The rain lashed against the broken tiles of the outer sect's dormitory as though the heavens themselves were weeping blood.
Lin Feng, sixteen winters old, an orphan scraped from the gutters of Cloudsoar City, had been thrown into the Azure Cloud Sect as a miscellaneous disciple.
Three days ago, the sect's recruitment stone had glowed faintly at his palm—barely the width of a single finger of spiritual light. It was enough to enter, but not enough to matter.
That night, the dormitory stood empty. The other outer disciples had already bribed their way into warmer rooms or vanished into the mountains to hunt spirit beasts for contribution points.
Lin Feng sat cross-legged on a moldy reed mat, clutching a cracked low-grade spirit stone worth exactly three contribution points. His stomach growled; his meridians ached from forcing the impure Qi inside the stone into his body for six hours straight.
Finally, a faint thread of spiritual energy began to coil within his dantian—his first true strand of Qi.
Outside, thunder roared. Through the paper window, he caught sight of torchlight: three inner disciples in pale-blue robes were dragging a screaming boy toward the Discipline Hall.
The boy's crime was stealing half a Fasting Pill. Lin Feng recognized him—Little Fatty Zhao, the same boy who had shared his steamed buns with him just yesterday.
The cracked spirit stone in Lin Feng's hand flickered, nearly spent. He had perhaps one more hour before it turned to dust.
The night was long, the sect was cruel, and tomorrow marked the beginning of the monthly resource distribution. Only the top fifty outer disciples would receive a single Qi Gathering Pill. Lin Feng's current rank was 3,472 out of 3,480.
Rain lashed against Lin Feng's face as he sprinted barefoot across the muddy paths of the outer sect, a cracked spirit stone clenched in his fist like a dying firefly. Lightning split the heavens above, illuminating the crimson gates of the Discipline Hall.
Beneath the eaves, two inner disciples lounged, smoking silver-leaf tobacco that cost more per puff than Lin Feng could earn in a year.
The third, a hawk-nosed youth named Wei Long, had Little Fatty Zhao pinned by the throat against a pillar carved with the sect's rules.
"Stealing Fasting Pills?" Wei Long mocked, his laughter sharp and cruel. "That's fifty lashes and expulsion. Or…" He flicked a bead of blood from his sleeve. "We can settle it privately. Ten contribution points."
Little Fatty's face was already swollen purple. His eyes darted toward Lin Feng, wide with terror, silently pleading—don't come closer.
Lin Feng had only three points to his name. He had planned to buy a Blood Replenishing Pill with them—just one, enough to keep Fatty conscious long enough to survive the night. But pills couldn't buy freedom. The enforcers wanted points, not compassion.
Wei Long noticed him then. Rainwater streamed off the silk of his robe like liquid jade.
"Outer trash," he sneered. "Curfew breaker. Want to join your fat friend?"
Lin Feng dropped to his knees in the mud, pressing his forehead to the ground.
"This disciple has a Blood Replenishing Pill, Senior Brother," he said, voice trembling. "Please allow this worthless one to offer it to save Junior Brother Zhao's life."
Wei Long's eyes narrowed, weighing Lin Feng's desperation against his boredom.
"Hand it over," he said. "And your name."
Lin Feng told him. Wei Long repeated it slowly, as though tasting poison.
Behind him, a girl with a phoenix hairpin leaned close and whispered something in his ear. Wei Long smiled.
Lin Feng handed over the pill. His last three contribution points—gone. He was now at zero, dead last in the next day's distribution.
Wei Long had learned his name. And Little Fatty Zhao—he would either owe Lin Feng his life, or resent him for the price both would pay.
Fatty swallowed the pill. Color returned to his cheeks, but Wei Long kicked him into the mud anyway.
"Take your pig back," he said. "But remember—both of you owe me ten points by sunrise. Fail, and I'll peel your skins for talisman paper."
The three inner disciples vanished into the rain, their laughter echoing down the courtyard.
Lin Feng and Fatty limped back through the storm. The boy trembled too hard to speak until they reached the dormitory.
"Lin Feng… why?" he sobbed. "They'll kill us both now."
Before Lin Feng could answer, a cold female voice drifted from the rafters.
"Because he's either noble," it said, "or an idiot. Which one are you, Lin Feng?"
A slender figure dropped soundlessly from the shadows—Senior Sister Mei Ling, rank forty-one among the outer disciples, rumored to be half-demon. Her cat-like eyes gleamed in the dim light. She had heard everything.
Fatty is shivering on the mat, alive but useless for hours. Mei Ling leans against the doorframe, blocking the only exit, twirling a black jade token worth at least 50 points.
Mei Ling's pupils narrowed into vertical slits as the young disciple knelt before her for the second time, his forehead grinding against the wet floorboards.
"Senior Sister Mei," he whispered, his voice raw and trembling. "This worthless one offers his eyes, his ears, his life. Wei Long's private cave on Fragrant Cloud Peak—whatever you need to know, I will bring you."
There was only silence. Rain hammered against the roof like ten thousand spirit drums.
She crouched down and lifted his chin with one cold finger. Her breath carried the faint, chilling scent of frost plum.
"Little mouse," she murmured, her voice laced with amusement, "you just sold your soul for ten points you don't even have yet."
A black jade token slipped from her sleeve, landing in his palm—fifty contribution points, warm as fresh blood.
"Take it. Pay your debt. Sunrise, sixth bell. After that, you belong to me until I grow bored."
She leaned close, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, "Wei Long keeps a Spirit-Devouring Gu in a jade box beneath his bed. Bring me the box unopened. If you open it, the Gu will burrow into your heart and devour your Qi in seven days. Fail, and I'll feed you to my ghost-mink myself."
Then, like smoke, she vanished through the window. The token in his hand pulsed once, bound by a trace of her demonic Qi. He could feel it watching him.
Little Fatty lay unconscious nearby, snoring through a broken nose. The token weighed heavily in his palm, fifty points burning a hole in his soul.
He slipped back into the storm. Fragrant Cloud Peak loomed three li uphill—inner-disciple territory.
Lightning split the sky, revealing doubled patrols searching the mountain after the theft. A one-way array would seal the peak after the fifth bell; he had ninety minutes before it activated.
Halfway up the mountain path, he heard soft weeping. Beneath a cedar tree, a girl in servant robes was curled up, clutching a torn storage ring.
He recognized her—Xiao Qing, Wei Long's personal maid, the same one who had whispered to her master earlier. Blood streaked her face from a split lip; she had been beaten for failing to find the Fasting Pills Fatty had stolen.
When she saw him, she flinched and whispered, "Please… don't tell him I'm here. He'll kill me."
Xiao Qing's storage ring is cracked but not broken—inside his glimpse three low-grade spirit stones and a single Qi Gathering Pill (enough for a breakthrough tonight).