"Destiny Silent Nod…"

Wang Chen murmured the name aloud as it surfaced in his mind, each syllable carrying a weight that made the surrounding air feel heavier. The moment the words left his lips, a vast stream of information unfurled within his consciousness, layering meaning upon meaning until his thoughts nearly stalled under its depth.

Destiny Silent Nod.

Not an attack. Not a movement art. Not even a cultivation technique in the conventional sense.

It was a method for negotiating with fate itself.

Luck, Wang Chen knew better than most, was the most unreliable variable in existence. It could elevate a beggar to godhood or drag an emperor into oblivion. No formula governed it. No law constrained it. It simply was. And yet this technique dared to touch that forbidden domain, allowing its user to slowly tilt destiny's balance in their favor.

The art was divided into nine levels, each more terrifying than the last.

The first level alone focused on concealment—not of the body or aura, but of destiny itself. By erasing the cultivator's karmic threads from the never ending calculation of fate, the practitioner could slip beyond prediction, divination, prophecy, and heavenly calculation. To the eyes of fate, such a person would simply… not exist.

Not hidden.

Absent.

Even heaven would struggle to acknowledge them.

Wang Chen's breathing slowed as he absorbed the implications. With only the first level mastered, one could walk through calamities unnoticed, evade heavenly tribulations mid-descent, and render even supreme diviners blind. Compared to techniques that boasted destructive might, this was subtler—but infinitely more dangerous.

And that was only the surface.

Along with the technique itself came fragments of memory. Not illusions. Not vague impressions. True inheritances—experiences left behind by previous wielders of Destiny Silent Nod. He saw flashes of lifetimes spent meditating beneath dying stars, cultivators dissolving their own karmic lines thread by thread, failures where fate snapped back with merciless backlash, and rare successes where an existence quietly slipped free from the heavens' grasp.

Every insight was soaked in time.

Cold, brutal time.

Wang Chen's expression darkened as he reached the final portion of the inheritance.

To fully master just the first level of Destiny Silent Nod required over ten thousand years of uninterrupted cultivation.

Ten thousand.

Not resources. Not talent. Pure, relentless comprehension.

For an ordinary cultivator, the requirement bordered on mockery. Even prodigies blessed by heaven rarely lived long enough to attempt it. One in a thousand might reach the threshold; one in a million might persist long enough to matter.

It wasn't excessive.

It was outright inhuman.

Slowly, Wang Chen exhaled, his gaze drifting to the small bird perched comfortably on his palm. The creature blinked innocently, unaware that it had just gifted him a technique capable of terrifying the heavens themselves.

"So that's it," he murmured, a strange smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "This was never meant for people like me."

Not for mortals constrained by lifespan.

Not for cultivators bound by destiny.

This technique was meant for those who could cheat time itself.

It had been created for immortal beings of the Upper Realm.

There, luck was not a vague coincidence or a fortunate accident. It was a fundamental law, as tangible and oppressive as gravity, shaping cultivation paths, determining encounters, and even deciding who was worthy of advancing and who would stagnate forever.

Wang Chen's eyes suddenly narrowed.

"Wait a minute…"

The realization struck him with the force of a thunderbolt.

Destiny Silent Nod did not exist in isolation.

It perfectly complemented the Legacy of the Thief Supreme—especially the path he had already stepped onto: Stealing from Non-Existence. One technique allowed him to subtly tilt fate, nurture fortune, and hide himself from destiny's gaze. The other allowed him to tear luck away once the moment was ripe.

Manipulate fortune.

Then steal it outright.

Together, they formed a cycle so obscene it made the heavens feel… naïve.

With these two techniques reinforcing one another, fate itself would always curve in Wang Chen's favor. Even when outcomes appeared unfavorable, the balance would quietly tilt back toward him. Losses would become fuel. Calamities would become harvests.

For the first time in a long while, Wang Chen felt a slow, dangerous excitement stir deep in his chest.

After letting the implications settle, his gaze drifted downward.

The tiny chick was still flapping awkwardly in midair, wings trembling, body wobbling as it struggled to maintain even a few heartbeats of flight. Every few moments it would lose balance, dip sharply, then panic and flap even harder, letting out a series of indignant cries.

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

Wang Chen almost laughed.

For a creature tied to fate itself, it looked… pitifully adorable.

As if responding to his attention, the little phoenix wobbled over and landed clumsily on the ground, then immediately tried to take off again, tripping over its own feet. The sight was so absurdly harmless that Wang Chen's guarded heart softened despite himself.

Just then, a familiar blue light shimmered into existence before his eyes.

A status window unfolded, ancient symbols arranging themselves neatly as information poured forth.

---

[Ancient Phoenix of Fate]

These creatures are the balancers of destiny.

Lacking a fate of their own, they bind their existence to another living being, sharing destiny between them.

Name: Ancient Phoenix of Fate

Species: Primordial Fate Beast

Cultivation: Grand Ascension Realm

Existence State: Fate-Anchored

Alignment: Neutral (Heaven-Balancing)

Age: Undefined — Born outside linear time

Wang Chen stared at the status window for a long time, his expression slowly shifting from calm disbelief to something far closer to shock. He had already prepared himself for something abnormal—after everything that had happened, surprises were almost routine—but this still struck him square in the chest.

"Grand Ascension Realm…" he muttered, then paused, and added weakly, "holy cow."

His eyes widened despite himself. The tiny bird wobbling unsteadily near his hand, the same creature that struggled to keep its balance and chirped like a lost chick, was a Grand Ascension Realm existence. A being standing just one step below the legendary Heaven-Shaking Realm, a level that had vanished from history so long ago that many believed it to be nothing more than myth.

Cultivators at the Grand Ascension Realm were walking calamities. They could bend laws, overwrite domains, and reshape reality with a stray thought. Entire dynasties rose and fell depending on whether such a being chose to intervene.

And now one of them was… trying to climb onto his palm.

Wang Chen let out a dry laugh, the sound edged with disbelief. "Theoretically," he said to no one in particular, "you could erase a kingdom by sneezing."

As if offended by his tone, the phoenix chick flapped its wings and hopped forward, nearly losing its balance again. Wang Chen's heart skipped. A chill crawled down his spine as he instinctively released a thread of spiritual force to steady it, guiding the creature gently before it could tumble.

The idea that a careless movement might accidentally vaporize him was… unsettling.

He looked at the chick again, studying it carefully. Its feathers glimmered faintly with soft, shifting hues, as if countless timelines were refracting through them. Beneath that harmless exterior lay a pressure so deep it made the surrounding fate currents ripple almost imperceptibly.

A toddler.

A divine toddler.

Wang Chen exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down. He knew better than anyone how dangerous beings like this could be, not because of malice, but because of innocence. Power without control was infinitely more terrifying than power wielded with intent.

Time slipped by as he adjusted his plans.

Instead of returning to any city or populated area, Wang Chen carved out a secluded resting place deep within the mountains, reinforcing it with layered formations and fate-insulating barriers. He did not dare expose the outside world to this creature yet. If the phoenix lost control for even a heartbeat, the consequences would be irreversible.

Over the following days, then weeks, Wang Chen devoted himself almost entirely to the chick.

He observed its reactions, taught it simple commands, guided its instinctive bursts of energy, and slowly established a bond through patience rather than force. Every lesson was cautious, deliberate. Every interaction was measured. He treated it not as a weapon or a tool, but as what it truly was—a newborn existence trying to understand the world.

The chick followed him everywhere, chirping softly, tilting its head when he spoke, sometimes curling up beside him when exhausted. Despite its overwhelming cultivation, its behavior was unmistakably childlike.

After nearly a month of this strange, quiet routine, Wang Chen finally allowed himself to relax.

One evening, as the phoenix perched beside him, preening its feathers with clumsy determination, Wang Chen looked at it thoughtfully.

"You can't keep being called 'hey' forever," he said.

The chick chirped, as if in agreement.

After a moment's consideration, Wang Chen nodded once. "Rina," he said quietly.

The phoenix froze, then let out a clear, happy cry and fluttered its wings in approval.

For the first time since its birth, Wang Chen smiled—not out of calculation or relief, but something closer to genuine fondness.

Tonight marked their final lesson before he returned.

The cave was quiet, lit only by the faint glow of fate-light clinging to the stone walls. Rina perched on a smooth rock in front of him, her small wings fluttering restlessly as if she could sense the change in the air. Her bright eyes gleamed with an intelligence far deeper than her fragile appearance suggested, reflecting Wang Chen's figure with unsettling clarity.

"Rina," Wang Chen said, his voice firm, carrying none of his usual laziness. "You must never use your power to harm others. Not deliberately, not carelessly, not even out of curiosity." He paused, making sure she was listening. "And under no circumstances are you allowed to leave my sight. Do you understand?"

The little phoenix tilted her head, then nodded obediently. Her tiny beak tapped the air once, twice, like a chick pecking at rice, as if sealing a promise far older than either of them truly understood.

Wang Chen let out a soft sigh.

For now, she was obedient. Gentle. Almost harmless. She followed his instructions without question, responded to his tone, and looked at him with a trust so pure it bordered on dangerous. And yet, beneath that calm surface, an unease lingered in his heart. Power of this level did not remain innocent forever. The world had a way of forcing change.

Still, he had already delayed long enough.

"I've been gone too long," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

The Phoenix and Dragon Dojo would be restless by now. His disciples would be worried. And knowing his luck, something troublesome was probably already unfolding in his absence.

With one last glance at Rina—who chirped softly and fluttered closer to his shoulder—Wang Chen turned toward the cave entrance. Fate rippled subtly around him as space began to fold.

"It's time to go home," he said.

And with that, master and beast stepped forward together, leaving the quiet mountain behind as Wang Chen finally began his journey back.

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