Arthur stepped back into the Lotus Hall.
The tall windows let in a cool light strip, falling across rows of desks where students lingered even though class had ended. Ink brushes lay abandoned on scrolls. Low voices drifted through the air like smoke.
Some students glanced at him, then quickly looked away, as if meeting his eyes might pull them into trouble. Others stared openly, with curiosity, envy, or disbelief.
The air felt thick with unspoken words.
"I didn't even know that was possible…"
"Now the whole sect will give him resources."
"It was just a simple movement."
"Can you do it, if you think for yourself?"
"I'll say it — it was dumb luck."
"Luck? Doesn't look like it."
"Why were we told to stay quiet?"
"Still… how long can he keep it up?"
"That Brown Spirit Boy…"
Arthur walked to his desk without a word. The chatter dulled, but didn't stop.
He sat slowly, the wood creaking under him. His gaze drifted somewhere far beyond the classroom walls. No thoughts came; only the heavy weight of the present moment was pressing him down.
"He doesn't look like someone who just achieved something."
Arthur didn't deny it. After a few breaths, he stood. He wasn't planning to stay here any longer.
In the corridor, he came face to face with Ming Hao, stepping out from the Dragon Hall.
"Qing Tian!" Ming Hao's voice rang out warmly, too warmly. The arrogance from before was gone, replaced with a smile stretched too wide. "I've heard the news. Congratulations! I underestimated you, brother. Truly, you've brought glory to the sect."
Arthur saw through it instantly. The whispers had already reached the Verdant Pavilion, and the whole sect would soon know. Behind Ming Hao's smile, there was still a trace of malice.
Arthur pretended not to notice. "Thank you, Brother Ming Hao. Your words honor me."
He moved to walk past.
"Where are you going?" Ming Hao asked lightly.
"Father called me home early today," Arthur made an excuse..
"I'll carry your bag then," Ming Hao offered quickly.
Arthur shook his head. "Brother Ming Hao, you should stay and practice. I can manage."
Without waiting for an answer, he descended the broad stone steps. The noise of the Lotus Hall faded behind him.
By the time he reached the foot of the hill, the afternoon sun had begun to turn gold. His family home stood at the end of a quiet lane, the carved gate open as if waiting for him.
Inside, his father, Duan Liang Zheng, stood tall despite the lines of age on his face. Beside him, Mei Lian's eyes shone like polished jade as soon as she saw Arthur, her hands clasped in delight.
"My son," she said, stepping forward, "the whole town will hear of you before the moon rises!"
Liang Zheng's expression was calmer, but pride still shone in his eyes. "You've done well, Qing Tian. Very well."
Arthur bowed. For the first time that day, the tightness in his chest eased.
The table was heavy with dishes: braised spirit-beast ribs in clear broth, plates of steamed Jade Lotus petals, golden-yolked chicken eggs glazed to shine, and even a small cup of Starvine Wine was before Liang Zheng.
Mei Lian moved between the kitchen and table; her smile was brighter than the lantern light. Liang Zheng sat at the head, posture straight as always, but his eyes warmer than usual.
"Sit, sit," he said. "We don't eat like this every day."
Arthur bowed slightly and sat opposite his father. Mei Lian joined them, smoothing her dress before sitting beside her son.
For a while, there was only the sound of chopsticks and the faint scent of qi-rich food. Then Liang Zheng spoke, slow and deliberate.
"Qing Tian… the Sect Master has given us an opportunity."
Arthur looked up. "Opportunity?"
"A rare potion — the Origin Tempering Elixir," Liang Zheng said. "It will strengthen your Spirit Root, make up for its weakness. It is a very rare potion, and the sect master has given it to us."
Arthur's hand froze midway to his bowl.
He knew the potion well; he had heard it from Lianhua, but he had to confirm it.
Feigning lightness, he asked, "No… side effects, right?"
Liang Zheng's chopsticks hesitated. The smile faded.
"All great medicines require a price," he said at last.
Arthur was now sure.
Mei Lian's voice cut in, unsure. "A price? What price?"
"Lian," Liang Zheng's tone hardened, "don't interfere in sect matters."
Arthur answered for him. "Mother, he means my lifespan would be cut in half."
The warmth in the room faded instantly.
"What?!" Mei Lian turned on her husband. "LIANG ZHENG? HALF— "
"This is the Sect Master's decree," Liang Zheng interrupted. "Without raising his cultivation, Tian'er will never refine higher realm pills. And with Spirit Nourishing Pills, the loss of years will barely matter. Unlike the lower realm cultivators who waste away, Tian'er will be honored in the sect."
Arthur's gaze stayed steady. "Why can't I just refine lower realm pills, Father? If they call me a genius, I can still reach unmatched purity. Isn't that enough for the sect?"
"Purity alone isn't rewarded," Liang Zheng said. "High realm pills bring wealth, prestige. The Sect Master understands this."
"And I understand you're sending him to an early grave!" Mei Lian shot back, fists tight in her lap.
"If he stagnates, the sect's investment dies," Liang Zheng said coldly. "We have one chance to rise above mediocrity — and Tian'er will hold high authority."
Arthur's voice was quiet. "One chance… or one gamble?"
"It is no gamble if the Sect Master commands it."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "It hasn't been three Sichen since I left for the Lotus Hall. The day has not even decided that it would be night. But before that, you had already met the Sect Master and decided my fate?"
The table went silent.
Arthur set his chopsticks down, bowed — not to his father, but to the table — and walked out.
"Tian'er," his mother called him from behind, but Arthur walked away.
He wandered through the sect until evening. The security at the boundaries was tighter than before. Turning back, he passed the training courtyard and saw Ming Hao in a tavern with fellow cultivators.
"…Alchemy talent or not, he's finished within a hundred years," Ming Hao's smug voice carried. "Weak Spirit Root, he won't outlive me. Let him enjoy the scraps while they last."
Arthur heard the gossip but kept walking without a word.
He climbed to the Verdant Pavilion. From the top, the city below looked like scattered fireflies. He sat on the cold stone railing, staring at the thin moon caught in clouds.
Footsteps approached him; it was his father.
Liang Zheng sat beside him, watching the lanterns fade into the night.
"Are you upset, Qing Tian?"
"Do you truly not know?" Arthur asked evenly.
"The world is full of serpents, my son." Liang Zheng paused, then spoke. "Better to be the dragon's head than the serpent's tail in the wrong den."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "That's not how the saying goes."
Liang Zheng smiled faintly. "It's how politics goes."
Arthur understood. The sect wanted wealth and status, fast. His father's loyalty wasn't for himself; their family's life was tied to the sect's survival.
Earlier that day, Arthur had searched the Pavilion archives. All three alchemists had earned the Triple Crown in pill refining in their younger years. They had at least a class-four Spirit Root. None had started with a Root as weak as his.
The silence stretched until Arthur finally said, "I agree. You can bring the potion to my room."
Liang Zheng turned, surprised. "You…?"
Arthur stood. "But can you leave me alone for now, Father?"
His father studied him, then nodded and left.
Arthur stayed in the growing dark, and the wind tugged at his sleeves.
It hasn't even been a month… and I'm already forced to face what I've avoided.
The sect pushes because other sects will interfere soon. My cousin would act no differently. Even my father must treat my life like a number in their ledgers.
His hands clenched.
Very well. If this world wishes to force my hand… then it will bear the cost.
He turned toward the inner courtyards of Verdant Pavilion, his gaze was at the cold moonlight.
I will cultivate. And this world will get what it wants so badly from me.