Fate's Pull

When he returned to his bedroom that evening, the moon had already risen.

Huo Yuhao closed the door without lighting a lamp. Moonlight streamed through the window, laying a thin layer of silvery frost across the floor, like the first light snowfall of late autumn. He stood quietly by the door for a while, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. Only then did he walk to the bed, sit down, cross his legs, and prepare for that night's meditation.

Six years.

He had repeated this action for six years. Every night, no matter what he had gone through during the day—the exhaustion of cultivation, the confusion of study, the occasional loneliness—once he sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, and sank his consciousness into the Sea of Spirit, everything in the outside world temporarily faded away. That was his own world: a vast ocean of spiritual power, the sleeping Skydream Iceworm, the lingering auras left behind by the Ice Empress and Snow Empress, and that eye.

That vertical eye floating in the depths of his Sea of Spirit, one that opened only when his soul power broke through.

Huo Yuhao took a deep breath and slowly closed his eyes.

Then—

A wave of warmth came from his forehead.

The feeling was familiar. Over the past six years, that eye would occasionally react like this, as though something within it were awakening, or something were trying to emerge. Yet whenever Huo Yuhao panicked and examined his Sea of Spirit inwardly, it simply hung there in silence, utterly motionless, like an ancient statue that had existed since time immemorial—cold, distant, untouchable.

Over time, he had grown accustomed to it. It was there like a sleeping birthmark, like the imprint of a seal. It never disturbed him, and he had gradually learned not to think about it.

But this time was different.

The warm sensation did not fade. Instead, it became clearer and clearer, as if something were slowly flowing beneath his skin, as if a heart that had slept for ten thousand years had finally begun to beat.

Then.

That eye opened.

Not the one in his Sea of Spirit, but the one that truly existed on his forehead.

Rose-gold light burst from the vertical eye, illuminating the entire room in an instant. It was too bright—dazzling, blinding—so bright that Huo Yuhao had no choice but to shut his eyes. Yet even with his eyes closed, he could still sense that beam of light. It pierced through his eyelids, through his body, through the walls, and shot toward some faraway place, as if answering something in the distance.

The light lasted for three breaths.

After three breaths, it gradually withdrew and finally returned to stillness.

Huo Yuhao opened his eyes.

His first reaction was to examine his Sea of Spirit.

The eye was still there, as though nothing had happened.

He opened his eyes again and, as if possessed, raised a hand to touch his forehead.

His fingertips met skin.

Smooth, warm, ordinary skin.

Yet the instant his fingertips touched it, the eye beneath his skin—blinked.

Huo Yuhao froze.

He sat motionless on the bed, his hand still raised before his forehead, as though he had been nailed in place. The room was so silent that he could hear his own heartbeat: thump, thump, thump, each beat heavier than the last.

Then he sprang from the bed and nearly stumbled as he rushed toward the mirror.

The mirror was small, hanging on the wardrobe door. Moonlight shone through the window, leaving its surface half-lit and half-shadowed. Huo Yuhao leaned close, using that faint light to look at himself in the reflection.

A twelve-year-old boy stared back at him.

A delicate face, dark eyes, slightly pursed lips, and—

Between his brows, an upright eye had appeared.

That eye was closed.

Huo Yuhao stared at the eye in the mirror. Naturally, it was not looking at him. But he knew that, just moments ago, it had opened. It had looked at him with its rose-gold pupil and the fine black-and-white patterns entwined around it.

Those patterns... In that fleeting glimpse, he had seen something like ancient runes, or perhaps some profound design, as though all the mysteries of the universe had been gathered within that single vertical pupil.

That was the Eye of Eternity.

His third eye.

Huo Yuhao stared at the mirror, not knowing what to do. He wanted to find Qian Daoliu and ask what this meant, what that eye signified. But he was afraid too—afraid that it might be an accident, afraid that it would vanish when he woke up tomorrow.

Then he saw it.

A golden thread extended from that closed eye.

The thread was exceedingly thin, nearly invisible, yet it emitted a gentle glow. It stretched out from the vertical eye like a translucent filament, passing through the room, through the window, and reaching into the distance before disappearing at the edge of the night.

Huo Yuhao held his breath.

Slowly, he raised a hand, wanting to touch that thread.

His hand passed through it.

He touched nothing.

It was there. He could see it and sense it, yet he could not touch it. It seemed to exist in another dimension, some deeper connection that transcended the material world.

But he knew it was there.

It was a strange feeling. It was neither sight nor touch, but an indescribable awareness. Like how someone could know where the sun was even with their eyes closed, how a plant knew which way to grow, how migratory birds knew which way to fly.

The guidance of fate.

Those four words rose from the depths of his heart, as clear as if someone had whispered them in his ear.

Huo Yuhao did not know where that thought had come from. But he knew it was true.

That thread was guiding him.

To go somewhere, meet someone, do something.

He stood silently before the bronze mirror, looking at that unfamiliar face in the reflection. The face was his. The eyes were his. The nose and mouth were his. But the eye between his brows was not. It lay quietly shut, like a sleeping beast, like a sealed curse.

Rose-gold light occasionally flowed beneath its lid, while the fine black-and-white patterns flickered in and out of view, as though some ancient prophecy were awakening, as though a being that had slumbered for ten thousand years were slowly stirring.

He suddenly remembered that voice from four years ago.

Accept it. This is your destiny. It is his destiny as well.

That had been the first time he heard that voice, on the night Qian Daoliu took him away. Back then, he had not known who the voice belonged to or what it meant. Even now, he still did not know.

Yet he vaguely felt that the golden thread, that distant endpoint, that encounter which had yet to happen—

Were the answer.

Was this his destiny?

He did not know.

But he wanted to know.

He put on an outer robe, pushed open the door, and headed toward the tallest hall.

Moonlight spilled over the bluestone path, while the halls on both sides stood in silence, casting enormous shadows. A night breeze blew in from the distance, carrying a trace of chill. Huo Yuhao walked lightly, but quickly.

He could feel the eye on his forehead. It was closed, but it was there. It was as if his body had gained another organ, as if his soul had gained another window. He did not know how to use it or what else it could do, but he knew it had awakened.

Qian Daoliu had not left.

When Huo Yuhao pushed open the hall doors, the old man was sitting cross-legged within the beam of moonlight pouring down from the skylight. He wore a platinum robe emblazoned with a sacred six-winged angel across the chest. His white hair draped over his shoulders, and his entire body was bathed in silver moonlight like an ancient statue.

He raised his head and looked toward the door.

Then his eyes narrowed slightly.

In that instant, Huo Yuhao saw an unusual gleam flash through the old man's eyes. It was neither surprise nor fear, but something more complicated. As though he had seen something long absent, as though he had recalled some distant memory.

"Come in," he said.

Huo Yuhao walked in and stopped before him.

Moonlight fell from above, illuminating his face. His brows, the bridge of his nose, his lips. It also illuminated the vertical eye between his brows. It was closed, quietly closed, but rose-gold light occasionally flowed beneath its lid, as if it were alive, as if unwilling to remain asleep.

Qian Daoliu stared at that eye for a long time.

He did not ask what it was. He did not ask where it came from. He did not ask what it could do. He did not ask whether it would harm Huo Yuhao, whether it would change him, whether it would turn him into someone else.

He merely looked at it as though he were looking at an ancient legend.

"How long has it been?" he asked.

"It appeared tonight," Huo Yuhao said. "Before this, it was always in my Sea of Spirit and never moved. Tonight... it opened. Then it closed again."

Qian Daoliu nodded.

"What did it show you?"

Huo Yuhao raised a hand and pointed toward the door.

"A golden thread," he said. "It extends from this eye toward that direction. I don't know where it leads, but I know... it's guiding me."

Qian Daoliu fell silent for a moment.

"You want to go?"

"Yes."

Qian Daoliu fell silent again.

He looked at Huo Yuhao—at that twelve-year-old face, still childish, at the determination burning in those dark eyes, at the vertical eye between his brows that remained shut while faintly flowing with golden light.

Suddenly, he remembered many years ago.

He remembered another child blessed by the gods. He remembered a beam of light descending from the heavens. He remembered three pairs of spread wings, a longsword burning with sacred flames, and a holy chant carried from the end of the sky.

He remembered a name.

Qian Renxue.

His granddaughter.

When she had been born, golden light had flowed through the eyes of the enormous Angel God statue in Douluo Hall, molten gold in its brilliance. Twelve platinum angels had descended from the sky, gathering around her in joyous celebration, beating their white wings, kissing her tender forehead, and praying blessings upon her.

At that time, he had known.

She was destined to become the Angel God.

Because that was her destiny.

Now, he looked at the boy before him, at that rose-gold vertical eye, at the empty air before them.

"All right," he said.

Huo Yuhao was stunned.

He had not expected the old man to agree so readily. He had thought Qian Daoliu would ask more questions, hesitate, stop him. After all, he was only a thirteen-year-old child, and that golden thread led to an unknown place.

"You may go," Qian Daoliu said. "But I have one condition."

"What condition?"

"I'll come with you."

Huo Yuhao opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but Qian Daoliu raised a hand and cut him off.

"Don't rush to refuse," the old man said calmly, though his tone allowed no argument. "Only you can see that golden thread. I don't know where it will lead you or what it will lead you to. If you go alone, I won't be at ease."

He paused and looked into Huo Yuhao's eyes.

"Don't worry. I won't interfere with you. Go wherever you want and do whatever you want. I'll only follow, to make sure you don't die on the road."

Huo Yuhao fell silent.

He looked at the old man, at that aged, wrinkled face, at those cloudy yet still sharp eyes, at the silver light of the moon on his white hair.

When he was six, Qian Renxue had brought him back to Spirit Hall and entrusted him to the old man before him.

For six years, the old man had taught him cultivation, the circulation of soul power, the use of soul skills, and the habits and weaknesses of soul beasts. He never asked whether Huo Yuhao understood, never checked his cultivation progress. He simply explained day after day and guided him day after day. Sometimes, he corrected Huo Yuhao when he made mistakes. Sometimes, when Huo Yuhao was lost, he offered a single word of advice.

He seemed to understand why the old man had treated him so well.

He also knew what the old man was thinking.

His granddaughter, Qian Renxue, had left Spirit Hall at the age of nine, left him behind, and gone to infiltrate the Heaven Dou Empire.

It had now been thirteen years.

"All right."

Qian Daoliu smiled.

The smile was faint, so faint that it was nearly imperceptible, but Huo Yuhao saw it. It deepened the wrinkles on the old man's face, yet it also lit a small spark in those cloudy eyes.

"Then we'll leave at dawn tomorrow," the old man said, rising to his feet. "Go back and get a good rest tonight. That golden thread... won't run away."

Huo Yuhao nodded, turned, and headed for the door. When he reached it, he paused and looked back.

Moonlight still poured down from above, illuminating the old man's figure. He stood there with white hair draped over his shoulders, his gray robe fluttering slightly, like an ancient, silent statue.

Huo Yuhao wanted to say something but did not know what. In the end, he merely nodded lightly, pushed open the door, and walked out.

The door slowly closed behind him.

At dawn the next morning, before the sky had brightened, Huo Yuhao and Qian Daoliu left Spirit City.

They did not alert anyone. Qian Daoliu merely left word with the duty officer that he was going out to handle some matters and that his return date was uncertain. Then the two of them, one before the other, vanished into the morning glow beyond the city gates.

Huo Yuhao walked ahead, following the golden thread that only he could see.

Qian Daoliu followed behind, keeping the distance of an arrow's flight—neither too close nor too far.

The morning wind swept in from the fields, carrying the scent of earth and dew. Roosters crowed from a distant village, while thin curls of cooking smoke drifted upward and became pale blue mist in the morning light. Occasionally, farmers who had risen early passed by, giving them curious looks before continuing on their way.

Huo Yuhao walked at an even pace. The golden thread remained before him, extending from between his brows like an unbreakable rope, pulling him onward. It crossed fields, villages, and one official road after another, neither hurried nor slow, as though it were waiting for him.

Sometimes, he wondered where the thread led. Whom would it make him meet? What would it make him experience?

But he had no answers.

He only knew that he had to keep walking. He had to follow it to the end, until he stood before the answer.

At noon on the third day, they reached the edge of the Star Dou Great Forest.

Huo Yuhao stopped and raised his head, looking at the boundless sea of forest before him.

Towering trees blocked out the sky, their overlapping branches and leaves cutting sunlight into countless scattered patches. Their bark was dark brown, covered in moss and vines, and some trunks were so thick that more than ten people would be needed to encircle them. The wind swept over the treetops with a roar like crashing waves—rustle, rustle—as though something were calling from deep within.

The golden thread extended all the way into the depths of the forest.

Huo Yuhao stood at the forest's edge, feeling the wind blowing out from its depths. It carried the damp scent of humus, the fragrance of grass and trees, and some indescribable ancient, primal aura.

Suddenly, he felt the golden thread grow brighter.

As though it were telling him: this was the place.

"This is it?" Qian Daoliu's voice came from behind him.

Huo Yuhao nodded.

Qian Daoliu stepped forward and stood beside him, raising his head to look over the forest.

"The Star Dou Great Forest," he said calmly. "One of the most dangerous places on the continent. Hundred-year soul beasts roam even the outer regions. Go a hundred li deeper, and thousand-year soul beasts are everywhere. Farther in, even ten-thousand-year soul beasts are nothing unusual. As for the deepest parts..."

He did not continue.

Huo Yuhao did not ask.

He only watched the golden thread, the direction in which it extended, and that deep, mysterious forest filled with the unknown.

It was waiting for him.

Perhaps it had been waiting since six years ago—or even earlier, from the moment he was born.

When he grew up, when he became stronger, when his third eye opened, when he saw this golden thread, when he came here.

Now, he had finally arrived.

"Let's go," he said.

He stepped into the forest.

Qian Daoliu followed one step behind him.

The forest was far darker than outside. Towering trees blocked most of the sunlight, leaving only scattered patches of light filtering through the branches and leaves, casting mottled shadows over the fallen leaves below. A thick layer of humus lay beneath their feet, soft and yielding as they walked, producing faint rustling sounds. Every so often, a dead branch snapped beneath a foot with a crisp crack that sounded especially clear in the silent forest.

The air was thick with dampness, mingled with the fresh scent of grass and trees and the smell of rotting leaves. Unfamiliar birdcalls drifted from the distance—coo, coo—like some ancient summons.

Soul beasts occasionally watched them from afar. Huo Yuhao could sense those prying gazes; some were curious, some wary, and some filled with hostility. But after sensing the faint aura of a Limit Douluo around Qian Daoliu, their owners immediately turned and fled, vanishing without a trace, their footsteps utterly silent.

Huo Yuhao said nothing and simply continued forward with focused attention.

Following that golden thread, he passed through grove after grove, crossed stream after stream, and skirted boulder after boulder. The thread kept stretching out before him, neither hurried nor slow, as if guiding him toward a particular place.

At times, it shifted direction slightly, circling around certain areas. Huo Yuhao did not know what lay there, but he could sense danger emanating from them. At other times, it suddenly glowed a little brighter, as though warning him of something.

He did not know where it was leading him.

He did not know what it would show him.

He did not know what any of this meant.

But he knew he had to go.

Because it was fate.

His own fate.

The forest grew denser, and the light grew dimmer. Everything around them was quiet, save for the wind brushing through the treetops and the sound of their own footsteps. Every now and then, a beast's roar echoed from afar, long and low, like a warning—or perhaps a summons.

That golden thread continued to stretch out ahead of him, like an invisible rope drawing him into the unknown depths.

Toward an encounter that had waited a thousand years.