Chapter One: The Price
Eastern Continent.
Northern Frontier Region.
Shianji Town.
Lin Family Estate.
The rain had been falling since dawn.
Not the gentle kind that nourished the earth, but the heavy sort that made you feel like the sky itself was weeping over something irreparable.
Lin Shuan sat on the edge of the wooden veranda, his feet dangling in the air, watching raindrops strike the stones in the courtyard. The sound of rain was soothing in a strange way—perhaps because it was the only sound that carried no expectations.
No orders. No disappointed looks. No awkward silence.
Just... rain.
Ten years.
That was his age. Ten years of existing in a world that only acknowledged you if you were strong. Or at least... promising.
But Lin Shuan was neither.
Spiritual Roots, Grade Eight.
That's what the examiner had said when he was seven. An old man from the Azure Cloud Sect—the sect that protected this region and collected tribute from it every year. The examiner had looked at him with an expression of... pity? Or contempt?
Shuan wasn't sure.
All he remembered was that the old man shook his head slowly, wrote something in his ledger, then moved on to the next child without another word.
Grade Eight.
In Shianji Town, this meant you were barely a cultivator. You could train, yes. You could form one Qi circuit, maybe two if you were lucky and worked yourself to the bone for years. But the ceiling?
Low. Very low.
You'd never reach the Foundation Establishment Realm. You'd never see beyond the initial stages of Qi Condensation.
And in a world where strength was everything, that meant you were... nothing.
"Shuan."
His heart skipped a beat. He didn't turn around.
He knew that voice. His father's voice, Lin Zheng Yuan. A voice that was never quite cold, but never warm either. It was like the surface of a winter lake—calm, but with solid ice beneath.
"Yes, Father."
Shuan answered without turning. It was easier this way. Looking at the rain was easier than looking into the eyes of a man who didn't know how to look at you.
"Come inside. The meal is ready."
It wasn't an invitation. It was a notification.
Shuan rose slowly, wiping his hands on his plain gray robe—a robe without the family crest embroidered on it, unlike the clothes worn by the other children of the Lin family. No one had told him why, but he understood.
The crest was for those who deserved it.
And those who deserved it... had talent.
The dining hall was silent.
Lin Zheng Yuan sat at the head of the long table, eating his meal quietly and slowly, every movement calculated and controlled. He wasn't a man who ate with gusto or spoke during meals.
Shuan sat on the opposite side, far enough to feel the distance, but not so far that it seemed deliberate.
The table was full of dishes—steamed vegetables, seasoned pork, mushroom soup, white rice. Good food. Food a talentless boy didn't deserve.
But Lin Zheng Yuan wasn't neglectful. He didn't starve his son. Didn't beat him. Didn't throw him out.
He just... wasn't really there.
That was worse, somehow.
Because hatred, at least, meant you existed. It meant someone felt something toward you.
But indifference?
Indifference meant you were a ghost.
"How was your training?"
His father asked suddenly, without lifting his eyes from his plate.
Shuan stopped chewing for a moment.
"Good."
A lie.
But what was he supposed to say? That he could barely gather a single thread of Qi after a full hour of meditation? That the other children—even those two years younger—were forming complete Qi circuits while he was still trying to sense a single current?
That Lin Feng, his cousin who was three years younger, had already reached the Third Level of Qi Condensation while Shuan... Shuan hadn't even passed the First Level yet?
"Good."
His father echoed the word slowly, as if weighing it.
Then returned to his silence.
A minute passed. Then two.
The sound of wooden chopsticks against porcelain was the only thing filling the room.
"Father."
Lin Zheng Yuan finally lifted his eyes.
"Do you... do you think I'll ever become a real cultivator?"
The question escaped before he could stop it. He already knew the answer, but a part of him—a small, stubborn, foolish part—hoped to hear something different.
Something like: "Yes. If you work hard."
Or even: "Maybe. Life is full of surprises."
But his father said neither.
He looked at him for a long moment, his face as empty as always.
"Talent isn't everything."
He said it slowly, as if choosing each word carefully.
"But it is... a foundation."
Silence.
"You have Grade Eight spiritual roots. That means your ceiling is limited. You can reach the Fifth Level, perhaps the Sixth Level of Qi Condensation if you're exceptional."
He paused.
"But Foundation Establishment? Impossible. Golden Core? A dream."
Each word was like a nail in a coffin.
"So... no."
His father finally answered.
"You won't become a true cultivator."
Shuan nodded slowly.
Of course.
He knew that.
But hearing it out loud...
Was different.
"I understand."
His father didn't say "I'm sorry." Didn't try to console him. Didn't place a hand on his shoulder and say "but you can find another path."
He just... returned to his meal.
And Shuan?
Shuan swallowed the food in his mouth, even though it tasted like ash.
After dinner, Shuan returned to his room.
It was a small chamber in the back wing of the estate, far from the main rooms where the talented children slept. A simple wooden bed, a small table, a window overlooking the bamboo garden.
The rain had finally stopped.
He closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed.
From his inner pocket, he pulled out something small.
A green pearl.
No, not a real pearl.
Shuan had discovered that by accident when he found it. Old Servant Wang had been talking to one of the guards once:
"This stone... it formed strangely. Looks like a pearl, doesn't it? But it's really just a low-grade spirit stone."
"But the Council considers it a treasure."
"Of course. Those fools have never seen a real treasure in their lives. In the capital, or even in the main sect, something like this isn't worth a single spirit coin."
"But here... here it's considered rare."
They had laughed together.
Shuan never forgot that conversation.
A remote area.
That's what Shianji Town was. A frontier town in the far north of the Eastern Continent, far from the true centers of power. It was affiliated with the Azure Cloud Sect, which itself was a Third-Rate Sect—not weak, but nowhere near the First-Rate sects that ruled the continent.
And Shianji Town?
It was just a dot on the map. A place to collect tribute from. A place to send talented youth to the sect every five years.
Isolated. Ignorant. Limited.
That's why they considered this small spirit stone a "rare treasure."
That's why they placed it in the Shared Vault—that vault managed jointly by the Lin family and the Town Elder Council, where they kept the town's "precious" resources.
And Shuan?
Shuan stole it four days ago.
It wasn't difficult. He knew the vault well—his father had taken him there once when he was young, before he was tested, before it was discovered he was useless.
The guards were lazy. The locks were old. And the stone?
It was in a wooden box, in a corner, covered in dust.
No one really cared about it.
At least, that's what Shuan thought.
But it seemed he was wrong.
That night, he woke to the sound of heavy footsteps.
His eyes opened slowly. The room was dark, but lantern light seeped under the door.
Voices. Many of them.
Angry.
He rose from his bed quietly and approached the door. He pressed his ear against it.
"Patriarch Lin."
A man's voice, sharp as a knife's edge.
"The spirit stone is missing."
Silence.
Then his father's voice, calm as always.
"I know."
"You know? And what have you done about it?"
"I'm searching."
"Searching." The first voice repeated the word mockingly. "Four days have passed. Four days, Patriarch. And the Council wants answers."
Another voice, quieter but more threatening.
"That stone was a shared trust. Part of the town's resources. If it's not recovered..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
"I understand," Shuan's father said slowly.
"Do you understand? Truly?"
A third voice entered—deeper, older.
"Lin Zheng Yuan. Your family has managed the Shared Vault for three generations. This is a responsibility. And if something is lost from there under your supervision..."
He paused.
"It means the Lin family is no longer trustworthy."
Shuan felt a chill run down his spine.
They found out.
No, they didn't find out it was him who stole it.
But they knew the stone was missing.
And that... was enough.
"I will find it," his father said.
"Three days."
The first voice said firmly.
"If the stone is not recovered within three days, the Lin family will have to pay compensation. And I believe you know what that means."
Then footsteps. Moving away slowly.
Shuan remained standing there, his heart pounding.
Three days.
He looked at his hand, where the small green stone was hidden under his pillow.
What have I done?