What is meant to be will be; what is not meant to be should not be forced.

This is the story of an immortal fruit.

Three thousand worlds, gods and demons fill the skies, holding the Daoist scroll, commanding all matters of heaven and earth.

In the first year of the Taishi era, a divine stone fell from outer space, scattering across the human world. The divine stone that landed on the Eastern Continent was engraved with strange totems. People, upon observing these totems, gained enlightenment, and thus the State Religion was established.

Thousands of years later, a fourteen-year-old orphan boy, Ethan Brooks, in order to become a god and defy fate, heads to the capital, enters the State Religion, and follows his heart's desire.

However, what he seeks to change is far more than just his own destiny—the future of countless people also rests in his hands.

Volume One: Youthful Days

Prologue: Descending the Mountain

The world is relative.

The Central Continent faces the Western Continent across the ocean. The eastern lands are higher in elevation, and the sky there seems loftier as well. Clouds and mist rise from the sea and land, drifting endlessly toward that place, eventually gathering together and never dispersing throughout the year.

This is the Cloud Tomb—the graveyard of all clouds in the world.

Deep within the Cloud Tomb, a solitary peak stands faintly, its summit piercing into the void, destination unknown.

Legend has it that the world is made up of five continents, each with its own unique scenery. Only those powerful beings who have entered the sacred domain can see all the landscapes. For ordinary people, legends are just legends—they do not know where the other continents are, nor how to reach them, nor that the solitary peak within the Cloud Tomb is the passage to the other continents.

Naturally, no one has ever seen the scenery above the clouds. Here, the tranquil cloud layers spread out like white cotton in all directions, seemingly endless. Beyond the mirrored void above is an infinite black abyss, filled with countless stars.

Suddenly, two stars lit up, growing ever brighter, rapidly approaching the mirrored surface. As they drew near, it became clear that they were two clusters of sacred, pure white flames.

On the mirrored surface separating the real world from the night sky, spiderweb-like cracks appeared, then instantly healed.

Those two clusters of sacred flames, by some miraculous means, appeared on this side of the mirror, in the real world. The thin air was scorched, rippling and distorting—those were not divine fires, but its eyes.

The entire world grew restless at this tremendous arrival. Light refracted endlessly, and a mountain-like shadow appeared on the clouds. Space began to arch and distort, as if it might be torn apart.

A golden dragon appeared between the void and the clouds.

The distant red sun was completely obscured by its massive body. The world tens of thousands of kilometers above the clouds dimmed, the temperature around plummeted, frost crystals began to form within the clouds, reflecting countless rays of light, turning the scene into a bizarre, flickering crystal mirror. Heaven and earth changed color—this was the majesty of a supreme being.

The golden dragon gazed down upon this world, its eyes indifferent.

It had seen the scenery above the clouds many times.

The golden dragon flew toward the solitary peak at the horizon. As it neared, its terrifyingly massive body sank into the depths of the mist, vanishing from sight. Endless mists were parted by its enormous form. The cliffs of the solitary peak were jagged and steep to the extreme, devoid of any plants—not even moss—utterly lifeless, like a tomb.

Thus it flew deeper into the mist, through countless days and nights, the distance unknown, always within the fog, encountering nothing else. Only faintly did moss begin to appear on the cliffs, and the mist grew much denser than above. Perhaps due to the pressure, crystals began to form within the mist—these were droplets of water, and the air became moist.

The golden dragon showed no interest in these changes, continuing its descent.

Within the solitary peak, plants grew ever more abundant, the mist ever wetter. Water droplets fell onto the cliffs, gradually forming countless streams as thick as green leaves. Tens of thousands of tiny streams gurgled through the cliffs, falling into the mist below.

The golden dragon gazed at the myriad trickling streams among the cliffs, its eyes growing solemn, the sacred flames within ever more mysterious—this was the graveyard of all clouds, and also the source of all water.

Countless streams fell from the solitary peak, but it watched only one.

Within the mist, the golden dragon silently followed that stream downward, through countless days and nights, as if in endless repetition. Yet at a certain moment... the mist before it parted.

Beyond the mist was the ground.

The lower edge of the mist was perfectly smooth, following the contours of the land, maintaining a five-foot gap between the mist and the ground—exactly the height of a human, as if by the design of the Creator. The five-foot space between the ground and the mist stretched into the distance. Faint light could be seen far away, but not the sun. On the ground, countless streams flowed.

The mist dissipated before the giant dragon's head, revealing the ground and that little stream.

The stream, born from the dew within the solitary peak, was clear, calm, and icy cold. Floating in the stream was a wooden basin, lined with several layers of coarse cloth, and atop the cloth lay a baby—the baby's face was slightly blue, eyes closed, clearly only recently born.