Time passes, and the sunlight entering the cell from the small hole behind him starts to fade away.
The orange hue of the sun shifts slowly toward dusk, marking how long he has been left alone.
It is already past noon, and still, no guards come to question him.
He sits quietly, the faint sound of footsteps and metal clanks echoing from far down the corridor.
But he isn't worried.
Being in a cell behind the governor's house means he is only a suspect, not yet a criminal.
That thought steadies his breathing.
He is sure that once he explains everything, the misunderstanding will clear, and the truth will come to light.
Leaning back against the cold wall, he exhales softly and closes his eyes, waiting for someone to arrive.
But then he stops, thinking he should not waste his time.
He straightens his posture and begins visualising the twenty-ninth rune in his mind, tracing its intricate shape within his spiritual space.
Time drifts without sound.
When he finally opens his eyes, a sharp ache twists his stomach.
Hunger.
Through the small hole, he sees silver light instead of gold—the sun has fallen, and the moon now shines into the cell.
He frowns, realising no guard has come with food.
According to the law of the Tang Kingdom, every prisoner must be given food once a day.
Did they forget him after locking him here?
He walks to the iron bars and shouts, his voice echoing through the silent corridor.
No one answers.
His throat burns from dryness, and he swallows nothing but air.
The more he shouts, the hungrier he feels, until even the effort drains him.
With a tired sigh, he returns to the dirty floor, sitting in the dim moonlight, his body weak but his mind unwilling to rest.
While enduring the dull ache of hunger and the dryness cracking his throat, he remembers something Senior Brother Wu Hai once said—that Qi refiners can sustain themselves by absorbing spiritual energy instead of food or water.
Before testing it, his thoughts drift back to Bu Lai and Ji Mo.
Why did they kill Wu Hai?
What drove them to such betrayal?
But the rumble of his stomach breaks his thoughts, dragging him back to the present.
He takes a slow breath and sits cross-legged, closing his eyes.
His spirit spreads outward, perceiving the faint traces of spiritual energy within a meter around him.
He grasps a wisp and pulls it gently into his body.
A slight strain runs through his spirit, but it is far less painful than before—his spirit has grown stronger.
The spiritual energy flows through his veins, soothing his emptiness.
The hunger dulls, the thirst eases, and for a moment, the cold of the cell feels a little less harsh.
He continues to draw in spiritual energy, wisp after wisp, until the hollow feeling inside him fades completely.
The energy settles within his meridians, quietly replacing what food and water would have given.
He exhales softly, opening his eyes to find the moonlight still pouring through the small hole.
Night lingers, silent and endless.
Adjusting his posture, he decides to try something different—absorbing dark elemental energy.
Closing his eyes again, he focuses, reaching out with his spirit.
Almost immediately, a wisp of dark energy answers his call.
He pulls it into his body with ease, and his eyes snap open in surprise.
It had never been this simple before.
The dark energy moves smoothly through him, calm and obedient, as if the cell itself is aiding his control.
It circulates through his Qi channels just like spiritual energy, but unlike that gentle flow, it doesn't fade away.
Its presence lingers—thick, heavy, and strange.
When the wisp finally disperses, he feels a faint shift within his Qi, a change he cannot define.
Is it growth, or corruption? He cannot tell.
As a third-grade martial artist, his Qi cannot yet leave his body, so the true effect remains hidden.
Unease creeps into his chest.
He decides not to risk another attempt.
If something goes wrong here, with no one to help him, he will die before clearing his name.
And when they find him dead, the town will believe he took his own life out of guilt.
So now, all that's left for him to do is practice the meditation technique.
But he doesn't feel like it.
He turns his gaze to the dull brick wall before him—empty, lifeless.
Let's paint on them, he thinks.
He begins searching for something that could leave a mark.
As he moves around, he doesn't even notice that, under the faint moonlight slipping through the hole, he can see clearly—as if night no longer hinders his sight.
At last, in one corner, he finds a small metal shard.
He picks it up and drags it lightly across the wall, leaving behind a thin, visible line.
He has a surface to draw on and something to carve with.
But what should he draw?
He closes his eyes, letting his thoughts drift.
The sounds around him grow sharper—the crawl of insects, the scurry of rats inside the walls, the whisper of leaves outside, faint footsteps circling the building, and the subtle pulse of dark elemental energy flowing through the air.
His eyes snap open.
He knows what to draw.
He will turn the fluctuations of dark elemental energy into a drawing.
Lifting the shard, he begins.
Time slips away unnoticed as the metal scratches against stone, tracing lines that flow with a strange, natural rhythm.
He doesn't realise that with every motion, the dark elemental energy seeps into him.
His spirit resonates with its pulse, his inner energy syncing with the rhythm around him.
When his Qi aligns with the dark flow, it starts to transform silently within him.
Unaware of the change, he keeps drawing—each movement fluid, entranced.
By the time the first rays of sunlight pierce through the hole above, the left wall is covered in intricate, shadow-like patterns.
He turns, starting on the right wall, then the back, each mark breathing with eerie precision, as though alive.
When the final stroke is done, his vision sways.
The shard slips from his fingers.
With a dull thud, he collapses onto the cold floor, lying still in the faint morning light.
At that moment, Kaelan watches from afar.
He has been observing the boy ever since he arrived in this town.
After six months of relentless experimentation, Kaelan finally created a technique to break through the second stage.
But uncertainty lingers. He doesn't know what might happen when the technique is used.
He needed someone to test it—a vessel to verify his creation.
So he had concealed his aura and slipped into the Tang Kingdom unnoticed.
For a month, he searched quietly, moving from city to city, studying countless cultivators. None met his expectations.
Then, in this remote town at the northwestern edge of the Tang Kingdom, he encountered Lin Zian.
The boy immediately caught his attention.
Kaelan sensed something rare—the faint, radiant pulse of the world itself surrounding the boy.
From the void monster's inherited memories, he recalled the term: Son of the World.
Every being is born into the world, but only a few are chosen when the world faces a crisis or seeks to alter its destiny.
They are its favoured children—those who carry its will.
When Kaelan found Lin Zian, he believed the world had blessed the boy because of him.
But he doesn't care. The highest realm a being in this small world can reach is only Stage Five—a height that would take millennia. He has no intention of giving the world that much time.
Except for the god behind the Divine Puppet Sect, no one in this world can escape his grasp. The world itself will bend to his will. What becomes of it later, he will decide.
So, without hesitation, four months ago, he allowed the boy to cultivate his technique.
As a son of the world, Lin Zian has the greatest chance of mastering it, far beyond what any ordinary cultivator could achieve.
Kaelan glances at the unconscious boy. His life force remains steady—only his spirit energy is depleted.
His gaze moves to the drawings on the wall. The mark's pulse faintly with the rhythm of the dark element. He studies them, realising they reveal a small fragment of the dark elemental law's mystery.
He sinks into comprehension, letting his mind drift through the traces of energy left by Lin Zian's hand.
The creak of a door pulls him back. Footsteps echo in the corridor. Kaelan narrows his eyes, his body shrinking until he's the size of a small bird, and slips through the small hole onto the roof.
He spreads his spirit sense. The guards' voices reach him clearly.
"I feel sorry for the boy," one says.
"What's there to feel sorry for?" the other replies. "He murdered his fellow disciples."
"There's no proof," the first protests. "He won't even get a fair trial."
"What can we do? We're paid to bring him in unconscious," the second says flatly.
"And if he's not?"
"He hasn't eaten or drunk in two days. He'll be unconscious for sure."
A pause, then the first says quietly, "He is unconscious."
The sound of the lock turning echoes.
"Careful. Don't wake him," the second warns.
Kaelan senses them lift Lin Zian and carry him away.
He doesn't worry. For one chosen by the world, unfair trials are nothing unusual. The world itself forges its children through suffering.
Once the guards leave, Kaelan silently reenters the cell and resumes his comprehension of the dark elemental mystery.