Lin Yi's old wound in his right foot flared as he stepped into the cave mouth. He pressed against the slick rock wall to steady himself. His fingertips registered rough granules and a cold that seeped into bone. From deep within the mine drifted the smell of rust and rotting timber, mixed with something fainter—the damp, almost bitter mustiness of aged herbs soaked through with moisture. Every three breaths, a sound. From the absolute darkness beyond, precise as some mechanism of timekeeping. He released his grip, letting his body adjust to the dark. His pupils dilated slowly, capturing a thread of moonlight leaking through a crack overhead. Pale white, thin as a blade's edge. The band of light slashed diagonally through the dust at the entrance, swallowed by darkness ten paces in. Two hours from Fallen Maple Town to here. The wound in his left rib reminded him with every step—that fractured bone had not fully healed, each breath carrying a faint grating sensation. His dantian felt packed with crushed ice, the chill creeping through his meridians into his limbs. The remnant erosion of the "Heavenly Dao Chains," never truly gone these three years. The sachet remained. Rough fabric through thin clothing offered a faint, almost imperceptible warmth. His mother's embroidered characters—"Even rules have their cracks"—burned against his skin now. Lin Yi shifted sideways along the wall. His right hand stayed pressed to the hilt of the short blade at his waist. Ordinary iron from a common smithy, its edge dulled and resharpened thrice. But for who he was now, this was the only "strength" he could hold. Not weight, but some... texture. As if darkness had density, pressing against his skin, drinking sound, drinking warmth. The dripping grew distinct, each drop striking deep in his eardrums. Twenty paces ahead, the tunnel turned. Around the corner: light. Not moonlight. Something darker, almost unmoving, like the dying afterglow of some ore residue in the dark. The light traced a silhouette— Back to the entrance, seated on the shaft of an overturned abandoned mine cart. Black robes draped from shoulder to ground, the fabric drinking all light in that faint glow, reflecting nothing. He counted his heartbeats. Seven. The figure did not move. Not even the folds of the robe's hem shifted from their angle, as if it had sat there for decades, become part of the mine itself. Lin Yi released his grip on the blade. His fingertips tapped twice against his trouser seam—his habitual gesture when thinking, steady in rhythm, carrying a pressure nearly cold. Then he spoke, voice low, dry in the mine's resonance: Not truly stopped—Lin Yi's hearing suddenly focused, all background noise receding, leaving only that back, and from its direction, a sound like sandpaper scraping dry wood: Each word emerged slowly, as if speaking itself required relearning. "Your dantian, eaten through by the 'Heavenly Dao Chains,' cultivation completely destroyed." His fist clenched at his side. Nails bit into palm, pain countering the chill racing up his spine. Beyond the Lin family's core members and Xuanyin Zhenren who had executed the "Heavenly Punishment," this was the first... to directly name the root of his injury. Not "destroyed," not "shattered." Eaten through—like rust consuming iron, like water wearing stone, a slow, cruel, irreversible process. He forced himself to inhale. Mold and rust rushed into his nostrils, bringing a thread of reality. "You know the Chains." Lin Yi spoke, deliberately slower, "Who are you? What do you want?" Standing in place, like a nail driven into darkness. Instinct honed in desperate straits—when information was unequal, hold position first, wait for the other to reveal weakness. Not turning. The left hand rose, withered fingers emerging from the sleeve, tracing a line in the air. Where the fingertips passed, a faint blue afterglow remained. The trace lasted less than a breath before dispersing, but before fading, it formed a twisted symbol. Three years ago, when the "Heavenly Punishment" descended, that chain tearing the sky had been covered in such twisted runes. "Who I am matters little." The dry voice came again, slightly more fluid now, yet each word still seemed squeezed through cracks, "What matters is that the 'Chains' within you are, to some, a mark of the worthless." "To others..." The voice dropped, nearly dissolving into darkness, "A key. And a price." His right foot stepped into a pool of standing water, ice soaking through the shoe, bone-piercing cold. But he did not The collar of the black robe was embroidered with extremely fine silver patterns, worn so thin they were nearly invisible, yet faintly discernible as some kind of star chart. On the thumb of the other's left hand sat a jade thumb ring, which flashed with a darker, almost black reflection the moment the faint blue light traces dissipated. "A key." Lin Yi repeated the word, tasting rust on his tongue—he had bitten through the inner wall of his own mouth. "Opens what?" The three words fell like three stones dropped into stagnant water. "Menial recommendation quota." The black-robed figure slowly added. "Registration closes in three days. This is the only path you have to slip inside." He forced himself to steady. Menial recommendation—he knew what that was. The lowest threshold for Tianyan Sect's external recruitment of disciples. Nominally menial labor, in reality a screening of promising seedlings from the very bottom. Tens of thousands vied for those few spots each year, and right now he didn't even qualify to register. Any legitimate channel—the moment his name appeared, he would be marked the next second. "The price?" he asked, voice drawn taut as a fully drawn bowstring. "You said the key is also the price. What is the price?" Palm upward, fingers slowly closing, then gradually spreading open. The movement was performed with extreme slowness, as if every joint resisted invisible force. And when the palm lay fully open, an iron token appeared there. Rough-edged, as if hand-forged, the burrs not even ground clean. The face of the token bore five small characters: Tianyan Menial Recommendation. The iron token was gently placed on a protruding rock beside him. The sound of metal striking stone rang especially harsh in the silent mine tunnel. At the same time, the black-robed figure's left hand rose again. This time not tracing symbols—the index fingertip, gathering from empty air a point of faint blue light. But the moment it appeared, Lin Yi's dantian violently spasmed. Not pain. Something more terrible—resonance. As if that residual "Heavenly Dao Chain" erosion within him had been awakened by that point of light, beginning to slowly, coldly writhe. Cold qi exploded from his dantian, crawling along his meridians toward his four limbs and hundred bones, muscles stiffening where it passed, blood nearly freezing. He grunted, knees weakening, nearly falling to kneel. He steadied himself by pressing against the rock wall. The rough stone scraped his palm, drawing blood, but this pain was like a mosquito bite compared to the abnormality in his dantian. "This is the price." That dry voice spoke, tone terrifyingly level. "Borrowing a thread of aura from the chain within you. To complete a contract." The light pulsed slightly. Like a heart. Like the embryo of some living thing. With each pulse, the resonance in his dantian grew stronger. The cold qi had already crawled to his chest, his breath beginning to carry white mist. "Press your hand to it." The black-robed figure said. "The contract will draw automatically. The process will hurt. Extremely painful. It may trigger chain backlash, injuring you further. Or perhaps..." "...it will make your perception of the 'chain' somewhat clearer." "Perception?" Lin Yi seized on this word. "What do you mean?" "It means," the other slowly turned around, "you can currently only feel it eroding you. After the contract completes, you may perhaps be able to feel... where it comes from. Who controls it. Why it chose you." But in the moment of turning, Lin Yi saw the other's jaw. Cold hard lines, skin pale from long absence of sunlight, covered with fine black patterns that seemed like cracks yet also like tattoos. The patterns extended from jaw to neck, disappearing beneath the collar of the black robe. "Choose." that person said, voice betraying no emotion whatsoever. "Take the iron token, accept the contract. Or..." "Turn and leave. Continue being a hunted cripple. Wait for the Lin family, or True Person Xuanyin, or someone else, to find you. Squeeze out your last bit of value, then throw you away like garbage." Lin Yi's gaze moved back and forth between the iron token and the faint blue point of light. The rough edges of the iron token gleamed with cold hardness in the dim light. The point of light was like an eye, quietly, hungrily watching him. The burning sensation of Wangchen Powder pouring down his throat. The weight of the night patrol disciple's foot on his chest. And earlier still—three years ago, when heavenly punishment descended, his father standing at the edge of the altar, that flash of... relief in those eyes. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath. If the other party said "nothing else is needed," it was definitely a trap. There was no such thing as a free lunch in this world, and certainly no free "key." Then he raised his left hand, his thumb gently rubbing the jade thumb ring. The motion was utterly natural, like a habit, or perhaps some unconscious gesture of self-soothing. "The contract has two layers." He finally spoke, his pace slower than before, as if each word required careful deliberation. "First layer: you use the chain's aura as the key, in exchange for the iron token and the opportunity to enter the Tianyan Sect. That is a transaction, settled on the spot." "Second layer," he paused, "is an IOU." "I lend you the key, and you owe me a 'future,'" the black-robed figure said. "When your strength is sufficient—and 'sufficient' will be determined by me—you must do one thing for me. The specifics will only be revealed then." "The contract will backlash." The other's voice remained calm. "The chain's aura is already bound to your soul. The consequences of breaking it will be worse than death." Lin Yi felt cold sweat seep down his back. The icy liquid slid along his spine, mingling with the chill in his dantian until his entire torso felt submerged in ice water. A faint smile. The corner of his mouth pulled into an almost imperceptible arc. "Now that's more like it," he murmured, as if to himself, yet also as if speaking to the other. "Clear prices. Borrowed and returned. Far more honest than those hypocrites with their mouths full of heavenly justice and great righteousness..." Water splashed underfoot, soaking his pant cuffs. Cold crept upward from the soles of his feet. But he didn't stop, walking until he stood only three paces from that rock. The iron token was within arm's reach. The faint blue light burned quietly at the black-robed figure's fingertip. His palm trembled slightly. Not from fear—from cold. The erosion in his dantian grew more active, stimulated by that light point. The chill had already spread to his fingertips, and a thin layer of white frost condensed on his skin. "One last question." He looked at the black-robed figure's jaw, staring at those black patterns. "How do you know about the chain? And how did you know... that I need this 'key'?" He raised his left hand and traced a shape in the air with his withered index finger. This time it wasn't a rune—a simple figure. A circle, bisected by a diagonal line. The shape held for a single breath, then dissipated. That was the emblem on the eaves of the Lin family ancestral hall. A sun pierced by a chain. Only core elders and the clan head knew its true meaning. "Who I am is not important." The black-robed figure interrupted him, a trace of something extremely faint, nearly weary, rippling through his voice for the first time. "What matters is, have you made your choice?" The faint blue light at his fingertip suddenly swelled. Its glow illuminated the lower half of his face—those black patterns seemed to come alive in the light, writhing slightly. Then he clenched his teeth and forced a single word from deep in his throat: Mo Chen slowly turned around. The shadow beneath his hood was so dense it seemed to swallow light itself, revealing only a jawline hard and cold. "Who I am is not important." His voice was like sandpaper scraping stone, dry and hoarse. "What matters is, the 'chain' inside your body is a mark of trash to some, but to others..." The sound of dripping water from deep within the mine tunnel was especially clear at this moment—drip, drip, drip—like the beat of some countdown. Lin Yi's fingertips tightened on the hilt of the short blade at his waist. His knuckles went white. "The key?" He repeated the word, speaking very slowly, each word like testing the thickness of ice. "The key to what?" He raised his left hand, the movement stiff as a rusted mechanism. The black sleeve slid down, revealing a bony wrist—skin covered in fine, crack-like patterns, like crazed porcelain. The color was dull, the edges rough, like a fragment casually hammered off some discarded iron implement. Several small characters were carved into the token's face. By the meager moonlight leaking through the rock crevice, Lin Yi could barely make them out: A thin layer of dust covered the iron token's surface. Mo Chen's finger flicked lightly, and the dust fell away in streams, revealing dark red rust beneath—like blood that had dried long ago. "The Tianyan Sect outer disciple trial. The mountain gates open in three months." Mo Chen's voice Not flame, not spiritual energy—more like lightning forcibly imprisoned. The light was no larger than a grain of rice, yet the temperature in the entire mine shaft dropped several degrees. Goosebumps instantly rose across Lin Yi's exposed skin. There was also a faint, faint smell—like ozone in the air before a thunderstorm. "I need a thread of the 'Heavenly Dao Chains' within your body as a catalyst for the contract," Mo Chen said, the pale blue light at his fingertips flickering slightly. "Not extraction—borrowing. I will use this thread to inscribe a contract rune in your palm. Once the rune is complete, the thread returns." "Then you will be weakened for a period of time. Your spiritual energy will be heavily drawn upon, and your consciousness may suffer damage." Mo Chen paused. "The residual erosion of the chains may also be triggered, intensifying the backlash. In the worst case, your dantian will collapse completely, and you will die on the spot." Lin Yi's throat went dry. He swallowed, the sound of his Adam's apple bobbing unusually clear in the silence. "What is the content of the contract?" he asked. "What contract are you completing by borrowing the chains' energy?" "A marking contract," he said. "The rune will guide you to where you need to go. It will also... make certain people notice you." "This is the full answer you will receive." Mo Chen's voice remained steady, but carried a new, unyielding coldness. "Choose. Take the iron token, accept the contract. Or—" The pale blue light at his fingertips suddenly surged. The light illuminated the line of his jaw, and also illuminated the dark rust on the iron token. "Turn around and leave. Continue being a cripple on the run." His nails dug deep into his palm, the pain keeping him lucid. He stared at that iron token, then at that point of pale blue light. Countless images flashed rapidly through his mind— His father's final gaze, that complex emotion he still could not decipher to this day. The burning agony in his throat when they forced down the Dust-Forgetting Powder by the cold pool. And the sachet his mother had left behind, that line of small characters on the inner lining: Even rules have cracks. He raised his head and looked at Mo Chen: "This contract—it's related to the 'rules,' isn't it?" But Lin Yi saw that on his wrist, covered in cracks, several of the lines seemed to deepen for an instant. "You said just now that the chains are a key," Lin Yi continued, his speech growing slower and slower, each word like prying open a crack. "Open what? Open the door to the 'rules'? Or open... the truth of the 'Heavenly Punishment' back then?" It hadn't truly stopped—Lin Yi's hearing had suddenly become abnormally acute in this moment. He heard other sounds. Mo Chen's breathing, extremely faint, nearly inaudible. And the wild pounding of his own heart in his chest, like war drums. Mo Chen finally spoke: "You're smarter than I imagined." "I cannot answer," Mo Chen said. "But you can find the answer yourself. The premise is, you must first survive, and... qualify to enter that world." He raised the pale blue light at his fingertips and extended it forward. The smell of ozone grew stronger, mixed with a deeper scent—like the scorched odor of aged metal being pierced by electric current. Lin Yi's dantian began to throb violently, the residual erosion of the chains seeming to be awakened by something, rampaging through his meridians. "What long-term effects will the contract rune have on me?" he asked, his voice trembling from the pain. "I don't know," Mo Chen said. "This is also my first time using the 'Heavenly Dao Chains' energy as a catalyst. Perhaps nothing will happen. Or perhaps... you will become some kind of 'anchor.'" "An anchor beneath the shadow of the rules." For the first time, a trace of something faint, nearly exhausted, appeared in Mo Chen's voice. "Marked, observed, possibly exploited. Depends on your luck." Lin Yi almost wanted to laugh. Since the Heavenly Punishment three years ago, the word "luck" had ceased to exist in his life. His palm opened, facing upward. From tension and pain, his palm was already soaked through, cold sweat gleaming faintly in the bleak moonlight. Two words. Not loud, but in the empty mine shaft, they were like a stone thrown into stagnant water, stirring circles of cold echoes. He only looked at Lin Yi, the shadows beneath his hood impenetrably thick. After roughly three breaths' time, he slowly extended his fingertips forward. The instant the pale blue light touched Lin Yi's palm A sharp whine erupted in his ears, like ten thousand insects vibrating their wings inside his skull. He felt the lingering chains in his dantian being precisely "hooked" by something—not extracted, but plucked, like a finger strumming a taut string. Then, a cold to the extreme energy surged backward along that "connection," rushing from his dantian straight to his arm, finally converging in his palm. The entire mine tunnel was bathed in an eerie blue light. Water stains on the rock walls reflected distorted patches of light, like countless eyes blinking. It wasn't carved onto the surface of his skin—it "grew" directly from deep within his flesh and blood. The patterns were so complex they made one's head spin, like some ancient lost script, or like a bizarre totem woven from star charts and chains. The edges of the rune glowed with a faint blue light, while the center was a deep, pitch black, as if it could swallow all light. The pain shifted from physical to something tearing at his soul. Lin Yi's vision went completely black, leaving only that rune in his palm throbbing madly in the darkness, like a malformed heart. He felt his spiritual power being frantically drained, flowing through the rune toward some unknown place. His muscles began to twitch uncontrollably. Cold sweat soaked his underclothes, clinging icily to his back. A metallic taste welled up in his throat—blood. His consciousness began to scatter, like a sandcastle collapsing under the tide. Just as he was about to lose consciousness entirely, the lingering chains in his dantian suddenly jolted violently. The cold aura of the chains and the faint blue energy transmitted by the rune reached a bizarre equilibrium in that instant. Then, Lin Yi "saw." He "saw" that the residual chains within his body were no longer merely a curse eroding his flesh, but rather strands of rules of extreme complexity. The patterns intertwined and nested within one another, forming a system so vast it was incomprehensible. And the rune was like a nail, driven into a crack in that system. The rune completed its final stroke, thoroughly branding itself into his palm. The patterns no longer throbbed, but fell into a silent, seemingly slumbering state. Only the edges still retained an extremely faint blue glow, like dying embers. His back struck the cold stone ground heavily, the pain jolting him briefly awake. He gasped for air, each breath carrying the taste of blood and a burning ache in his throat. His vision was blurred; all he could see was that sliver of moonlight leaking through a crack in the rock overhead, now as pale as a dead man's face. "Con...tract..." He forced out the two words with difficulty, his voice hoarse beyond recognition. Lin Yi barely turned his eyes and saw the hem of a black robe standing beside him. Mochen bent down, picked up the iron token that had fallen to the ground, and placed it by Lin Yi's outstretched left hand. "The token is yours now," Mochen said, the weariness in his voice even more pronounced, even carrying a trace of something extremely faint...like guilt. "Remember three things." "First, the rune will guide you where you need to go. Follow your instincts; do not resist." "Second, from now on, you are not only the Lin family's castaway, but also a mark beneath the shadow of the 'rules.' Some will want to kill you because of this, and others will want to...use you." Lin Yi caught the scent of old books mixed with herbs, now tinged with a faint trace of blood—it was coming from Mochen. "Third," Mochen's voice dropped so low it was almost a whisper, "if you truly find a crack in the 'rules,' remember...don't believe anyone who tells you 'this is for your own good.'" The black-robed figure retreated backward, melting into the darkness at the depths of the mine tunnel. No footsteps, no sound of robes brushing against stone—as if he had never existed at all. Lin Yi lay on the cold ground, motionless. A long time passed, perhaps a quarter of an hour, perhaps a full hour, before he gathered enough strength to struggle into a sitting position. His left hand groped about and grasped the iron token. A faint blue light slowly flowed along the edges of the patterns, rhythmic as breathing. When he touched it, two completely different sensations came through—the patterns themselves were ice-cold, like metal; but from deep within the patterns, there came a faint heat, like red-hot charcoal buried beneath a layer of ice. He stared at the rune for a long time. Until the faint sound of birdsong came from the mine entrance—dawn was approaching.