The Forsaken Disciple: Rise of the Immortal Emperor

Chapter 3: The Forgotten Immortal (Part II)

These images did not feel like art. They felt like memories etched into stone. He slowed as his gaze settled on one particular carving. It depicted a child standing beneath nine blazing suns.

The child looked impossibly small against that divine and terrible light, yet there was nothing fragile in the figure’s posture.

Above the child floated a single sentence written in golden script that Chen had never seen before. And yet, somehow, he understood it.

He whom Heaven cannot command.

A chill ran down his spine. Before he could study the mural any further, a faint sound echoed somewhere ahead. Click.

The noise was small, but in the vast silence of the palace it sounded impossibly clear.

Chen lifted his head.

Another click followed. Then another. The rhythm was precise and measured. Someone was playing a game.

He followed the sound through a series of winding corridors until the palace opened into a vast circular chamber beneath the stars. The hall had no roof. Above it, the cosmos stretched on forever, cold and magnificent.

At the center of the chamber sat an old man. He was alone.

His snow-white hair flowed past his waist like a stream of moonlight, and he wore simple gray robes without embroidery or ornament.

Before him rested a massive black-and-white chessboard carved from a single piece of jade. It was unlike any chessboard Chen had ever seen.

The lines on its surface shifted continuously, as though the board itself were alive. Each piece resembled a tiny mountain, and although they remained motionless, they radiated such terrifying spiritual pressure that Chen instinctively stopped several steps away.

The old man held a white piece between two fingers. Without lifting his head, he spoke. “I was beginning to wonder how long it would take you to arrive.”

His voice was calm and almost gentle, yet every word carried a weight so immense that Chen felt it in his bones. Instinctively, he bowed. “Senior...”

The old man smiled faintly. “You are polite,” he said.

His gaze never left the chessboard. “That is more refreshing than you know.”

Chen remained standing in silence, waiting, but the old man said nothing more. The quiet stretched between them until Chen could no longer endure the questions burning in his chest.

“Where am I?” he asked at last.

The old man placed the white piece on the board. Click.

At once, the black pieces trembled. “You stand beyond the reach of time,” the old man said.

He made another move. Click.

“You stand beyond life.”

Another piece fell into place. Click.

“And beyond death.”

Chen frowned, more confused than before. “I don’t understand.”

The old man’s expression did not change. “You are not meant to understand it yet.” Only then did he slowly lift his head.

Chen froze.

The old man’s eyes contained stars. They were not reflections. They were not tricks of the light.

Entire galaxies turned within those ancient pupils, vast and slow and impossibly distant. Looking into them felt like staring into eternity and realizing eternity was staring back.

The old man studied him in silence. He did not move. He did not speak. He simply watched.

Under that gaze, Chen felt as though every secret in his soul had been laid bare.

At last, the old man gave a small nod, as though confirming something only he could see. “So,” he murmured, and his voice softened almost imperceptibly, “you truly survived.”

Chen’s confusion deepened. “Survived what?”

“The seal.” The answer only created more questions.

Chen took a step forward. “What seal?”

Instead of responding directly, the old man raised one sleeve and gestured toward the opposite side of the chessboard. “Sit.”

Chen hesitated. Something inside him stirred uneasily, warning him that accepting this invitation would change everything.

Yet another instinct rose to meet that fear—the same wordless pull that had drawn him toward the broken pendant, the same force that had refused to let him abandon it. Slowly, he obeyed.

The instant he sat down, the chessboard changed.

The black and white pieces dissolved into swirling mist. In their place, countless golden symbols emerged, rotating above the board in slow and solemn patterns.

Their light reflected across the old man’s features, and for the first time, his expression grew truly grave. “You have many questions,” the old man said.

“I do,” Chen said, trying to observe the seat

“And you seek answers,” the old man continued

“Yes.” The response was immediate, like the old man read his mind

The old man folded his hands into his sleeves and inclined his head once. “Very well.”

For a moment, he seemed to retreat into some distant thought. Then he said, “My name...”

He paused.

A shadow passed across his ancient face, so brief that Chen might have imagined it.

“My name,” the old man repeated, “has long since been forgotten.”

A faint smile touched his lips, but there was no warmth in it. “So let us leave it that way.”

Chen blinked. “You do not remember it?”

The old man looked past him, toward the endless stars. “I remember,” he said quietly. “I simply no longer have any use for it.”

The chamber fell silent once more.

Then the old man turned his gaze back to Chen, and this time the stars in his eyes seemed to burn brighter. “I am the last keeper,” he said, “of the Primordial Immortal Scripture.”

The instant those words left his lips, the stars outside the palace flickered. It was as though the heavens themselves had heard a name that should never have been spoken aloud.