Chapter 227: Origins Relived: Inheritance
Tunlong Chenyuan watched her in silence and let her think. Then his gaze moved to the golden motes still drifting across the room. He made a single sweeping gesture—and every mote converged instantly into his palm, space itself compressed to a single point as though distance were a suggestion he had declined to follow.
He studied them closely, his draconic eyes gleaming.
"Such power," he murmured. "To directly elevate one's cultivation to the Immortal Realm..."
He didn't linger. He raised one finger, the tip glowing with cosmic purple, and began to draw—carving fine lines into space itself, forming the outline of a veil-like object surrounded by shimmering mystical runes.
"Manifest."
The drawing pulsed with intense cosmic purple. The runes writhed and twisted around it, weaving something from the fabric of reality itself. A heartbeat later, a shimmering cosmic-purple veil appeared—floating mid-air, humming with a quiet, living tone.
"Devour."
A small purple vortex appeared above the veil's entrance. The golden motes were drawn in with ruthless precision, one after another, until none remained.
'This—'
Su Tianhao's mind reeled.
'Creating something from nothing. A weapon carrying a faint echo of the craftsman's spirit, granting semi-sentience under the right conditions...'
The realization struck him like something falling from a great height.
'This is the first layer of the Eternal Heavenforge Genesis. The Heavenly Creation Art.'
After absorbing all the golden motes, the crimson-purple veil glowed gold. It trembled violently in the air—then held, floating back to its creator with unsettling grace.
Tunlong Chenyuan allowed it to hover at his side. He felt Tian Yuexin's gaze on his back before he turned.
"What is it, my love?"
"Activate the seals." Her eyes held his with quiet, unshakable resolve—carrying a deep pain she refused to show, but that he could see regardless. "I know what must be done."
His heart clenched at the sight of it. And yet beneath that—a quiet, private pride that he kept to himself.
He nodded solemnly. "Prepare yourself."
His draconic eyes ignited with brilliant gold, a flicker of cosmic purple burning within their depths. His spiritual energy flared around him, swirling with mystical runes that felt primordial and ancient—as though the Heavenly Dao itself had lent them form.
His expression turned completely serious.
He began.
Carving deep lines into space itself—tearing through the void and leaving his mark—he drew the first rune. Layers of complexity overlapped with a precision that defied mortal understanding. The moment it was complete, he formed a rapid sealing gesture and activated it.
Swoosh.
The rune moved, responding to its creator's will, and drove straight for the space between Tian Yuexin's brows.
"Don't resist."
She nodded and closed her eyes, accepting it completely. The rune entered and dove into her Sea of Consciousness—halting the progress of her primordial soul, which had already been on the verge of transforming into the state of immortality.
Tunlong Chenyuan didn't pause to observe.
He was already moving.
The second rune took less time than the first. He sent it straight for her heart—sealing the sudden surge of vitality and longevity already soaring toward immortal levels, slowing the expansion of her lifespan back within mortal realm boundaries.
He continued. Faster now. More precise.
The third rune manifested with absolute authority and drove into her dantian—sealing the spiritual Qi that had already begun transforming into Immortal Qi, holding it at the threshold without allowing it to cross.
Three seals.
Three more days.
When it was done, Tian Yuexin's eyes fluttered open—flickering with a profound, settled depth.
"What must be done, my love?" Tunlong Chenyuan asked immediately.
"We must ensure our son lacks nothing." Her voice was quiet and certain. "Guidance. Techniques. Knowledge. Inheritance. We won't be there to guide him—so we must ensure he carries everything we can give him. And that he grows up knowing we love him. That we had no choice."
Tunlong Chenyuan was quiet for a moment. "That won't be a problem. I know how it can be done."
"How?"
"Inherited memories." He said it simply. "We pass down everything—our knowledge, our techniques, our experiences. All of it, carried within him."
Tian Yuexin's eyes widened. "Won't that overwhelm him?"
"Not if it's done carefully. I can layer it beneath seals—nine of them, each unlocking at the right threshold so everything reaches him gradually, when he's strong enough to receive it." A breath. "I still have approximately two years before my punishment ends and I'm forced to ascend. I'll use that time to encode it properly. Nothing will go wrong with our boy."
Tian Yuexin lowered her head slowly, one hand pressed against her beating heart.
Tunlong Chenyuan watched her. "What were you planning before I spoke?"
She looked up. "The conventional approach. Creating spiritual wills of ourselves—to pass down messages and inheritances when he comes of age."
"Ah." His lips curved with quiet mystery. "That can also be arranged..."
---
And so it began.
Su Tianhao watched from the borrowed eyes of his parents as they crafted the plan that would shape everything he would one day become.
That night, they spent the only time they had left as a family—completely, without reserve—and gave him every drop of love they possessed.
On the first day, he watched Tunlong Chenyuan help Tian Yuexin prepare her spiritual will. The same spiritual will that had later guided his sword path in the mysterious moonlit courtyard. He watched everything—from the careful construction of the spiritual realm, to the moment Tian Yuexin severed a fragment of her own essence and infused it into the will. Not a copy. A piece of herself, cut away deliberately, so that the will would develop genuine instinct and responsiveness. She vomited mouthfuls of blood as she worked, her face draining pale—but her expression never changed. She watched the creation taking form before her with a loving smile, steady and unhurried.
On the second day, after watching his mother recover beneath the moonlight, he watched Tunlong Chenyuan duplicate her memories in their entirety and integrate them into nine sealed layers calibrated to significant cultivation thresholds. Then, when that was done, Chenyuan turned to his own memories—duplicating them with the same meticulous care—and finally cut a fragment of his own soul under Tian Yuexin's frightened stare. A piece of himself, separated and preserved. Not for technique. Not for inheritance. For a conversation. So that one day, when his son came of age, a father's voice could speak to him directly—and he would never grow up believing he had been abandoned.
On the third day, the atmosphere shifted without announcement.
His parents sat together in silence through most of it, attending to his every need without words. The quiet between them was not empty. It was full of everything that couldn't be said without breaking something that needed to hold.
When the day reached its end, the silence broke.
Tian Yuexin wept.
She had been crying quietly for three days—but this was different. This was the dam finally giving way, the grief that had been held at careful distance arriving all at once. Su Tianhao felt it in his soul. His infant body stirred in her arms, his own tears falling without understanding why—only that something large and sorrowful was happening and he was part of it.
Tunlong Chenyuan watched his family in silence. He offered whatever comfort he could give—a steady hand, a presence that didn't flinch. He couldn't tell her it would be alright.
That would have been a lie.
He knew the future was uncertain. He knew hardship was inevitable.
What he didn't know—what neither of them could know—was the kind of person their son would become.