The initial strike released its power, then dissipated harmlessly in the humid morning air. Lin Yi’s right hand, halfway through its motion, stiffened. The muscles in his forearm were taut, like a drawn bowstring, but at the moment it should have unleashed its force, it simply… failed. It wasn’t fatigue; it was something deeper. A familiar sensation arose from the depths of his dantian, like something was using countless tiny teeth to scrape against his internal organs. Immediately afterwards, a strange fullness surged up, constricting his chest and making it difficult to breathe. Lin Mang’s voice, cold as the water droplets on a grey stone, drifted from the side. He didn’t look at Lin Yi; instead, his gaze swept across the back row of students. Several younger disciples shifted uncomfortably, their shoulders moving. Lin Yi heard someone say, “Third style ‘Tiger Roaring in the Mountains’? More like a cat having a fit.” Lin Yi’s fingertips tapped rhythmically against the side of his thigh. Two taps, a pause, then another. A pulsing, oppressive rhythm. He slowly retracted his hand, straightening his body. The morning light sliced across the training ground, casting a long, distorted shadow of Lin Yi that stood out against the neat rows of fists. A faint stream of internal energy, almost depleted, was squeezed from his meridians, thin and fragile, and forced its way along the path of the “Tiger’s Fury” fist. As it reached the dantian, the sensation of scraping intensified. This time, it wasn’t scraping; it was tearing. Lin Yi’s vision blurred for a moment, and a metallic taste filled his mouth. The fullness was overwhelming, heavy and suffocating, like swallowing a block of ice-cold iron. He clenched his jaw, pushing against the pain. His fist moved again. “Blocked meridians, no sensation, just a hollow imitation.” Lin Mang said, addressing him directly, his voice low but audible to everyone. “Lin Yi, you’re done. You’re holding everyone else back.” The words landed like a blow. Lin Yi’s arm remained suspended in mid-air. Sweat streamed down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He saw the elders standing at the top of the training ground, like statues bathed in the morning light. Third elder Lin Zhenhai held two pieces of obsidian in his hands, grinding them together with a sharp, “krak, krak” sound. His gaze, which had been focused on the distance, now turned towards Lin Yi. Disgust. He had seen this look countless times, every day for the past three years, reflected in the mirror. But in this moment, something flickered in that expression of disgust. It was too quick, almost imperceptible. Was it fear? A deep, even exhausting fear. And… pity? The third elder turned his gaze away, speaking quietly to the attendant. The attendant nodded, his eyes scanning Lin Yi as if he were a stain that needed to be cleaned. Lin Yi lowered his arm. His internal organs continued to ache, and the fullness remained, a heavy weight in his chest. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and a trace of red appeared on his fingertips. The internal energy surged back, and he felt a sharp pain. He turned and walked away, leaving the neat rows of fists behind, towards the edge of the training ground. The stone floor was slick, and he stumbled slightly. Someone called his name. It was his cousin, Lin Xuan, standing at the front of the line, having just finished a set of punches. His breath was steady, and only a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead. He walked towards Lin Yi, offering a concerned look. “You look terrible. I told you, your body isn’t strong enough. Go rest. I’ll have someone bring you some of that… nourishing elixir.” The words were carefully chosen. But his eyes weren’t. They were saying: you should be where you belong. Lin Yi looked at him. He slowed his speech, emphasizing each word. “The nourishing elixir… do you have any of it this month?” Lin Xuan’s expression tightened. “The supply is tight, and resources are prioritized for promising disciples. You know.” He patted Lin Yi on the shoulder, his grip firm. “Don’t worry about it. Focus on getting healthy.” The warmth of his palm transferred through Lin Yi’s thin training clothes. Lin Yi didn’t move. The rhythm of his fingertips stopped. The heavy “iron” in his chest seemed to writhe. “Is that so,” he said, his voice flat. He turned and walked towards the corner where discarded equipment was piled. There, old servant Old Huang was kneeling, using a cloth to wipe down the training equipment. Lin Yi passed by, and Old Huang continued Using a fabricated illness as an excuse, Lin Mang readily approved. Lin Yi walked out of the training field through a side entrance, and the cold morning breeze immediately soaked his back, clinging to his skin. He didn't return to his dilapidated small courtyard, but instead headed towards the back mountain path leading to the family ancestral hall. Because he had caught a glimpse of Elder Three, Lin Zhenhai, hurrying away from the tower, his face grim, heading towards the ancestral hall, when he turned around, he had seen— Lin Yi's heart pounded against his ribs. He had to catch up. Some things couldn't be asked directly, perhaps he could still hear something. The ancient stone monuments stood in the morning mist, like a row of silent giants. The surface of the stones was covered with deep green, damp moss, blurring the inscriptions of the ancestors' glory and techniques. The air was filled with the smell of decaying books and the earthy scent of the soil. Lin Yi quickly hid behind a nearby large stone, and the cold surface instantly drew the heat from his back. The mist swirled, and the sound of deliberate, hushed footsteps came from ahead. There were voices, muffled by the heavy air, but like needles, they pricked at Lin Yi's eardrums. "…the state of the 'container'… is worse than expected." A strange, slightly raspy male voice. "The fluctuations of the seal are becoming more frequent." This was the voice of Elder Three, Lin Zhenhai, stripped of his usual formality, only a heavy weariness remained, "Last month, during the full moon, the ancestral hall's warding artifact mysteriously cracked. It just happened to be autumn." "I'm afraid it won't last until the next ancestral altar ceremony," the raspy voice continued, with a certain ominous certainty. "This generation's 'container'…" Lin Zhenhai's voice paused, seemingly deliberating the words, and finally, it became a barely audible sigh, "It's too weak. We shouldn't have…" Lin Yi's blood seemed to freeze and then boil in an instant. Each word was like a burning iron, searing into his mind. Who were they talking about? What was it? Was it related to the blood-stained fragments that haunted his nightmares every night? Was it related to the strange pain and fullness he experienced during his cultivation? Was it related to "this waste"? He instinctively raised his hand, clenching his chest tightly. The pain surged through his palm, and Lin Yi almost cried out. He looked down, and through his fingers, he saw a faint, distorted rune suddenly appear on the surface of the ancient jade pendant, like an icy flame, flashing and gone. Although weak, in this misty and shadowy environment, the light was like a spark in the night. Elder Three's sharp questioning broke through the mist like thunder. The footsteps, heavy and fast, approached. Lin Yi quickly retracted his hand, and the heat from the jade pendant hadn't subsided, burning his fingertips. He leaned against the cold stone, his heart pounding in his chest, and the pain was so intense that he could barely breathe. Should he run? It was too late. The mist seemed to be stirred by an invisible force, parting to the sides. Lin Zhenhai's figure appeared just three meters away, his face ashen, his eyes scanning the shadows of the monuments. Beside him stood a middle-aged man in a grey robe, the same raspy voice. Their gazes, almost simultaneously, locked onto Lin Yi's hiding place on the side of the monument. "Lin Yi?" Lin Zhenhai's voice was heavy with anger, but there was also a more complex, almost frightening, feeling, "Why are you here?" Lin Yi slowly stepped out from behind the monument. His palm was still throbbing, and he forced himself to stand straight, meeting Elder Three's gaze. His throat was dry, and he licked his lips, tasting the lingering blood and sweat. "I… I was feeling unwell, and I wanted to find a quiet place to rest. I didn't know Elder Three was holding a meeting here." Lin Zhenhai stared at him, his gaze lingering on Lin Yi's hand, which was slightly drooping. His eyes were sharp, piercing through the flesh, seeing what was hidden within the bones. The grey-robed man's eyes were cold, and he had gripped the handle of his short sword. "These ancient monuments are full of evil energy, not a place for you to be," Lin Zhenhai finally spoke, his voice returning to its usual severity, but the weariness underneath was He called his name. It wasn't a full name, but a given name, a sobriquet. His tone was colder than ever. "This is for your own good," Lin Zhenhai turned away, not looking at him, his voice echoing, heavy as a hammer, "It's also for the good of the Lin family." The grey-robed elder gave Lin Yi one last, fleeting glance. The warning and the deep-seated dread in his eyes were unmistakable. The two of them turned, disappearing quickly into the thick fog, heading towards the ancestral hall. The burning sensation in his hand gradually subsided. The jade pendant felt cold again, pressing against his chest. The rough-faced old man still held a faint warmth in his hand. Ahead, the fog closed in, swallowing everything, leaving only countless silent, stone tablets with blurred inscriptions, like a cold, desolate graveyard. He slowly raised his hand, looking at his trembling fingertips. The fleeting, dark glyph that had appeared when the jade pendant had burned… what was it? What was this thing that had appeared on the jade pendant, a treasured heirloom passed down through generations of the Lin family? Was it the "useless" Lin Yi, or something within him, something he didn't even understand himself? Pain. A sense of fullness. Fragments of memories that weren't his. The elder's deep-seated fear. And "container," "seal," "unable to last until the ancestral altar ceremony…" The fragments clashed in his mind, creating a sharp, ringing sound. Lin Yi slowly clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms, leaving several crescent-shaped white marks. He looked one last time at the ancient stone forest, then turned, walking towards the dilapidated small courtyard where he was forbidden to go. The shame still burned in his stomach, but something even sharper, even colder, was rising from the ashes beneath. The jade pendant in his chest seemed to pulse faintly, a subtle warmth, like the embers deep beneath the earth, rekindled in a hidden corner. The stone floor of the training ground was soaked with morning dew, slippery and cold, like walking on the back of a cold-blooded animal. Lin Yi leaned against his knees, the metallic taste in his mouth still lingering. He wiped the blood from his lips, his gaze following the grey-robed figure that had disappeared into the corridor – Elder Lin Zhenhai. The other members of the clan had already dispersed, continuing their morning exercises. The wind and energy flowed, a symphony of movement and breath. No one looked at him again. A waste of time, a useless person. Lin Yi moved his feet, leaving the training ground. The pain in his right arm traveled up his shoulder, but deeper, in the empty space of his dantian, there was a strange… fullness. It was as if the raw energy that had been sucked away had been consumed. He should have returned to his room in the furthest corner of the west courtyard. But he didn't. The ancient stone forest was behind the ancestral hall. It was said to be "Lin," but it only consisted of seventeen or eighteen stone tablets, each about a meter and a half high, ancient and weathered, with the inscriptions blurred by wind and rain. The morning mist hadn't fully dissipated, clinging to the stone tablets, with moss and the smell of decaying paper. Lin Yi quickly slipped into the shadows cast by two standing tablets, pressing his back against the cold, rough stone. Elder Lin was standing at the foot of a crumbling tablet in the depths of the forest, facing away from him. Beside him stood a man in a plain grey robe, his waist cinched tight. He was no ordinary servant. Lin Yi held his breath. His heart pounded against his ribs, the sound so loud that he feared it would attract attention. "…It can't wait any longer," the servant's voice was low, distorted by the fog, "This generation's 'container' is becoming increasingly unstable. Last month, the altar in the hall activated on its own for a whole night." Lin Zhenhai didn't turn. He held two black obsidian daggers in his hands, slowly turning them. The daggers scraped against each other, making a faint, yet piercing sound, like insects gnawing on wood. "Where is the seal?" Lin Zhenhai asked. His voice was deeper than usual, laced with a weariness that Lin Yi had never heard before. "The methods left by the ancestors can still hold," the servant replied, "But… it's likely to fail before the ancestral altar ceremony. That thing… seems to be waking up earlier and earlier." Lin Yi's fingertips dug into his palms. Those words were like daggers, piercing his mind, stirring up the three years of confusion. The pain that had always come with his cultivation, the strange fullness, the blood “How could I have been so blind?” Lin Zihan finally stopped turning the jade pendant. The mist blurred his side profile. “Just watch, protect, and wait. When the Ancestral Rite arrives, present the ancestral artifact and reinforce it. Before that…” He sighed, the sound heavy enough to almost sink into the damp, cold earth, “Don’t let him know. Not a single whisper. That child… Sub-Yean… He’s too clever. The more he knows, the faster he’ll fall.” The blood in Lin Yian seemed to freeze in his body, then surged with a sudden, violent burst, making his eardrums ring. Fear? No, something even sharper than fear, rose from his stomach, searing his throat. It was the feeling of being utterly deceived, treated as a mere object, his very existence shrouded in illusion. He instinctively clutched the jade pendant against his chest. A relic left by his mother, the smooth white jade, carved with simple cloud patterns. It wasn’t a burning sensation, but a searing pain that shot through his entire arm in an instant. Lin Yian gasped, almost dropping the pendant. He looked down – Faint, blood-red runes flickered across the surface of the pendant. Extremely faint, yet perfectly clear. They weren’t cloud patterns. They were twisted, chain-like symbols, tightly entwined around a void at the center of the pendant. Lin Zihan abruptly turned, his eyes like lightning, piercing through the thick mist, precisely targeting the stone pillar where Lin Yian was hiding. The exhaustion on his face vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp alertness, and something else… Lin Yian finally understood – it was a deep, almost tangible, fear. A cry shattered the silence, scattering the birds that had been perched on the branches of the ancient obelisks. Lin Yian instinctively wanted to run, but his legs were like lead. The pendant continued to burn, the strange, rune-like glow extinguished, but the searing pain remained, seeping into his bones. He was exposed. Because this pendant, this “relic” that he had worn for seventeen years, was now a liability. Lin Zihan’s figure broke through the mist, stepping forward a few steps. The hem of his robes brushed against the damp ground, leaving dark stains. He stared at Lin Yian, then at the pendant clutched tightly in Lin Yian’s hand, his expression shifting from a hard, iron-like mask to a complex, pale white. “Lin Yian?” His voice was lowered, but even more dangerous, “What are you doing here?” “I… I was just passing by,” Lin Yian’s voice was hoarse, “I was feeling unwell, so I came here to find some peace.” “Peace?” Lin Zihan interrupted him, his gaze sweeping over the cold, silent obelisks, “This graveyard is full of negative energy, it’s not a place for you.” His gaze returned to the pendant, his pupils subtly constricted. “Did you… see something? Did you hear something?” Lin Yian forced himself to look up, meeting that intense gaze. He couldn’t hide. Hiding would only confirm his fears. He slowly loosened his grip on the pendant, letting it hang loosely against his chest, the skin still burning. “The mist was too thick, I couldn’t see anything.” He spoke deliberately, each word carefully measured, as if walking on ice, “Third Elder, I haven’t taken my Qi-enhancing pills and my body-refining medicine this month. I wanted to ask…” “The matter of the pills is the responsibility of the housekeeper,” Lin Zihan interrupted again, his tone unwavering. He stepped closer, invading Lin Yian’s personal space. “Sub-Yean,” he said suddenly, his voice tinged with fatigue, mixed with a strange, almost unsettling, severity, “Sometimes, the best thing is to not know. Be content, stay in your courtyard, and ask the old servant, Lao Huang, if you need anything.” “You are not to leave your courtyard. Do you understand?” Lin Yian stood there, watching as the Third Elder, with the servant, quickly disappeared into the depths of the graveyard. The mist closed in again, swallowing their figures, and the fragmented words. The seal. The imprisonment. The thing. It wouldn’t last until the next ancestral rite. The temperature of the pendant finally began to subside, leaving a lingering numbness. He looked down at his palm. Where he had been gripping the pendant, a faint, red, chain-like mark was slowly fading. It was a mark. A secret that he had only just glimpsed, a mark etched into his flesh and blood. Lin Yian slowly clenched his fist, digging his nails into the fading mark. The He turned to face the gazes, a faint, almost nonexistent curve appearing on his lips. In his chest, the heart that had been silent for too long, was being gripped tightly by the unfamiliar fear and a sharp, piercing craving that had sprung from the earth. The dilapidated wooden door of the courtyard was right in front of him. He pushed it open and then closed it behind him. Shutting out the light and noise from the outside, the courtyard was left with only the familiar chill and the smell of dampness. As he walked to the old, half-dead elm tree in the courtyard, he leaned against the rough bark, slowly sliding to the ground. The smooth, white jade, now cool to the touch, seemed to have just experienced the terrifying heat and the flashes of runes, as if it were all a dream. But the fading red chain mark on his palm, and the lingering, ravenous emptiness deep within his dantian, were all screaming in denial. It wasn't about sensing the faint qi. But instead, he cautiously reached into that dark abyss, the one that caused excruciating pain every time he cultivated, and that left him with a strange, satiated feeling afterward. A shard pierced through. It wasn't an image, but a feeling. The cold metal tightened around his wrist, the chill seeping into his bones, and the overwhelming stench of blood filled his nostrils, along with… hunger. A hunger that devoured everything, that crushed the soul. It wasn't his. It certainly wasn'tseventeen-year-old Lin Yian. He abruptly opened his eyes, taking a deep breath, with a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. His heart pounded in his chest, making him feel faint. The elm's branches rustled overhead, scattering a few flecks of light on his pale face. The courtyard door was closed. Footsteps passed outside, belonging to a different world. Lin Yian slowly raised his hand, his fingers tapping lightly on the cool, smooth gray stone beneath him. Tap, tap, tap. Creating a monotonous, oppressive rhythm. His gaze fell on the closed wooden door, and then back to the jade pendant in his hand. The fear and humiliation remained. But something was different. They wanted him to stay here, in this courtyard, as an ignorant "vessel," waiting for the destined moment. He slowly tightened his fingers, clutching the pendant tightly in his palm. Gently, almost as if whispering, he asked himself the first, and perhaps only, clear question: The wind whistled through the cracks in the dilapidated courtyard wall, making a mournful, low howl, without an answer. Lin Yian's fist paused halfway, his arm muscles tensed like a stretched bowstring, but at the moment when he should have exploded, it faltered. It was the familiar, bone-deep pain in his dantian, the pain that felt like his internal organs were being gnawed on by something unseen, that arrived on time. Along with it came that strange "satiety," as if he had just devoured an entire roasted pig, causing his breath to suddenly suffocate. The force of his fist had already dissipated into the morning's damp air. At the edge of the training ground, Lin Yan, the instructor, stood coldly, his gaze sweeping over him without a pause, like scanning a troublesome stone. The surrounding sounds of suppressed laughter came from those who had once looked up to him. Mist clung to the gray stone, seeping into the coarse fabric of his trousers. His fingers tapped lightly on his thigh, once, twice, creating a near-self-harming rhythm. This was his way of thinking, and the only way he could maintain his sanity for the past three years. Three years ago, he was Lin's family's long-awaited genius with a full spiritual root. Three years ago, after the "Heavenly Punishment," he was a person with his meridians shattered and his spiritual root extinguished. His family claimed he had "gone mad and self-destructed his foundation." He was moved to the most remote corner of the family's courtyard, where he was given only three monthly pieces of inferior spirit stones – last month, they hadn't even come. Lin Yian swallowed the metallic taste in his throat, it wasn't just the backlash of his internal energy, but something else. More intense, more profound, like a rusty chain being dragged across darkness. The family's morning practice, the three elders would regularly patrol the training ground. At this moment, Elder Lin Zhenhai was standing there, slowly turning two pieces of iron ore. The sharp, metallic sound echoed through the mist, like a warning "Master Lin Yil didn't speak, but merely nodded slightly—a gesture almost instinctive, characteristic of a genius, and now, all the more striking in a corpse. He turned and walked away along the edge of the training ground, his steps firm, his back straight. Only he knew that his knees were giving way." "He needed a place to clear his throat, to silence the blood, to suppress the swirling, bloody questions in his mind." "The Lin family's mansion was built into the hillside, and the morning mist rolled down from the back mountain, engulfing the courtyard and pavilions. Lin Yil turned into a secluded path leading to the family's ancestral hall, flanked by ancient, weathered stone steles. The steles stood in a forest, their inscriptions mostly illegible, said to contain the ancestral teachings, used to control the clan." "The air was thick with the smell of damp moss and decaying scrolls." "At the end of his vision, the mist was pierced by a sudden figure." "Elder Lin Zhenhai's expression was grave, his footsteps quick, almost as if he were racing towards the ancient altar. In his hand, he still held the two iron orbs, but he was no longer turning them. Instead, he held a thick, yellow leather scroll, its edges adorned with crimson-colored runes." "He reacted almost without thinking, turning his body to hide in the shadows cast by two overlapping steles. His movements were as light as a cat, his breathing shallow. This three-year-long mastery of his body, honed in isolation, had become instinctive." "He quickly walked through the stela forest, towards the direction of the ancient altar, which had been sealed for generations and was only accessible to the head of the family and elders. But he didn't reach it, instead, he stopped in a clearing, where the steles were densely packed." "A figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in armor similar to that worn by the Lin family's guards, but with subtle differences. The figure was masked, with only a pair of eyes visible. The masked man immediately bowed to Lin Zhenhai, his posture respectful, but his expression was cold and distant, unlike the Lin family's servants." "The words were too distant, the mist too thick, to understand what was being said. But Lin Zhenhai could see the man's lips moving, his voice quick, his brow furrowed. The masked man occasionally nodded, and would sometimes respond in a low voice." "A few broken words drifted through the cold air." "Lin Yil's fingers clawed into the crevices of the steles. The cold stone scraped against his nails, causing pain. But he didn't feel it, his senses were focused entirely on the sounds, on the broken words." "Was the altar warning? Was this the ancient altar, which had been forbidden to him since childhood, and which he was warned against even looking at? Would it trigger a warning?" "The masked man spoke again, this time his voice slightly louder, with urgency: '…must prepare in advance…can't be soft-hearted…the previous 'cleansing' had already drawn attention…'" "Then, Lin Zhenhai lowered his voice, and spoke for a long time. Lin Yil could only grasp a few key words: '…blood…backlash…price…time is running out…'" "Lin Yil's mind was like a hammer hitting it, his thoughts were chaotic. The blurry image of his mother humming, his father's increasingly cold and distant gaze, the terrifying white lightning during the storm, and the strange feeling of fullness and pain during each of his three years of cultivation…" "All these fragments were suddenly linked together." "If…if his body had been used to contain something else…from the very beginning…" "This word, like a poisoned ice dagger, pierced his heart." "Instinctively, he clenched the jade pendant he had worn since childhood. The jade was a grayish-green, its texture smooth, with cloud patterns carved on the front, and the Lin family crest on the back—mountains supporting a symbol. Ordinary to the point of being unremarkable." "It felt like a burning coal, scorching his skin. Lin Yil gasped, almost dropping it. He clutched it tighter, his eyes fixed on it. "The jade's surface, which he had seen countless times, was now glowing faintly. The light, like the breath of a dying man, flowed through the patterns. The