Shadow Over the Heavenly Throne

Time was an abstraction. I had no way of measuring days or months, but with each passing moment, my awareness sharpened. My mind, once adrift in darkness, now focused on a single thing—Qi.

I could feel it. It was everywhere. Flowing through my body, surrounding me in this warm, enclosed world. It was like an invisible river, impossible to grasp, yet unmistakably present. The more I focused on it, the clearer it became.

I couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste. If I was conscious—if I could act—then I would do whatever it took to gain an advantage. My bloodline had grown weaker with each generation, but I had no intention of following that same decline. I needed to find a way to make Qi my own.

"If I can’t capture it… maybe I can become part of it."

For days, I experimented. I observed. Qi was unpredictable. Sometimes it seemed to respond to my will, other times it ignored me entirely. I tried to draw it in, to command it, but the results were minimal. That was when I understood—Qi was not something to be forced. It was like the breath of the world, the rhythm of a heartbeat. You had to move with it, not against it.

And that was when I made a mistake.

I became too focused, trying to gather Qi in one place, forcing it into submission. In an instant, something changed—Qi reacted. But it wasn’t just responding. It was whipping around me, churning, spinning wildly out of control.

Then—pain.

A searing, all-consuming pain tore through my body. Something was wrong. The Qi wasn’t behaving as it should—it was a storm, a hurricane raging inside me, spiraling beyond my control. My body stiffened, my nerves burned, as if Qi itself was ripping me apart from the inside.

And then, I heard her.

"Agh!"

A cry. Sharp, filled with pain.

My mother’s voice.

I froze.

"What’s happening?!" A frantic voice—someone else, not my mother. "Her Majesty—she’s experiencing intense pain!"

Pain? But… I was the one suffering.

Wait.

No.

The Qi I had been trying to manipulate—it wasn’t just flowing through me. It was flowing through her.

I had pushed too hard. I had overdrawn our connection. I had done something I should not have done.

"Summon the healers immediately!" someone shouted. "Something is wrong with the child!"

My heart, already racing, nearly stopped. A shiver ran through me. I didn’t know what to do—I was too weak to fix this, too foolish

Qi still raged, but I could feel it beginning to disperse. I tried to let go, to release control, to allow it to return to its natural state.

And then—silence.

The pain vanished.

My mother let out a shaky breath.

And so did I.

"That… that was strange," she murmured, her voice weaker than before. "For a moment, it felt as if something was draining my Qi…"

A sharp inhale. Someone held their breath. The room was silent. Then, cautiously, one of the healers spoke.

"The child… this child has an unusual Qi. I don’t yet know what it means, but… something is changing within them."

A chill crawled down my spine.

If they discovered what I had done—if they started investigating why—I could be in danger.

I listened intently as the healers examined my mother, speaking in hushed voices.

Although they assured her it was nothing serious, their tones told a different story. They whispered among themselves, one even suggesting that something had ‘disrupted’ her Qi flow. If they dug deeper…

I could be in trouble.

My mother was exhausted, but unharmed. They dismissed it as a one-time anomaly.

But I knew better.

This was my fault.

And I could never let it happen again.

Because if things had gone differently… if the pain had intensified…

I could have died.

I could have been erased before I ever set foot in this world.

A cold shudder ran through my fragile, unborn body. This wasn’t a game. One wrong move, and I wouldn’t get a second chance.

But that wasn’t all.

The Qi I had been using—the Qi that caused my mother pain—was hers.

Her energy.

Her life force.

And I had unknowingly stolen it.

It made sense. I was still a part of her, dependent on her for everything. So what I had done… was take something that wasn’t mine.

I trembled.

I couldn’t let this happen again.

If I didn’t sever my reliance on her Qi, I wouldn’t just hinder my own growth—I could harm her.

And if her cultivation weakened because of me… she might see me as a threat.

Royal families did not tolerate weakness. If she discovered I was unknowingly draining her power, she might decide to get rid of me—before I ever had the chance to be born.

Not even maternal bonds would protect me.

I had to break free from her Qi.

I had to find my own path.

I needed to learn how to control Qi—not just for my own sake, but for my survival. If I wanted to shape my own destiny, I had to start now.

I could no longer afford to simply avoid mistakes. I couldn’t hesitate.

I had to take control of my own Qi.

And if I didn’t have any?

Then I would find a way to create it.

But where should I start?

I searched inwardly, looking for any trace of my own Qi—anything that wasn’t connected to my mother. But all I found was emptiness.

Cold. Silent. Void.

What if I never found it?

What if I was born as another worthless royal heir, doomed to live in the shadows of stronger cultivators?

No.

I couldn’t let that happen.

One mistake had nearly cost me my life. I was walking a thin edge, one misstep away from falling into oblivion. I had to act fast.

All I could do now was listen.

So I did.

"Should we inform His Majesty?" one of the healers asked.

"No need. The child is stable, and Her Majesty is recovering. This was likely a one-time incident," another responded, though uncertainty laced his voice.

"Only he can decide…" a third voice murmured.

Silence fell.

Him.

That name had been whispered throughout the royal court.

Whoever he was, his judgment carried more weight than the king himself.

Why?

What made him so feared?

If this world belonged to the strong… then he had to be one of the strongest.

And if I wanted to survive, I needed to learn more about people like him.

Perhaps one day… I would stand before him.

But that was a distant goal.

For now, I had to focus on me.

I withdrew into my own consciousness, searching for something—anything—that belonged only to me.

My own Qi.

If it wasn’t in my body… then where?

How could I awaken it?

The more I searched, the more I felt… nothing.

Was I truly just… nothing?

Then—something stirred.

It wasn’t my mother’s Qi.

It was different.

Faint. Weak.

But mine.

A shiver of excitement coursed through me.

For the first time since my reincarnation, something inside me belonged to me.

A spark.

A sliver of light in the darkness.

And with that realization, exhilaration surged through me.

I wasn’t just a mind trapped in an unborn body.

I was something more.

I had my own Qi.

My own path.

Laughter bubbled inside me—not aloud, but in the silence of my confined world.

I wasn’t powerless.

Not anymore.