He was once the Martial God of Ten Thousand Realms, a legend who shattered heavens with a single strike. But betrayal sealed his divine soul into the frail body of Lin Feng—a scorned, beaten son-in-law of a crumbling clan. Mocked as trash, humiliated by his wife’s family, and cast aside like a broken tool, he endured it all with a smile. Why? Because beneath his ragged exterior burns the heart of a god, waiting to unleash chaos on a world that forgot his name.

Divorced and discarded, Lin Feng walks away from the Lin Clan’s sneers, his steps leading him to the downtrodden Ye Clan—a family of outcasts clinging to survival. They see a wanderer. He sees a canvas. With cunning sharper than any blade and secrets deeper than the abyss, he begins to mold them in the shadows, turning weaklings into warriors, paupers into kings. Every insult fuels his resolve. Every enemy becomes a stepping stone.

But the seal on his power is cracking. Ancient foes sense the tremor of a god’s return. Arrogant young masters, ruthless sects, and even the heavens themselves will tremble when the Shadow Patriarch rises. From a forgotten village to the celestial thrones, Lin Feng—Zhan Tian—will carve his name in blood and fire, proving one truth: those who scorned him will kneel, and those who dared to challenge him will break.

Cultivation? Unmatched. Revenge? Ruthless. Destiny? His to rewrite. The world thought it buried a nobody. It awoke a nightmare.

The Ye Clan estate trembled beneath a dawn sky ablaze with golden flame and genesis, the air thick with a resonant pulse that drowned out the fading silence of the Eternal End's retreat. The courtyard pulsed with awe, the fire crackling faintly as Ye Hua clutched a patched cloak, her gray eyes wide with wonder at the rift where a figure in golden flame emerged, its qi a primal genesis of infinite power casting waves of creation that reshaped the earth in radiant splendor. Ye Qing gripped his spear at the gate, his grizzled face taut with exhaustion, his voice a hoarse growl as he urged Ye Jun and Ye Mei to huddle behind the barricade, their small figures trembling in the divine glow. Ye Chen knelt by the western wall, his ward-stone clutched tight, his twisted leg braced as the ground hummed beneath a force of boundless origin. Ye Ling paced the gatehouse, her dagger a restless gleam, her braid snapping with each sharp stride, her breath sharp with defiance and reverence.


Chapter 43 - The Origin’s Crown