Deep within a verdant forest, sunlight filtered through gaps in the leaves, scattering mottled shadows across the ground.

　　A gentle breeze stirred, leaves rustling softly.

　　“Waa… waa…”

　　A clear cry shattered the forest’s stillness.

　　A man with snow-white hair cascading over his shoulders, absorbed in gathering herbs, froze at the sound, his hand pausing mid-motion.

　　He appeared middle-aged, his chiseled features handsome yet steady with the weight of years. Sword-like brows, eyes sharp as cold stars, and a deep gaze that seemed to conceal countless stories.

　　Beneath a high bridge of nose, tightly set lips blended otherworldly grace with seasoned composure.

　　Following the sound, he soon found an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes amid the grass, crying until its little face was flushed red, tiny hands flailing wildly as if proclaiming its existence to the world—or lamenting the fear and grievance of its sudden arrival.

　　Frowning in surprise, the man crouched down, set aside his herb basket, and examined the child.

　　“In such a desolate place… how could there be a baby here?”

　　The instant his hand touched the swaddling cloth, a strange sensation surged through him. After probing carefully, he inhaled sharply in shock: the infant carried both immortal and demonic auras—it was a hybrid of the two.

　　At once, an ancient prophecy surfaced in his mind, spoken by the upper realm’s great sage Ezi:

　　When heaven collapses, the child of immortals and demons shall bring world-shaking slaughter.

　　The words struck his heart like a hammer. His hand tightened around his sword hilt, killing intent rising as he considered ending this potential calamity.

　　Yet when his gaze fell again upon the infant’s innocent face and tear-filled eyes, his heart softened.

　　That purity pierced straight into the tenderest corner of his soul, dispelling the darkness of murderous intent.

　　The baby seemed to sense the change, raising tiny arms, pink fingers opening and closing as it babbled softly—clearly asking to be held.

　　The man sighed. “He is but a newborn. How could I decide his life and death based solely on a prophecy…”

　　Slowly, he released his sword and carefully lifted the child. “There, there. Don’t cry. From now on, you’ll stay with me.”

　　Cradling the infant, he pondered a name, gazing at the tranquil forest bathed in sunlight and breeze, far from worldly strife.

　　“May you remain untainted by the dust of this world,” he murmured. “I shall call you Yichen.”

　　As if understanding, the baby ceased crying and smiled faintly, hands waving in delight.

　　Moments later, warmth spread through the man’s robe. He paused, then laughed helplessly, tapping the child’s nose. “So this is your greeting gift?”

　　From that day on, Yichen began his unique mortal journey under the man’s protection.

　　Knowing the troubles the child’s lineage might bring, the man sealed Yichen’s demonic side.

　　Years flowed like a quiet stream. Yichen grew under careful guidance. At first, he showed little interest in cultivation, wandering the forest freely, observing ants in battle or watching the sun rise and set from treetops.

　　When questioned, Yichen replied calmly, “Master, I wish first to comprehend nature. As for techniques—if I learn them, I will be the best.”

　　At twelve, he declared, wooden sword in hand, “I will learn the sword. I will be the foremost of the Sword Dao!”

　　Gifted with a natural sword physique, Yichen advanced at astonishing speed, reaching the Golden Core realm in mere years. Ever striving for perfection, he required immense spiritual energy and thus ventured alone into the deep mountains.

　　Once, he contested a spiritual fungus with a wild boar, only to relinquish it upon seeing the creature protect its young.

　　Another year passed, and the boy matured into a graceful youth, white robes flowing, features refined beyond mortal measure—like an exiled immortal, unforgettable at a single glance.