Ethereal Rebirth: Path of the Void Sovereign

"Only by walking among mortals can one see how far the heavens truly stand above."
— Fragment from the Void Sovereign’s lost scroll

Three months had passed since Jiang Chen survived his tribulation beneath the dusky sky.

The grove no longer whispered. The wind had stilled. Even the spiritual beasts avoided the bamboo forest as if sensing something had changed — as if the boy who once practiced silently with a wooden sword had become something else.

He stood by the edge of the clearing now, staring into the horizon.

The Mortal Flame Sect was recruiting.

In the heart of Eastcloud Province, cultivators gathered like bees drawn to honey. Mortals, beggars, clan disciples, arrogant young masters — all stood shoulder to shoulder outside a great crimson pavilion, carved into the rock face of Mount Huolie.

Above them, flame banners fluttered, and the sigil of a burning lotus glowed in crimson light.

And as the crowd swelled, so too did the tension.

“Did you hear? The Mortal Flame Sect is only taking nine disciples this year. Out of a thousand candidates!”

“I heard someone from the imperial court is here too... someone backed by the Scarlet Phoenix Pavilion.”

“Tch. These sects only care about bloodlines. If you don't have spiritual roots, you're trash.”

From the sky, a crimson carriage descended — pulled not by horses, but by a twin-headed fire drake. A woman stood at its edge, her hair like molten gold, eyes like molten obsidian. She was beautiful — but not delicate. She exuded heat, like a sun forced into a human shell.

“Flame Envoy Yuexin,” someone whispered, breath caught in awe.

She scanned the crowd — and frowned.

Something was missing.

Where is he? The flame does not stir today... yet the prophecy said it would burn anew.

Lian Yue knelt before a small stone altar.

She had not spoken much since the tribulation. Her energy had grown colder, sharper. Jiang Chen sensed the change — not of distrust, but of distance.

“You’ll go?” she asked without looking up.

Jiang Chen nodded. “I need to.”

“They’ll try to use you.”

“I know.”

“They’ll try to break you.”

“They won’t.”

She finally turned. For the first time in weeks, their eyes met.

“And if they find out who you really are?” she asked.

Jiang Chen's gaze didn’t waver. “Then let them.”

The wind stirred. Bamboo leaves danced.

She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a long jade token, carved with ancient script and bound in a red silk ribbon.

“Take this. It will shield your presence… slightly. But not from gods.”

He took it, fingers brushing hers.

“You’ve grown,” she whispered.

“So have you,” he replied softly.

For a brief moment, their auras touched again — faint warmth against the endless quiet of the void.

Not yet love. But something more than memory.

The recruitment plaza of Mount Huolie was more than a testing ground — it was a proving stage.

Hundreds stood in rows, facing a wide obsidian platform where crimson-robed elders sat behind floating sigil-bound desks. Behind them burned a massive brazier of eternal flame — said to be a spark from the Primordial Phoenix’s breath.

Among the candidates, Jiang Chen walked with quiet steps.

He wore a simple robe — faded grey, not silk. He carried no visible weapons. No jade tokens, no clan emblems. Just a small pouch of spirit herbs and a wooden sword tied to his back.

Yet wherever he passed, silence followed.

Not by fear.

By instinct.

Even the brash young masters paused, their tongues catching. They didn’t know why… but they didn’t like him.

Especially one.

“Move aside, peasant,” barked a boy with crimson-trimmed robes and a fan shaped like phoenix wings.

He was tall, proud, with an arrogant smirk and spiritual rings glittering on every finger. His name was Zhao Feng, son of the Flame Guard General — and he reeked of spoiled legacy.

Jiang Chen looked at him once.

Then stepped past without a word.

“You deaf?” Zhao Feng hissed. “Or just scared?”

Jiang Chen paused. Turned. His voice calm, eyes still.

“You speak loudly for someone who can’t see the edge of a sword until it’s inside his throat.”

A few gasps rippled through the crowd. Zhao Feng’s hand twitched toward the fan — but the pressure that came from Jiang Chen’s gaze froze him. Not killing intent. Not even spiritual pressure.

Just… silence.

Zhao Feng staggered back.

What is that pressure? No qi… no killing aura… just… depth… like I’m being stared at by something ancient…

From above, Flame Envoy Yuexin observed quietly.

“So… he has arrived,” she murmured. “And he walks with the Void’s shadow.”

A flame elder stood, voice ringing through the valley.

“The trial begins now! First, you will place your hand on the Crimson Spirit Pillar to test your affinity. Only those with sufficient elemental resonance will pass.”

One by one, candidates stepped forward.

Most pillars flared orange, red, or yellow — common fire affinities. A few flared blue — rare frost-fire or flame-heart variants. Even fewer flickered gold or violet.

When Zhao Feng stepped up, the pillar blazed scarlet with phoenix wings. The crowd cheered.

“Peak-tier flame root!” a flame elder announced. “The strongest we’ve seen today!”

Zhao Feng turned smugly to the crowd.

“Remember that, beggars.”

And then Jiang Chen stepped forward.

The crowd grew quiet again.

He placed his hand on the pillar.

And the pillar…

Did not light up.

Not red. Not orange. Nothing.

Just darkness. A soft hum.

Then — the stone cracked.

A slow, spiraling void lotus bloomed across its surface, glowing faintly with silver and black veins.

The elders stood.

“That’s… not possible…”

“There’s no flame resonance…”

“No — it’s absorbing the spirit light!”

Flame Envoy Yuexin’s eyes sharpened.

“Void root…” she whispered. “He’s not of the flame… he’s of the emptiness between fire and ice.”

The pillar shattered.

Jiang Chen turned and walked back to the crowd.

Zhao Feng sneered. “Disqualified trash.”

But Yuexin raised her hand. “He advances.”

“But he has no affinity—!” Zhao Feng shouted.

“He has something,” she said coolly. “And the flame recognizes silence as part of its cycle.”

The crowd murmured. Zhao Feng clenched his fists.

I’ll destroy him in the next trial.

Jiang Chen said nothing.

But inside, the Void Lotus had opened another petal.

Part 3: Shadows of a Past Life

The second trial began beneath the fire-touched sky.

A massive arena of black jade formed itself through shifting earth and ancient runes, summoned by the sect elders. Floating orbs hovered overhead, projecting each battle into the air for all to witness.

The rules were simple:
Victory by submission, knockout… or awakening.

Jiang Chen stood at the edge of the platform, waiting.

His name had been called last — as if the heavens wanted him to observe the others first. Or perhaps, to save him for something fated.

“Next match — Jiang Chen… vs… Bai Ming!”

A ripple passed through the gathered cultivators.

Bai Ming — descendant of the White Lotus Sect, known for their dual mastery of flame and mist. But more than that… in a past life, he had once killed Jiang Chen.

Not in battle.

In betrayal.

In Jiang Chen's fourth life, when he had walked as a righteous sect leader — Bai Ming had been his junior brother. Loyal. Quiet. And ultimately, the one who drove a soul-killing dagger into his heart while he meditated in trust.

That pain returned now. Not as emotion… but as clarity.

Jiang Chen stepped onto the platform.

Bai Ming smiled — young, confident, unaware of the sins he carried from another cycle.

“Let’s see if you can back up that attitude from earlier,” he said smugly.

Jiang Chen said nothing.

The elder nodded. “Begin!”

Bai Ming moved first, his hands forming seals. A swirl of mist spiraled outward, cloaking his body in deceptive fog laced with poison qi.

“Vanishing Mist Blade!” he shouted, his figure disappearing.

Spectators murmured — the technique was advanced for someone so young. Even some elders raised brows.

But Jiang Chen stood still.

The mist closed in.

The blade appeared — aimed at Jiang Chen’s heart.

This again… he thought, remembering the same angle, the same betrayal.

His eyes shimmered silver.

Just before the blade struck, Jiang Chen twisted slightly — just enough to avoid it — and slammed the wooden sword into the attacker’s ribs with a whisper of wind.

CRACK.

Bai Ming’s body was thrown back like a broken doll.

He hit the ground hard, gasping, trying to move — but he couldn’t.

Jiang Chen approached slowly, wooden sword trailing through the mist like a brush painting on air.

“You strike the heart, but forget the spirit. You veil your blade, but reveal your soul.”

He stopped just beside the trembling Bai Ming, who now looked up at him with wide, panicked eyes.

“H-how… you don’t even have qi…”

“You don’t understand your own karma,” Jiang Chen replied softly. “But it remembers you.”

The elder raised a hand. “Enough! The match is over!”

Cheers exploded from the crowd.

And somewhere in the back, Zhao Feng’s smirk vanished.

Flame Envoy Yuexin stood at the edge of the viewing platform, arms folded.

Her eyes didn’t leave Jiang Chen’s figure.

“He doesn’t fight to win,” she murmured. “He fights to remember.”

Behind her, an old man with three spirit rings around his crown appeared in a wisp of flame.

“He should not exist,” the elder said coldly. “There is no record of this bloodline. No sect. No flame.”

“Exactly,” Yuexin replied. “He is of the void. And void writes its own fate.”

 

The final round was meant to be ceremonial — a show of strength for the sect’s elders and Flame Envoy Yuexin to choose from the last few candidates.

But when Jiang Chen was paired with Zhao Feng, the energy shifted.

The crowd buzzed. The arena flared brighter.

This wasn’t a test.

It was a clash of pride.

 

Zhao Feng entered in a blaze of phoenix aura, his fan spread wide, flames crackling with divine threads — clearly drawn from a bloodline-enhancing talisman.

Jiang Chen walked slowly, wooden sword still tied to his back.

“Didn’t bother to draw your toy?” Zhao Feng laughed. “That’s fine. I’ll beat you until you beg for real cultivation.”

The elder hesitated.

But Yuexin raised her hand. “Let it begin.”

 

Zhao Feng exploded into motion, flames roaring around him like a tidal wave. He shouted:

“Blazing Sky Serpent Slash!”

Flame coiled into a burning serpent and lunged toward Jiang Chen.

He didn’t move.

At the last second, the serpent twisted — as if it missed.

Gasps rang out.

Zhao Feng’s eyes widened. “What—?”

Jiang Chen stepped forward, still untouched.

“You force the flame. You don’t listen to it.”

He raised a single hand and — with nothing but breath — collapsed the air between them.

Zhao Feng was thrown back violently, smashing into the edge of the arena, coughing blood.

But he wasn’t done.

He rose with a growl, eyes red, aura spiking.

“You… you dare?! I’ll burn your name from the sect!”

He crushed a jade talisman — and a forbidden formation appeared beneath his feet.

“NO!” a flame elder shouted. “That’s a soul-burning art—!”

Zhao Feng roared and surged forward, all reason lost.

But Jiang Chen…

Moved once.

His wooden sword was in hand now — not glowing, not empowered.

Just truth.

He swung once.

A line of silence cut through the flames — and Zhao Feng collapsed mid-air, unconscious, sword aura lingering across his chest like a whisper.

 

The elders stood stunned.

Even Yuexin stared.

Then she smiled, barely.

“The flame does not always roar. Sometimes, it waits for silence.”

She raised her hand.

“Jiang Chen — you are accepted into the Inner Sect of the Mortal Flame Sect. Your path… begins.”

Jiang Chen bowed lightly.

“Then let it begin.”

 

In the private pavilion granted to him, Jiang Chen sat beneath the stars. The lotus in his core spun slowly. The wooden sword rested beside him.

A faint breeze carried a scent — moon orchid and night jasmine.

He didn’t look up.

“You came,” he said.

Lian Yue stepped from the shadows. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you.”

She stood beside him in silence.

And then, in the still night, she sat — her shoulder brushing his.

Their spiritual auras mingled again.

This time, deeper. Warmer.

“You walk the void,” she said. “But tonight… let it rest.”

He didn’t reply.

But his soul quieted.

And somewhere beyond the stars, the Void Bell rang once more.