Bang. Bang. Bang.
The night watchman's wooden clappers struck the silence of the high-pillar houses, each sharp echo slicing through the predawn stillness. The sound rolled over rooftops and narrow alleys, a monotonous drumbeat marking time.
Fang Yuan's dry eyelids opened slowly. His gaze was calm, unflinching, as if the world's noise barely touched him.
"The hour before dawn," he thought, cold and precise, watching the sky bleed from ink-black to a muted gray.
It had been four years since he had returned to this past. Four years spent weaving himself into the quiet currents of this life, biding time.
Four years ago, his father had died on a clan mission.
Jiaying, his mother, had sunk into endless self-reproach, blaming herself and Fang Yuan for the death of Fang Mo, his father.
Rising from his bed with measured, silent grace, Fang Yuan's eyes flicked to the dim sky, the gray light still trembling between night and dawn.
"Today," he whispered to himself, low, cold, sharp as a blade, "is an important day."
Yesterday, the caravan had arrived in Gu Yue Village.
One of the Green Copper Relic Gu was being auctioned, and the news had already set the villagers' tongues aflame.
He dropped to the floor, arms and body moving with precise, measured rhythm. Push-ups first, then sit-ups, then squats—each movement sharp, deliberate, almost mechanical.
For the past four years, this training had become instinct, a habit etched into his bones.
Discipline had replaced leisure; strength had replaced indulgence.
"It's time."
Clad in robes that clung tightly to his frame, Fang Yuan descended from his room.
Two maids waited silently outside, their eyes flicking toward him briefly, but curiosity faded quickly.
To them, he was just another child—focused, serious, but ultimately unremarkable.
And indeed, in the eyes of the village, this was nothing extraordinary.
For Gu Masters, building muscle was trivial. A suitable Gu, a spark of cultivation, and strength would swell naturally.
But for mortals… only relentless effort, pain, and endurance could forge flesh into power.
Fang Yuan jogged through the quiet village streets. Most were still asleep; those who had risen noticed him but barely spared a thought. To them, he was just another unremarkable child.
After a stretch of running, he veered sharply, leaving the orderly streets behind, slipping past the sleeping homes.
The village faded behind him, replaced by the harsh, open expanse of dry land.
A faint smile curved across his lips.
Pebbles of varying sizes littered the ground, while the river's shallow surface barely lapped over the smaller stones. Scattered across the area were massive gray boulders, jagged and indifferent.
Behind Qing Mao Mountain, a colossal waterfall thundered down from the cliffs. Its flow shifted with the weather, cascading into a deep, churning pool. Beside that pool lay Bai Clan Village, a place of influence rivaling Gu Yue Village, though it held no weight in Fang Yuan's eyes.
Because his gaze, now, was fixed on a single boulder.
It leaned against the vertical mountain wall, small tributary streams peeling off the main waterfall like silver serpents, striking the stone again and again.
Over time, the relentless water had hollowed a crevice into the boulder's center.
Unlike in his previous life, when the waterfall had formed a white curtain that sealed the gap completely, this time, nothing obstructed it. The crevice yawned open.
After surveying his surroundings with cold, calculating eyes, Fang Yuan approached the boulder and slipped inside.
A hundred steps carried him into the faint glow of a light seam.
The room exhaled a damp, ancient scent, its stone walls slick with moisture and overrun with moss. Yet, the air was dry here, strangely still. Twisted, withering vines clung to the walls, interweaving across half the surface, while a few shriveled flowers clung stubbornly to life.
Fang Yuan's gaze swept over the desiccated leaves and blossoms, finally resting on a tiny metal cage.
Within it, a white silkworm squirmed, confined yet alive.
This was the inheritance ground of the Flower Wine Monk.
A year ago, Fang Yuan had entered this place, capturing the liquor worm and beginning the slow, meticulous process of taming it.
Every few days, he tortured it and then fed it wine, bending it to his will, shaping it as one shapes a weapon or a pawn in the grand game of life.
Fang Yuan stepped forward, uncorking a bottle of wine with deliberate precision. He poured it into a cup set aside, then slid the cup into the cage, nudging it toward the liquor worm.
After a year of confinement, the creature had long since surrendered.
It no longer struggled, no longer resisted—only drank obediently, its movements mechanical and predictable.
"Stay there… for just a few more years," Fang Yuan muttered, his hand brushing along the worm's back. It neither welcomed nor resented the touch. It simply drank, the faintest semblance of joy in its motions.
A liquor worm was nothing more than a Gu Worm. It's Intelligence was minimal.
Fang Yuan had broken its will early on; thoughts of rebellion were extinguished after countless tortures. It existed solely within the confines he had imposed.
"Alas… I don't have Spring Autumn Cicada this time," he murmured, glancing at the wall where the image had once played.
Now, only a jagged crack marred the stone—a narrow entrance into the rock beyond.
For the past year, Fang Yuan had shaved, chipped, and carved at the wall with painstaking precision. And finally, his effort had borne fruit: the secret cave revealed itself at the end of the tunnel.
He stepped through the rock fissure, emerging before the massive boulder that barred his path.
He halted at an exact location, he pointed beforehand.
Beneath his feet, the path was polished smooth, worn by time or deliberate design. Above, the ceiling arched, enclosing him like the hull of some ancient vessel. On either side, walls of red soil glowed faintly, bathing the corridor in an eerie crimson light that seemed almost alive.
"Even though I know the White Boar Gu is slumbering inside the Earth Treasury Flower Gu, I can't take it."
"Because... I'm not a Gu Master."
There were many ways to become one.
The easiest method was to get close to a Spirit Spring and awaken your aperture.
The harder method is to force it open through prolonged exposure to primeval essence or Gu Worms.
Few succeeded. Most failed.
Fang Yuan could awaken his aperture anytime with the latter method. But he didn't want to rush.
Apertures had limits, and timing mattered.
Awaken too early, and potential remained stunted. Awaken too late, and life's advantages were already wasted.
Fifteen years old wasn't some ritual—it was the point at which the body could reach its full aperture potential.
He understood this, so he never wasted effort on luck.
Satisfied, he scraped rock powder from the walls, spreading it meticulously around the entrance and across the narrow crack he had crawled through.
Then, with a silent, controlled motion, he slipped through the fissure and disappeared.
....
By the time he returned home, the household was already awake.
"Brother!" Fang Zheng's small voice called out, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his twin.
Twins, yes—but the resemblance ended there.
Fang Yuan had grown taller, broader, muscles filling out his frame, a sharp contrast to the slight, fragile figure of Fang Zheng, still small and thin like an eight-year-old.
The difference in their bodies spoke louder than any words.
Two maids approached, holding a towel. Fang Yuan wiped the sweat from his brow, nodding once toward Fang Zheng.
"Good morning," he said, casual almost detached.
From the staircase, a middle-aged woman with streaks of white in her hair and lines carved into her face stepped down. Her gaze swept first over Fang Yuan, then lingered on Fang Zheng, warm and careful.
"Fang Zheng, get ready," she said, her tone soft, almost motherly.
Her eyes flicked briefly to Fang Yuan before she turned away.
To the maids, her voice sharpened.
"Tell your young master to stop running himself ragged like a mortal. It's embarrassing."
She paused, the words biting. "All that effort… once he becomes a Gu Master, it will mean nothing."
"Tell him to stay home like the child he is, and stop squandering spirit stones on nonsense like some spoiled, ruined brat."
With that, she swept past them toward the dining room.
Fang Yuan's lips curled into a faint smile—neither from warmth nor love.
His mother, Jiaying, had blamed him for his father's death, shutting him out completely for the past four years.
Everything she wanted to say now, she sent through the maids, an indirect, timid echo of words she couldn't face him with herself.
He felt nothing for her.
Nothing, nothing but pity.
'What a waste,' he thought.
'If she had devoted half that grief to cultivation, she might have made something of herself by now.
But... she blames me.
Did I kill my father?
Maybe I did.'
His lips twitched faintly. The admission carried no weight, no remorse.
'But I also saved you,' he thought.
A hollow chuckle slipped through his teeth.
"Foolish woman," he murmured, voice flat as stone.
"You mistake me for the child you can scold," he whispered, "but the one standing before you has already decided your value"
The air around him felt thin, stripped of warmth.
"It is... Zero."