A hundred thousand years ago, when the Four Realms set out to destroy humanity, he severed the path to immortality and sealed himself away to be reborn. The world hated him for a hundred thousand years.
A hundred thousand years later, he had forgotten who he was and was sweeping the floors of a declining sect. Every year, the Nine Sects sent people to climb the platform, following the one character he had written incorrectly.
A hundred thousand years. A hundred thousand people. Not one returned.
Step by step, he unlocked the four seals on his body and reclaimed his memories piece by piece: who he was, the person waiting for him in the snow, the one he had killed with his own hands, and why he had been determined to strike that sword all those years ago.
By the time he finally remembered everything, the rift in the sky was slowly closing.
For the last time, he restored the path that had been severed for a hundred thousand years.
The price was that he himself had to stand in the breach.
