A sudden noise from the living room jolted Lin Feng awake from uneasy dreams.
"Father? Mother… Are you back?"
Heart leaping with hope, Lin Feng threw off his blanket and stumbled toward the door, bare feet forgotten.
Pushing his bedroom door open, faint moonlight revealed not his parents—but a sight that froze his blood.
A skeletal figure stood motionless in the center of the room. Matted hair framed a face green as corpse-flesh, lips peeled back from yellowed fangs. Its eyes burned with cold, flickering blue flames that locked onto Lin Feng.
Paralyzed, Lin Feng's mouth opened for a scream. Then—blur. The creature twitched. Suddenly it stood inches from his face.
"AAAAHHHH!!!"
With a strangled cry, Lin Feng jerked upright in bed. Sweat drenched his sheets. He gasped like a drowning man.
"That dream again… That night… What really happened…"
His face twisted with haunted frustration. Clutching the blanket until the fabric threatened to tear, he cycled through the same unanswered questions.
Minutes passed before his breathing steadied. His hand flew to his chest—relief flooding him as fingers closed around the spatial ring hanging from his neck.
"Every time I reach that moment, I wake. It must be real. Father came back that night—why else leave this ring? But… if he returned, why vanish again?"
He clawed at his hair, retreading mental paths worn smooth by twelve years of obsession. Still no answers.
At age eight, his parents had left for a routine trip—but never returned. Three months later came that night. The creature. The blackout. Waking amid shattered furniture with his father's spatial ring clutched in his fist.
The ring he knew intimately. The ring that proved his father's return. The ring now sealed by enchantments no amount of Qi Refining Layer 1 cultivation could breach.
Why leave it locked? The question gnawed at him through years of scrabbling for cultivation manuals, fumbling through basic techniques. This ring was his only tether to vanished parents—more precious than life itself. Its theft yesterday had unleashed his desperate fury.
...
After sitting numbly for several minutes, Lin Feng slapped his cheeks sharply. Speculation wastes time. Truth requires strength.
Dressing mechanically, he gathered yesterday's spoils—Han Tie's armored vest and gauntlet—and headed for Treasure Pavilion.
Yesterday's battle had drained him until dusk. By then, the Pavilion had closed, delaying his confrontation with Cao Yang.
Morning streets stood empty. Entering the Pavilion, he found only two figures: Liu Cui polishing display cases, and Manager Li—a gaunt old man in brocade robes—studying ledgers in his corner nook.
"Lin Feng! You're back!" Liu Cui smiled, polishing cloth pausing. "Did you settle your urgent business yesterday?"
"Yes, resolved now." His eyes swept the shop casually. "Where's Brother Cao?"
"Still absent. Odd, isn't it? He rushed off yesterday claiming emergency too…" She leaned closer, voice dropping. "Manager Li was furious about you both skipping work. Tread carefully." Her gaze flicked toward the old man.
"Fled already, has he…" Lin Feng murmured. Nodding thanks, he approached Manager Li.
"Sir."
The old man looked up, face impassive. "Unauthorized leave yesterday. Half-day penalty. Five percent cut from this month's earnings."
"Understood." Lin Feng kept his voice neutral. Manager Li's fairness was legend—no favors, no grudges.
Placing his bundle on the ledger, Lin Feng continued: "A friend entrusted me to sell these." Unwrapping the cloth, he revealed three artifacts. "Two low-grade artifacts, one mid-grade. The dagger's new, others seventy percent condition. Twenty-five low-grade spirit stones seems fair."
Manager Li examined the items, fingers tracing the armored vest's runes. "Mid-grade defensive artifact… serviceable. New low-grade dagger… acceptable." He nodded. "Take the stones from the vault."
"My thanks."
...
Behind his sales counter, Lin Feng stored the twenty-five spirit stones—his seed money. As he rearranged displayed artifacts, plans unfurled in his mind.
Selling Han Tie's gear raw pained him. With materials, he could've restored them for triple profit. But like a chef without ingredients, his Artifact Restoration technique required capital.
Twenty-five stones. Enough to buy near-worthless scrap. Restore. Resell. Repeat. The cycle glowed in his mind—a snowball poised to roll.
His eyes drifted to Manager Li's adjacent display—the "collector's corner" holding artifacts at ninety percent wear. Junk to cultivators. Treasure to mortal enthusiasts. But purchasing here would raise questions.
No. The Eastern Market's chaotic stalls offered better hunting grounds. There, a shrewd buyer could acquire "broken" artifacts for coppers. Artifacts only he could resurrect.
Lin Feng's fingers curled around the spatial ring. Soon. With enough stones, I'll break your seal. Learn the truth.
The counter's polished wood reflected his determined smile. Around him, morning sunlight set dust motes dancing like floating gold.