Chapter 1: Luo Jueying
Luo Jueying is an evil being. Born under a cursed star and with unawakened calamity bone, his cry was not met with joy but with shudder of terror. His own parents, looking into his eyes, saw not a son but a ticking time catastrophe.
Worse, he was born to noble cultivator parents.
In a world where bloodlines were legacies and every child was a promised sword for the clan, Luo Jueying was a cracked blade before he could even crawl. His parents were not just any cultivators—they were paragons of righteousness, leaders of a revered sect, their names spoken with reverence across the cultivation world. And their son? A stain upon their perfect tapestry.
The shame was unbearable. Whispers followed them like flies: The Luo bloodline produces a calamity. Fellow elders offered thin smiles and sharper condolences. Rival clans stored the knowledge away like a weapon, waiting for the right moment to strike. His parents looked at their infant son and saw not a heir, but a future massacre wearing their surname.
His mother refused to hold him. His father ordered the wet nurse to take the child to a remote courtyard and never speak of him.
Luo Jueying should have died before his first winter. His infant body was frail, his mortal constitution unable to process even the thin spiritual energy of the clan’s mountain. But the calamity bone—though dormant, though hated—refused to let him perish. It fed on the neglect, on the ambient resentment soaking into his tiny bones. While other children took their first steps on soft silk carpets, he crawled through the dirt of an abandoned garden, eating insects to survive.
By age five, he understood three things with terrifying clarity:
First, his parents wished him dead. Not out of malice, but out of shame—a shame so deep they could not even bring themselves to lift a hand against him. Their neglect was a slow, passive murder.
Second, his calamity bone was not a curse. It was a promise. It had kept him alive when love would have killed him faster. It had grown stronger with every meal denied, every healing herb withheld.
Third, the world of noble cultivators was a beautiful, hypocritical lie. And he would become the truth it deserved.
So he learned to smile. A small, hollow, perfect smile. And in the dark, he learned to listen. To the whispered secrets of the family elders. To the hidden resentment of the servants. To the quiet, rhythmic hum of the calamity bone, waiting to wake.
They thought they had buried their shame alive. But Luo Jueying was not buried. He was rooting. And one day, when the calamity bone finally cracked open, the entire Luo Clan would learn that the most dangerous demon is not the one born raging—but the one born smiling.
