The silence of the Eternal Icefield was absolute.
No birds sang. No beasts roamed. Only the wind whispered across jagged cliffs of glass-like frost, ancient and untouched. Somewhere deep beneath that silence, in a glacier older than memory, something cracked.
Then cracked again.
A jagged spiderweb fracture raced across the frozen wall, followed by a low groan—like the earth itself waking from a long slumber. From within the glacier, a light glimmered blue and silver, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Thump.
Ice shattered. A hand emerged—pale as moonlight, veined with threads of faint blue qi. Long fingers curled, scraping against stone. Snow swirled as a figure stepped out of the glacier, steam hissing from his body as if the world itself couldn't decide if it should freeze or melt in his presence.
Silver hair, long and unbound, hung past his shoulders. His bare chest was lean, skin unmarred, but his eyes—cold, star-bright, and emotionless—told of time measured in centuries.
Lián Báiye had returned.
"...A thousand years," he murmured, voice hoarse but steady.
The wind blew, but the snow wouldn't land on him. It circled around instead, unable to touch the one who once ruled it.
He looked up at the sky. It was no longer the same. The constellations were unfamiliar, the flow of spiritual energy around him distorted. Even the Dao felt… different. Like a melody played off-key.
"Who dares twist the Heavenly Path?" he whispered, eyes narrowing.
His fingers twitched, summoning a thin blade of frost from nothingness. It crackled faintly in his grasp—a ghost of the weapon he once wielded. But even this echo could slice through iron.
He stepped forward—and collapsed to one knee.
"Still too early," he growled.
His body, though preserved, was weakened. His meridians felt sluggish, his soul weighed down by the remnants of the seal that had entombed him. That traitor's sword had done more than just pierce his back—it had buried him with the weight of false karma and sealed him within his own power.
But Báiye was not one to stay down.
He closed his eyes and pressed a hand against the ground. Ice cracked and formed a pattern beneath his palm—an ancient sigil of the Everfrost Heaven Sect.
The moment it appeared, a shockwave of spiritual energy pulsed outward.
Far away, deep within a distant mountain temple, a bell chimed.
And in another land, a man sitting on a throne of black lightning opened his eyes.
"He's awake."
Back in the icefield, footsteps echoed.
Báiye heard them before the wind carried their sound. He stood slowly, body straightening, though his aura remained subdued.
Three men approached from the cliffside path—mercenaries by the look of their tattered armor and greedy eyes. One of them held a spirit compass. It pulsed violently in his hand, pointing toward Báiye.
"Told you something big was buried here," the leader said, flashing yellowed teeth. "Oi, old man! State your name and hand over any treasures you're hiding!"
Báiye said nothing.
One of the men scoffed. "Frozen idiot. He's probably some survivor of a failed sect or a wandering cripple."
"Then he won't mind dying again."
The third one lunged, sword flashing.
Báiye didn't move. Not at first.
But as the man's blade descended, Báiye's hand rose.
And with it, snow stopped falling.
The man froze mid-air, confusion blooming in his eyes.
Then his sword shattered—cleanly, silently—followed by his body.
The other two barely had time to scream before Báiye stepped forward. The temperature plummeted. Their breath turned to mist. Their skin paled.
"No... No cultivator can suppress qi like this—"
They turned to flee, but their boots slid on suddenly icy ground. Frost crawled up their legs like living vines, piercing through bone, silencing their shouts. In three breaths, the ice bloomed over their chests.
And with one sweep of Báiye's hand, they shattered into glittering shards.
Silence returned.
He exhaled once, and the cold around him pulled back.
Weak. That was weak. Even children of the Everfrost Sect could do more than this. But it was enough for now. Enough to remind him that he was still himself.
Still the Frost Monarch.
His eyes turned south.
"That throne," he whispered. "I will see it shattered.
Elsewhere — Celestial Thunder Court, Cloudspire Throne
Xue Tian sat upon his obsidian throne, cloaked in robes woven from lightning. Around him knelt thousands of disciples, heads bowed. The air buzzed with spiritual power so dense it crushed lesser beings.
But he did not smile.
He stared at the horizon. His golden eyes narrowed.
"So," he said softly, "your will didn't fade after all."
A figure appeared beside him—an elder wrapped in stormsteel armor.
"Shall we prepare the chains, Your Eminence?"
"No." Xue Tian stood. "He will crawl his way back to me. Let him. I will crush him again—this time with the eyes of the world upon him."
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"Let the frozen past melt."
Back at the Glacier — Hours Later
Báiye now wore simple robes taken from the mercenaries, ill-fitting but serviceable. He walked slowly through the icefield, carving a path with each step. Where his feet touched the snow, flowers of frost bloomed—ancient, glowing with threads of cold qi.
He could feel the world had changed.
New spiritual techniques swirled in the air. The Heavenly Dao itself felt twisted—as if someone had rewritten the rules. The flow of energy no longer followed the natural order. And worst of all, no trace of the Everfrost Heaven Sect remained.
"They erased us," he said. "But not completely."
In the distance, he saw it—a single, cracked stone pillar jutting from the snow.
He walked to it and brushed away the frost. The old crest of his sect, now faded, glimmered faintly.
He knelt before it.
For the first time since awakening, his voice trembled.
"Masters. Brothers. Sisters. Forgive me."
The wind howled like the cries of the dead.
"I will carry your memory into the heavens," he vowed. "And I will freeze the stars themselves before I let him walk free."
Above, the sky rumbled.
Somewhere far away, the heavens shivered.