The lotus incense in his chamber had long burned to the stub, yet Ji Yuanheng hadn't moved.
He sat cross-legged before a floating celestial disc, bare-chested, his body marked with faint golden patterns—lines that pulsed once every few minutes, like an immortal heart buried under skin.
This was the Immortal Body.
Not a gift.
Not a legacy.
Not a choice.
A condition of his existence.
From the moment he took his first breath, it had been there—untouched by cold, immune to blades, impervious to poisons. It was not cultivated. It simply was.
He had shattered eight dao-testing monuments by the time he turned five.
He had never bled.
He had never truly feared.
And yet now, at twenty, seated on this cliffside palace ringed with heavenly fog, a thin crease formed between his brows.
Because something… buzzed.
---
A faint fluctuation.
Low. Beneath his quarters. The kind of qi ripple that would've gone unnoticed by most Nascent Soul elders.
But Ji Yuanheng noticed. His senses were sharper than spirit tools. Every ripple in the estate was a thread in his mental map.
This ripple had no name.
No signature.
Just... something wild.
He opened his eyes. Amber irises flickered faintly, like embers tasting the wind.
A beast? No.
An outsider? Impossible.
Then what…?
He tapped the disc. It dissolved.
Moments later, two guards stepped in, bowing to their waists.
"Did a rogue cultivator pass through the inner courtyard?" he asked, voice like wind off a blade.
"No, Young Master," the first said. "All entry logs are unchanged. The patrol circles remain unbroken."
Ji Yuanheng waved them off without a word.
He didn't ask twice.
---
Still, the ripple bothered him.
Because it didn't match any sect technique. No spiritual tool. No demonic aura. It was…
Old.
Like the heartbeat of something ancient buried beneath silk and dust.
And it was growing louder.
---
He descended from the cultivation tower that evening. The estate shimmered under a waning sun—jade staircases humming with warding arrays, cranes perched on white-tiled rooftops, disciples bowing from a distance, none daring to speak.
He walked alone. Always alone.
The Ji Clan bred silence into its heirs.
But silence didn't mean stillness.
As he passed the servant quarters near the east wing, something made his steps falter.
Only once.
A ripple in the air. A scent—smoke and feathers?
Gone in an instant.
He stared toward the dried koi pond, eyes narrowing.
Stone. Weeds. Cracked steps. Nothing unusual.
But his instincts… prickled.
---
A flash.
A memory not summoned, not wanted.
A girl kneeling in blood.
Torn robes.
Hands clutched together.
Begging.
Crying.
Screaming his name—
Yuanheng!
His gaze dropped.
You are not important enough to be remembered.
The words came unbidden, echoing in the hollows of his mind.
His hands curled into fists.
Why that memory? Why now?
The girl's name had long been discarded from thought. She had cried for someone else. A sister. He had been too busy mastering the Ji Clan's divine scripture. Too tired from suppressing a new wave of spiritual backlash. Too… indifferent.
He remembered the blood more than the face.
He had stepped over her to leave the courtyard.
---
A noise.
Tiny.
A single stone rolling across the cracked flagstones near the koi pond.
He turned, lightning-quick.
Nothing.
Just wind. And silence.
---
He returned to the cultivation hall, but he didn't sit.
He paced.
Why does it bother me now?
His father's voice echoed in his skull:
"If they kneel and cry, it is because they are weak. If you listen, you become weak with them."
He had listened.
And turned away.
And yet now—something refused to stay buried.
---
He summoned a spirit mirror. A palm-sized circle of pure jade.
He cast a simple surveillance command on it, aimed toward the east quarters.
It returned static.
Strange. His commands should've pierced all but the deepest core-level concealments.
A second command. Higher output.
The image formed:
An empty courtyard. A figure kneeling.
No—meditating.
Hair undone. Robes loose. Skin pale.
Shen… Liuyin?
She had been reassigned to the Crimson Cloud sect.
No—that hadn't happened yet.
He had ordered it last week. Had the paperwork not been processed?
He zoomed the mirror in.
She sat like a disciple. Still. Back straight. Palms glowing faintly.
Something flickered in her hand.
A… flame?
No—something inside the flame.
A shadow.
Feathers.
---
The mirror cracked.
Not shattered.
Just a thin, angry vein down the center.
As if something had looked back at him.
He dropped it.
The moment it hit the floor, it dissolved into ash.
Not spiritual energy. Not an overload.
Ash.
---
He turned slowly toward the east window of his chamber.
The koi pond was hidden behind a grove of windwillow trees.
But now, even from here, he could sense it—
A power blooming in secret.
Small.
Uncontrolled.
But not insignificant.
And it was hers.
---
Ji Yuanheng exhaled.
It was not fear.
He did not fear.
But he felt… watched.
The way prey watches a predator walk by and wonders when it'll turn around.
He stared out the window for a long time.
And finally whispered:
"...Not important enough to be remembered, huh?"
The words didn't taste the same anymore.
They stung.
_____
The hall was made of silence.
Moonlight bled through carved jade windows, casting silver shadows across the floor. Ji Yuanheng sat at the head of the meditation dais, one leg draped lazily over the other, fingers tapping idly against the armrest of the dragonwood throne.
The silence was intentional. Uncomfortable. The kind that made even seasoned attendants hesitate to breathe too loudly.
She stepped in
A few hours earlier, the order had gone out in silence.
Ji Yuanheng had not summoned her through servants. He had written her name himself — a single stroke on crimson parchment, sealed with a wisp of immortal qi. It was how he summoned sect elders, not servants. And yet, the slip had made its way to her hands by dusk, cold and heavy as fate.
Now, as she stepped inside the moonlit hall, the question of why lingered between each breath.
Shen Liuyin bowed deeply, her plain robes brushing the floor. "Young Master Ji."
Her voice was calm. Too calm. Like still water before a storm.
He didn't respond. Not at first. He simply stared — expression unreadable, gaze cold and calculating. But inside his chest, something buzzed faintly. Like a thread being tugged from a long-forgotten tapestry.
She didn't flinch under his gaze.
That irritated him more than he expected.
"You've been quiet lately," he said finally, swirling a cup of wine he had no intention of drinking.
"I was not aware I needed to make noise," she replied softly.
That again. That blade hidden under silk. It wasn't defiance — not exactly. Just truth. Polished and sharp.
Ji Yuanheng leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the carved armrest. "You were assigned here to serve. And yet I hear nothing of you. Not praise, not complaints. You move like a shadow. Even ghosts leave a presence."
Shen Liuyin raised her eyes slightly. Not enough to challenge, just enough to meet his for a breath. "Is that not what you wanted, Young Master? A servant without presence?"
His jaw ticked.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a girl knelt in blood. Begging. Her words… meaningless. Her voice… familiar.
"You are not important enough to be remembered."
He had said that, once. Hadn't he?
Ji Yuanheng's fingers curled around the cup. He blinked, brushing away the flicker like smoke.
"You'll be leaving the estate," he said, voice clipped.
Liuyin didn't react. Her expression remained exactly the same — calm, poised, almost too calm.
"There is a place more fitting for someone like you," he continued. "The Crimson Cloud Sect requires attendants. You'll be sent there at dawn."
Now, a pause.
Shen Liuyin's lashes lowered. "I understand."
No protest. No questions. Not even a shadow of confusion. Just acceptance.
Somehow, that unsettled him more than if she had pleaded.
"You've nothing to say?" he asked.
She tilted her head. "Would it matter?"
For the first time, Ji Yuanheng had no immediate answer. The air shifted. The silence didn't obey him tonight.
He stood, slow and deliberate, stepping down from the dais with a grace born of divine blood and endless discipline.
In two strides, he stood before her.
She didn't back away.
They were close enough for him to see the tiny scar above her brow, a faint mark probably left by some minor punishment in the servant quarters.
He stared at it.
His voice dropped. "You're not like the others."
She gave a small smile. Not warm — never warm. Just tired. "I never was."
He could feel it — the faintest stir in his soul. That same phantom ache he felt when he dreamt of blood-soaked robes and dying cries. A name trying to claw its way back into his thoughts.
Before it could form, he turned away.
"This is not a punishment," he said. "It's opportunity."
Liuyin didn't respond.
"You may leave."
She bowed once more. "Then I shall."
Ji Yuanheng watched her walk out of the room.
Each step was steady. Each breath calm.
And as her figure disappeared beyond the moonlit threshold, he finally exhaled.
The silence returned — colder now. Not because she had left, but because her absence lingered.
For the first time in years, Ji Yuanheng felt the chill of a memory that refused to fade.
He looked down at his palm.
It was trembling.