When I opened my eyes the next morning, I wasn't in the valley anymore. I lay on a silk bed under a high, painted ceiling. A golden dragon wrapped around the pillars, its carved eyes staring down like it wanted to swallow me whole. The air smelled faintly of incense and rot, the kind that hides behind luxury too old to care.
Before I could move, Arina's calm voice flowed through my mind.
"Host, your current identity has been activated."
"Identity?" I murmured.
"Yes," she replied. "In this world, you are known as Prince Mukul Zhao, the third son of Emperor Zhao Long of the Tianyuan Imperial Dynasty."
That name sounded heavy in my ears. "A… prince?"
Arina's tone stayed steady. "Not just any prince. You are the Loser Prince—the weakest among three brothers. While the first and second princes command soldiers and wield power, your cultivation remains at the lowest stage of body tempering. In this world, that is equal to being crippled."
I sat up slowly. My body felt weak and hollow, as though drained of life. The red mark on my chest was faint now, hidden beneath the silk robe embroidered with fading gold thread. On a nearby table stood a cracked jade emblem with the royal crest—a reminder of what I was.
"So I'm the shame of the royal family," I said quietly.
Arina's voice softened. "Every world writes you into its story with a trial fitting your growth. Listen carefully to the one written for you here."
Images began flashing before my eyes—like memories not mine but lived through by another version of me.
I saw the Third Prince—me—kneeling before the royal court, mocked by ministers and relatives alike. They called him "a stain on divine blood," "the useless heir," and "a disgrace to the Zhao line." His cultivation had stalled for years while his elder brothers rose to fame.
Worse still was his fiancée, Lady Ling Yue, daughter of the Grand Marshal. Once she smiled gently at him; now she looked at him with cold disgust. In those memories, she laughed openly in the courtyard, her voice cutting sharply through whispers.
"Even if I were blind, I wouldn't stay attached to a cripple who can't even summon qi!"
The court had chuckled behind their sleeves. The Third Prince—me—could only clench his fists silently. Lady Ling Yue's laughter turned brighter when Prince Zhao Tian, my second brother, joined her side.
Zhao Tian—the perfect royal heir. Handsome, calm, and gifted. His cultivation had already reached the Golden Soul Realm at the age of twenty. The Emperor favoured him; the nobles worshipped him.
From that moment, everything spiralled downward.
Rumours spread like wildfire. The weak prince had been abandoned by heaven; his fiancée cheated with his brother, and even heaven turned its face away.
Arina whispered in my mind as the images played. "This was the life of your given identity. The Third Prince's destiny—betrayal, humiliation, and exile."
The next scene burned itself into me.
The wedding between Zhao Tian and Lady Ling Yue turned into the stage for my public downfall. During the ceremony, forged documents "proved" that I had attempted to harm my brother out of jealousy. All the royal elders supported Zhao Tian. My father, the Emperor, said nothing. His silence was heavier than any sword.
The crowd shouted for punishment, but Zhao Tian's voice rose above them all, oh-so-noble and gracious. "Do not kill him," he said. "Banish him instead. Let him live and remember his disgrace."
Arina's voice echoed through the memory like thunder.
"The royal elders conspired under Zhao Tian. They framed you for treason. They staged evidence of poison found in his tea—your handwriting on the order, your seal forged perfectly."
After that, the imperial guards dragged me through the marble court like a criminal. The silk robe tore; my crown rolled on the floor.
"Mukul Zhao," the Emperor finally said, cold and final, "as your bloodline cannot be denied, you will not be executed. But your name shall be removed from the Royal Records. You will be exiled to the Northern Cold Residence for life."
Those words cut deeper than death.
Arina's voice grew quiet now. "Every servant abandoned you the moment you were stripped of status. The maids who once bowed turned their faces away. Even the old steward who raised you pretended not to hear when you called."
The memory blurred. I was standing before a half-collapsed wooden mansion on the edge of snow. The Northern Cold Residence—a forgotten palace built for discarded royals. The doors creaked in the wind; the rooms inside were empty. Only dust and silence greeted me.
I saw myself—thin, tired, but unbroken—close those gates, knowing no one would visit again.
When the memory ended, I blinked back to the present. My chest felt tight, heavy with anger and pity for the life I had inherited.
"So this is who I am now," I whispered. "A prince stripped of a name."
Arina's voice was steady, like calm water after a storm. "Do not despair, host. This is only the beginning. Every fall marks the birth of destiny."
Before I could answer, a sharp chime rang in my head.
[System Notification: Destiny Node – "A Prince Abandoned" Completed.]
Golden letters shimmered in the air before fading slowly.
"Rewards will follow soon," Arina said softly. "The threads of fate have begun to shift. The boy they buried will become the storm they cannot stop."
I looked out the dusty window. Snow was falling outside, covering the cracked courtyard of the Cold Residence. Somewhere beyond the storm stood the palace that had thrown me away.
One day, I thought, I'll walk through those halls again—not as the Loser Prince they mocked, but as the man their world will kneel before.
The wind howled, carrying my breath into the endless white.
And in the echo of that silence, Arina's voice whispered, almost like a promise.
"This is your destiny, host. Rise from exile, and make the heavens remember your name."