When the first ray of morning light pierced the mist in the Su family's mansion, Ye Xuan heard a tremor like a dragon's roar deep in his bones while signing in under the eaves. He was just the son-in-law who wore a washed white robe, but from who knows when, even the wind blowing through his sleeves carried the intention of a sword.
When he first entered the Su family, he was trampled like moss in the corner, and every time he lowered his head, it was like his spine was buried in dust. The whispers of the sign-in system were just murmurs in a dream at first, until one day the fingertips tapped the void, and a golden scroll of ancient scriptures fell into the palm of the hand - it was an inheritance that could make a foundation-building monk jealous. He is forbearing like a snake, storing up thunder in the dark.
As he checked in again and again, the skills, elixirs, and coordinates of the secret realm appeared one after another. His eyes no longer dodge, and although his body was thin, it was like a broken blade hiding an edge. Su Zhentian's cold eyes and suppression became the stone that sharpened his will; Su Wanyue's gentle protection was the only light during the night walk; and Nangong Hong's words "Boy, there is a sleeping volcano inside you" ignited his final awe for fate.
But power is never a gift, but a name quietly written down by the creditor. When he stood on the high platform of the Su family, overlooking the people who had bullied him, a void arose in his heart - if after revenge, his soul is still like a wasteland, how should he fill it?
If one day, when the land you once knelt on lies beneath your feet, how should humans face themselves?
