On the land of Chiyou, in the Mortal Realm, the two great dynasties of North Wilds and South Wilds had torn each other apart for ten long years, all because a national treasure vanished. War after war flattened countless towns, leaving people wandering with nowhere to return to.

Patriarch Vermillion led the last thirty-some members of the Vermillion clan toward the Qingmang Mountains, said to be home to immortals.

A sudden thunderclap split the quiet sky.

Without a cloud above them, a bolt of lightning dropped straight down, slamming into the girl trudging at the rear—a ragged little thing with a huge black pot strapped to her back.

The Vermillion clansmen froze, eyes wide.

It took Patriarch Vermillion a long breath before he snapped out of it, shouting, “Save her!”

“Patriarch, I think it hit that dumb girl from Alec Vermillion’s house.”

“Patriarch… if that fool really got struck by Heaven’s wrath, won’t we get dragged down with her?”

“Yeah! Even the heavens probably can’t stand—”

“Shut it!” Patriarch Vermillion’s voice cracked like a whip. “Move! Or do my words mean nothing now?”

Only then did the clansmen shuffle forward, dragging their feet toward the still-smoking girl.

Mabel Vermillion coughed twice.

Right now, she had no idea what to feel.

She had only wanted a full day and night of good sleep. That was all.

Did the heavens really need to joke with her like this?

That bolt felt vicious enough to blow a hole through her roof. Was the whole house gone now?

Great. Just great. Would the dean mother thrash her with a ruler when she woke up?

Mabel Vermillion clawed anxiously at her hair, now a scorched mess standing in all directions. Great. She’d really done it this time.

But… why did her back feel so damn heavy?

Like a whole boulder was strapped to her?

Did a chunk of the roof fall on her while she slept?

Still stunned from the lightning strike, Mabel had no idea she wasn’t where she used to be.

Patriarch Vermillion watched the little soot‑blackened girl sway on her feet and let out a long sigh.

The child had always been simple‑minded. Foolish, yes—but at least she wasn’t ugly. That mole between her brows even gave her a strange, spirit‑child look. He’d planned to raise her a few years, then find her a decent family to marry into. That would’ve been the least he could do to repay Alec Vermillion for saving his life.

But now… sigh.

Even with all that running through his mind, he still stepped forward and asked softly, “Mabel, are you hurt anywhere?”

He expected no answer. He’d never heard her speak a single word before.

But Mabel, hearing an unfamiliar voice, still responded politely, “Uh… I’m fine. It’s the roof that’s in trouble!”

Patriarch Vermillion’s heart sank.

Done for. Struck completely senseless.

“Mabel, child, we haven’t slept under a roof for half a year. What roof are you talking about?”

Then he froze, staring wide‑eyed at the charred little girl.

A lightning strike had made her talk?

Mabel rubbed the black soot caked around her eyes. When the grime fell away and she finally saw the people and the strange clothes around her, she stood rooted to the ground.

“What? What—”

“Wasn’t I sleeping at home?”

A nearby Vermillion clansman snorted. “Mabel, you probably dreamed you were sleeping in a house.”

“You’re lucky though—lightning can’t even kill you. No wonder they say you brought misfortune to your parents.”

“Still, looks like the strike knocked the mute out of you. Maybe another bolt will knock the stupid out too… hahahaha!”

“Exactly!”

“...”

“Enough. Quiet.”

A scrawny young boy in worn clothes stepped forward, his voice sharp as a blade. “Mrs. Veal, didn’t Alec Vermillion help your family more than once when he was still alive?”

“Ah—Young Patriarch, don’t be angry. My wife’s got a sharp tongue, that’s all. She’s not a bad person. Look, she even brought a cloth to wipe Mabel Vermillion’s face.”

The man tugged urgently at his wife’s sleeve, eyes pleading.

The boy didn’t spare him a glance. He strode straight to Patriarch Vermillion, bowed with crisp respect, and said, “Father, perhaps we should travel tomorrow instead. I scouted around just now—there’s a water pit nearby. Let Mabel clean herself up first.”

Patriarch Vermillion studied the girl, her whole body charred pitch‑black, hair like a burnt nest.

He exhaled, slow and heavy, then nodded.

It seemed there was no other way.