The stone plaza of the Xiao Clan was already crowded when Xiao Yan arrived.
Morning sunlight poured down from a cloudless sky, bathing the pale stone ground in a faint warmth that did little to ease the tension hanging in the air. Clan juniors stood in loose rows, some whispering excitedly to one another, others stiff with nervous anticipation. Elders occupied the high platform, their expressions calm and authoritative, as though the fate of the younger generation was nothing more than routine.
Today was the annual test.
In Wu Tan City, cultivation defined everything. Strength was dignity, weakness was shame, and talent was the only inheritance that mattered.
Xiao Yan stepped quietly into the outer edge of the crowd.
He wore simple dark robes, clean and neat, though lacking any ornamentation. His hair was tied back loosely, his face calm, even faintly polite. At first glance, he looked like any other unremarkable youth—neither eager nor fearful, neither proud nor dejected.
Then the murmurs found him.
"So he still came…"
"I heard he hasn't improved at all."
"Three years. How can someone fall that badly?"
The words reached his ears clearly.
Xiao Yan felt them land.
There was a familiar ache in his chest—not sharp, not overwhelming, but present nonetheless. Embarrassment still existed. Disappointment still lingered. He was not made of stone, no matter how much experience he carried from another life.
But he had learned how to endure.
If this were my old world, he thought, I would already be dead for showing weakness like this.
That thought steadied him.
The elder in charge struck the stone platform lightly with his staff.
"Quiet."
The plaza gradually settled.
Names were called one after another.
Each youth stepped forward, pressed their palm against the black testing stone, and waited. Dou Qi surged, results were announced, and reactions followed accordingly. Cheers broke out for those with talent; polite silence greeted the rest.
"Xiao Ning. Dou Qi, Seventh Stage."
Applause rippled through the crowd.
Xiao Ning straightened proudly, chin lifted. As he turned, his gaze brushed past Xiao Yan, pausing for just a fraction of a second. There was no open mockery—only a quiet sense of superiority, the kind that came naturally to someone who believed fate favored them.
Xiao Yan noticed it.
His lips pressed together briefly before relaxing again.
He'll peak early, Xiao Yan thought, not unkindly. And fall just as fast.
The thought surprised him with its calmness.
More names followed.
Time passed slowly, marked by footsteps and the steady rhythm of announced results. Finally, the elder's voice rang out again.
"Next—Xiao Yan."
The plaza grew quieter—not silent, but subdued.
This was no longer curiosity. It was expectation without hope.
Xiao Yan took a breath and stepped forward.
As he crossed the open ground, he felt countless gazes on his back. Some were pitying, some awkward, some openly indifferent. He ignored none of them, but he did not let them slow his steps either.
The testing stone stood before him.
He placed his palm against it.
It was cool beneath his skin.
Within his body, Dou Qi stirred weakly, flowing as it always did. Xiao Yan guided it carefully—not forcing it, not suppressing it. He had learned long ago that struggling against reality only wasted strength.
The stone glimmered faintly.
The elder glanced at the result.
"Dou Qi, Third Stage."
The announcement was flat.
A low murmur rippled across the plaza.
"Still Third Stage…"
"Just like last year."
"What a pity."
Xiao Yan withdrew his hand.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he bowed.
"Thank you, Elder."
His voice was steady, respectful.
As he turned away, a few elders frowned faintly. Something about his reaction unsettled them—not anger, not despair, but a composure that felt misplaced for someone in his position.
Xiao Yan returned to the edge of the crowd.
His gaze drifted briefly toward the high platform.
Xiao Zhan sat rigidly in his seat, hands clenched against the armrests. His expression remained stern, but Xiao Yan knew that look well. It was the same one his father wore every year now—frustration mixed with helpless concern.
Their eyes met.
Just for a moment.
Xiao Yan offered a small, reassuring smile.
Xiao Zhan's heart tightened.
The ceremony dragged on until noon.
When it finally ended, the crowd dispersed in clusters—some laughing loudly, others silent and withdrawn. Xiao Yan turned away from the plaza and headed back toward his residence, moving at an unhurried pace.
Along the way, several clan juniors greeted him hesitantly.
"Brother Xiao Yan…"
He paused, turning with a faint smile.
"Good results today," he said sincerely.
The juniors blinked, startled, before nodding awkwardly and hurrying off.
Xiao Yan continued on.
They think I've given up, he reflected. That's fine.
That night, the Xiao Clan was quiet.
Moonlight filtered through the window of Xiao Yan's room, illuminating the simple wooden furnishings. The room was bare compared to what it once had been—many comforts removed when his status fell—but it was clean and orderly.
Xiao Yan sat cross-legged on the bed.
He exhaled slowly.
Only now, alone, did he allow the frustration to surface.
Three years.
Three years of stagnation. Three years of watching others advance while he remained stuck. Even knowing the cause, even understanding the future, it was impossible not to feel a dull resentment toward fate itself.
If I don't act carefully, he thought, I'll lose everything before I ever reach it.
The ring on his finger felt warm.
Xiao Yan frowned.
He focused on the sensation, letting his awareness sink inward. The warmth pulsed gently, like a heartbeat.
Then—
A presence stirred.
A faint pressure brushed against his spirit, cautious and probing.
Xiao Yan stiffened.
His expression changed instantly.
"What—?" He snapped his eyes open, breath quickening. "Who's there?!"
The ring grew hotter.
A translucent figure slowly emerged above it, taking shape in the moonlight. An old man's form coalesced, his features sharp but faint, his body flickering with instability.
"…Interesting," the old man murmured. "You noticed."
Xiao Yan sprang to his feet.
"Who are you?!" he demanded, voice tight with anger and fear. "What did you do to me?!"
Inside, his thoughts were already racing.
Good. He's cautious. Proud. He expects panic.
The old man studied him calmly.
"You're quite sharp for your age," he said. "But relax. If I meant you harm, you wouldn't be standing."
Xiao Yan clenched his fists.
"My cultivation," he said hoarsely. "It's been falling for three years. Was it you?"
The accusation landed squarely.
The old man smiled faintly.
"So you did notice."
Xiao Yan's breathing quickened. Anger flashed across his face—real enough to convince, restrained enough to control.
"You stole it," he said. "You ruined me."
The old man did not deny it.
Instead, he sighed softly.
"I had no choice. My soul was damaged. Without sustenance, I would have dissipated."
Xiao Yan laughed bitterly.
"So I was just convenient?"
Inside, he observed closely.
No denial. No threat. He's gauging how far he can push.
"You owe me," Xiao Yan said, voice low. "Three years of humiliation. Three years of watching my father suffer because of me."
The old man's expression shifted slightly.
"What do you want?"
Xiao Yan hesitated—just enough to seem uncertain.
"Fix it," he said. "Give me my talent back."
Silence stretched between them.
The old man studied the youth before him, eyes narrowing.
Finally, he nodded slowly.
"I can teach you," he said. "And far more, if you survive."
Xiao Yan lowered his head, shoulders tense.
Inside, his thoughts were calm.
Hook set.
He let his voice tremble as he spoke again.
"Then teach me," he said. "I'll do whatever it takes."
The old man smiled.
Outside, the moonlight spilled quietly across the room.
Inside, a sealed legend believed he had found a desperate disciple.
And Xiao Yan, eyes lowered, smiled faintly where no one could see.