.
.......
The man slowly rose from his seat, stretching lazily as if waking from a nap rather than preparing to descend into fate itself. The gathered Immortal Lords instinctively stepped back, parting like the tide before the moon.
Without a word, he turned and walked toward the edge of the hall. His steps made no sound, yet each one seemed to ripple through space itself. Just before reaching the entrance, he paused and spoke casually.
"Little Ming, look after my peach tree. If I return to find it wilted, I'm planting you in its place."
The Heavenly Emperor bowed silently, and with a flick of his sleeve, the man vanished from the hall.
In the next instant, he stood at the edge of existence—at the chaotic boundary between the Immortal World and the Mortal World.
Here, space twisted and the laws of reality blurred. Blinding storms of primal energy swirled endlessly, tearing through time and space. This was the Vein of Samsara, the intersection where all realms met. From this vantage point, countless threads of fate and karma drifted like luminous rivers, leading down to the layers below.
Before him stretched the vast domain of the Mortal World, divided into nine distinct levels. Each level hung in the void like a celestial platform, separated by planes of chaos and bound by divine law.
The Ninth Level—the lowest—was an endless ocean of universes. Too many to count, too scattered to map. These were the weak, struggling worlds, where cultivators often never saw past the first few realms. Chaos reigned here, but it was also where destiny often sparked.
Above them, the Eighth Level had far fewer universes, but each one was stronger, more stable, more structured in Dao and law. And so it continued upward—each level more refined, more powerful, and more dangerous.
The First Level, at the pinnacle of the mortal hierarchy, contained only nine universes. But each of these was vast, layered, and complex, each the size of a multiverse by lower standards. Worlds within worlds, realms within realms, and cultivators who could pierce heaven with their will.
Looking down across it all, he smiled faintly.
"So many choices," he muttered to himself, eyes scanning across millions of fate threads. "Where should I drop in?"
He closed his eyes, letting his divine sense extend like a wave, brushing across the endless cosmos.
And then, he moved.