Myth Beyond Heaven

Yun Wuhan’s spectral form shimmered as the scene shifted once more, revealing a secluded celestial palace bathed in golden light.

“Nian Shi believes he has accounted for everything,” Yun Wuhan said, his voice low. “He thinks the Primordial Gods are nothing more than vessels for his ascension. But he has forgotten one thing—life itself is unpredictable.”

In the scene, Yun Wuhan stood beside Yun Wushuang, their expressions grave as they discussed their plan.

Yun Wushuang’s emerald eyes gleamed with determination. “If we cannot defy him openly, then we must do so in secret.”

Yun Wuhan nodded. “Our plan is simple. We will bear a child—one who exists beyond Nian Shi’s calculations.”

Yun Wushuang placed a hand on her abdomen, her expression softening. “A child born of our divine lineage, yet hidden from fate itself.”

Yun Wuhan’s lips curled into a cold smile. “When Nian Shi attempts to harvest our power in the future, he will find it incomplete. A portion of our essence will remain with our child, forever beyond his reach.”

The scene blurred, shifting to a tranquil chamber where Yun Wushuang lay upon a bed of celestial silk, her face glistening with sweat. The air hummed with divine energy as golden light swirled around her.

With a final push, a cry pierced the silence.

Yun Wushuang’s exhaustion melted into joy as she cradled the newborn in her arms. Yun Wuhan stood beside her, his fingers gently brushing against the infant’s forehead.

“This is our son… and Nian Shi’s greatest miscalculation,” Yun Wushuang whispered, her voice filled with warmth. “We shall name him Yun Lintian as he will go against heaven in the future.”

Yun Wuhan’s eyes hardened. “To conceal his birth, we must suppress his divine aura completely. No trace of his heritage can remain.”

With a wave of his hand, golden and emerald energy intertwined, forming intricate seals that sank into the infant’s body. Yun Lintian’s innate talent, his connection to the God of Life and the God of Elements—all were locked away beneath layers of suppression.

Yun Wushuang exhaled softly, her expression bittersweet. “We cannot raise him ourselves. Nian Shi will sense our presence if we remain too close.”

Yun Wuhan nodded. “Then we shall create avatars—fragments of ourselves, stripped of our true memories. They will raise him as a mortal, ensuring he remains beneath Nian Shi’s notice.”

The memory shifted once more, revealing two figures—one resembling Yun Wuhan, the other Yun Wushuang, yet their auras were muted, their divine presence diluted, and their appearances were subtly altered.

“These avatars will believe themselves to be the real Yun Wuhan of the Yun Clan and Yun Wushuang of the Misty Cloud Palace,” Yun Wuhan explained. “They will raise Lintian in a lower realm, far from the eyes of the gods.”

The scene dissolved, reforming into the familiar surroundings of the Yun Clan manor—a sprawling estate nestled in a mundane world, where cultivation was limited and divine beings were nothing more than legends.

Here, Yun Lintian grew up as a carefree young master, his talents mediocre, his demeanor flamboyant. The avatars—ignorant of their true nature—raised him with affection, yet never pushed him toward greatness.

And so, Yun Lintian became exactly what his parents intended—an unremarkable existence, hidden in plain sight.

The vision faded, returning the group to the white space.

Long Qingxuan’s hands trembled. “So all this time… Lintian never knew?”

“He already knows most of it,” Yun Wuhan said calmly. “Through the arrangement of Yun Tianming, Yun Lintian returned to that world and learned about his origin.”

Long Qingxuan suddenly recalled the incident when Yun Lintian fell into a coma inside the God Tomb by the attack from Mo Lianxing. That attack contained a portion of the power of time.

She also remembered that Yun Lintian once told her about the experience he had gone through during that coma. He seemed to have travelled to another timeline and became another him.

Perhaps this was when he learned about his origin.

Yun Wuhan’s spectral form shimmered as he continued speaking, his voice carrying the weight of ancient secrets.

“Originally, we planned for Lintian to live as a mortal forever, allowing his talents to awaken naturally when the time came. But fate had other designs.”

He raised his hand, and the white space around them dissolved once more, reforming into a lush, vibrant forest where the colossal Tree of Life stood tall—Yun Wushuang’s sacred territory.

The scene showed Yun Wuhan and Yun Wushuang standing beneath the Tree of Life, their expressions solemn as they discussed their next steps. Suddenly, the air rippled, and a towering structure materialized before them—an ancient, weathered tower, its aura completely concealed.

“The Tower of Fate,” Linlin murmured when she saw this.

Long Qingxuan and the others also recognized it.

In the scene, Yun Wushuang’s emerald eyes narrowed. “I didn’t sense its approach at all.”

Yun Wushuang and Yun Wuhan exchanged glances before stepping inside cautiously.

The scene shifted again, transporting them to the tower’s second floor—a vast chamber adorned with thirteen grand paintings, each depicting one of the original Primordial Gods.

The River God, the Mountain God, the Star God, the Sun God, the Moon God, the God of Light, the God of Darkness, the God of Life, the God of Death, the God of Mortal, the God of Heaven, the God of Fate, and the God of Time. All the thirteen paintings were attached on the wall, some of them glowing faintly.

Before the couple could process the implications, a wisp of silver light coalesced into the spectral form of Yun Tianming, his soul remnant flickering like a dying candle.

The moment the silver light took form, Yun Wuhan and Yun Wushuang immediately assumed defensive stances, their divine auras flaring.

“Who are you?” Yun Wuhan demanded, elemental energy swirling around his fists.

The spectral figure raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. “There is no need for hostility.” His voice carried the weight of countless eons, calm yet filled with undeniable authority. “I am Yun Tianming, the God of Fate.”

Yun Wushuang’s eyes widened slightly. “The God of Fate?”

Yun Tianming inclined his head. “What remains of me, at least.” His form flickered like a candle in the wind, barely sustaining itself.

Yun Wuhan did not lower his guard. “Why have you appeared before us?”

Yun Tianming turned his gaze toward the thirteen paintings lining the chamber walls. “To show you the truth that Nian Shi has tried so hard to conceal.”

With a wave of his hand, the paintings shimmered, their images shifting to reveal scenes from the Prime Origin—the original timeline…