## Chapter 103: A Curtain Between Two Worlds

The crimson sun, a fiery orb, descended towards the western horizon, painting the sky in hues of blood and gold. Yet, within the oppressive confines of the Nether Prison, no such spectacle graced the heavens. Only the perpetual twilight, born of the oppressive *yin* energy and the lingering resentments of a thousand tortured souls, held sway.

Within this grim domain, amidst the echoing cries and the clanking of chains, a figure sat in solitary meditation. His cultivation base, refined through countless trials and tribulations, hummed with restrained power. His meridians, once ravaged and broken, now flowed with a restored vigor, a testament to his arduous journey towards the peak of the Qi Condensation realm.

For three long years, he had endured the soul-crushing monotony of the Nether Prison, a period that felt like an eternity etched in suffering. Each passing day was a relentless assault on his spirit, a test of his unwavering resolve. Yet, he had persevered, drawing strength from the burning desire for vengeance that fueled his every breath.

He had not merely survived; he had thrived. The oppressive environment, a bane to ordinary cultivators, had, paradoxically, become his crucible. The thick *yin* energy, while debilitating to others, had been a potent tonic for his unique cultivation method, allowing him to absorb and refine it with unprecedented speed.

His body, once frail and battered, was now a vessel of tempered steel. His spirit, once on the verge of breaking, was now an unyielding fortress. He had not only regained his lost cultivation but surpassed his previous peak, pushing the boundaries of the Qi Condensation realm further than he had ever dared to imagine.

He recalled the day the elders had cast him into this abyss, their faces cold and indifferent, their words a condemnation of a crime he did not commit. They had ripped away his danh, his honor, his very existence, leaving him to rot amongst the refuse of the cultivation world.

But they had underestimated him. They had mistaken his outward vulnerability for weakness. They had failed to see the burning ember of resilience that lay dormant within him, waiting to ignite.

Now, that ember had become a roaring inferno.

He rose from his meditative posture, his movements fluid and powerful. The heavy chains that bound him, once a symbol of his imprisonment, now felt like mere gossamer threads. With a subtle flex of his cultivated *qi*, they shattered, the sound echoing through the silent cell like a clap of thunder.

His eyes, once clouded with despair, now gleamed with a chilling intensity. The time for passive endurance was over. The time for retribution had arrived.

He stepped out of his cell, the familiar stench of decay and despair filling his nostrils. The path before him was fraught with peril, but he was no longer the same broken youth who had been thrown into this hellhole. He was a cultivator reborn, forged in the fires of suffering, ready to reclaim what was stolen from him.

The Nether Prison was a curtain between two worlds – the world of the living, with its fleeting joys and bitter betrayals, and the underworld, a realm of eternal torment and forgotten souls. He had been cast into the latter, but he would not remain there. He would tear down this curtain, not with brute force, but with the honed edge of his vengeance.

The journey would be long and arduous, fraught with unknown dangers and formidable adversaries. But he was ready. He was more than ready. He was a force of nature, unleashed upon a world that had wronged him.

And as he took his first step into the shadowy corridors of the Nether Prison, a silent vow echoed in his heart: He would not rest until every single person who had wronged him paid for their transgressions, in full. The path to the peak was long, but the path of vengeance was even longer, and he would walk it until the end. The curtain between his past and his future was about to be ripped asunder.