Morning arrived quietly in the Xiao Clan.
Sunlight filtered through the thin paper window of Xiao Yan's room, drawing pale lines across the wooden floor. The air was cool, carrying faint traces of dew and dust. From afar came the muffled sounds of the clan stirring—footsteps, voices, the clatter of daily life resuming as though nothing had changed.
Xiao Yan opened his eyes slowly.
For a brief moment, disorientation washed over him. Then memory returned—the testing ground, the whispers, the ring, the old man's apparition.
His hand tightened unconsciously around the ring.
So it wasn't a dream, he thought.
A faint warmth answered his touch, steady and unmistakable.
Xiao Yan sat up, rubbing his face as if to clear lingering fatigue. He allowed his expression to remain troubled, brows drawn slightly together, lips pressed thin. Anyone watching would have seen a youth weighed down by confusion and anger.
Inside, his thoughts were already orderly.
He didn't leave.Good. That means he's invested.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood, rolling his shoulders slowly. His movements were deliberately normal—no sudden checks, no exaggerated caution. Panic would have made sense. Obsession would have been suspicious.
He chose restraint.
"Up already?" a calm voice asked.
The old man's figure materialized slowly above the ring, translucent and faint, as though the morning light itself threatened to dissolve him. His eyes were sharp, observant, watching Xiao Yan carefully.
Xiao Yan stiffened.
"You're still here," he said, voice low.
Yao Chen smiled faintly. "You sound disappointed."
Xiao Yan turned to face him fully, anger flashing across his features—this time sharper, less restrained than the night before.
"You said you'd teach me," Xiao Yan said. "But how do I know you're not just lying to keep feeding off me?"
The accusation came fast, rough around the edges.
Yao Chen studied him in silence.
This was better. This was what he expected—resentment, suspicion, fear disguised as bravado.
"Because," Yao Chen replied calmly, "if I wanted to continue draining you, I wouldn't need to show myself at all."
Xiao Yan clenched his fists.
"Then why now?"
"Because you noticed," Yao Chen said. "And because you're sharper than you look."
Xiao Yan let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Sharp?" he scoffed. "I've been a joke for three years."
The bitterness in his voice was genuine. He did not need to fake that part.
Yao Chen watched closely, noting the tension in the youth's shoulders, the way his gaze flickered—not wild, but searching. A boy who had suffered long enough to harden, but not enough to break.
Good material, Yao Chen thought. Still moldable.
"You want your talent back," Yao Chen said. "That much is obvious."
Xiao Yan hesitated, then nodded slowly.
"I want to cultivate," he said. "I want to stop watching everyone walk past me like I don't exist."
Inside, he added silently:
And I want you convinced that I need you more than you need me.
Yao Chen folded his arms.
"I can teach you a method," he said. "A far superior one to what your clan possesses. But it will be harsh. Painful. And dangerous."
Xiao Yan's jaw tightened.
"Will it work?"
Yao Chen smiled.
"If you survive."
Silence stretched between them.
Xiao Yan lowered his head.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
"…Then teach me."
Yao Chen nodded, satisfied.
Xiao Yan did not rush into cultivation.
Instead, he went about his morning routine as usual—washing, changing clothes, eating a simple meal brought by a clan servant. He greeted people politely, answered questions briefly, accepted sympathy without argument.
All the while, he felt Yao Chen's presence hovering just beyond his perception.
Watching.
Judging.
Good, Xiao Yan thought. Watch closely.
After breakfast, he returned to his room and closed the door.
Yao Chen appeared at once.
"Sit," he said.
Xiao Yan obeyed, lowering himself cross-legged onto the bed.
Yao Chen circled him slowly, eyes narrowed.
"Before I teach you anything," he said, "I need to see how you cultivate."
Xiao Yan nodded.
He closed his eyes and began circulating Dou Qi according to the Xiao Clan's basic method.
Slow.
Careful.
Inefficient.
The familiar stagnation surfaced almost immediately—Dou Qi gathering sluggishly, dispersing before it could condense properly. Xiao Yan frowned, breathing growing uneven, frustration seeping into his expression.
Yao Chen observed without interrupting.
After a short while, he raised a hand.
"Enough."
Xiao Yan opened his eyes, exhaling sharply.
"It's useless," he muttered. "No matter how carefully I do it."
Yao Chen nodded.
"Your foundation isn't damaged," he said. "Your problem is control. Or rather—interference."
He stepped closer.
"What you're practicing is crude," Yao Chen continued. "It forces Dou Qi along rigid paths. Fine for ordinary cultivators. Terrible for someone with your sensitivity."
Xiao Yan looked up.
"Sensitivity?"
Yao Chen smiled slightly. "You noticed me, didn't you?"
Xiao Yan hesitated, then nodded.
"Then listen carefully."
Yao Chen raised a finger, a thin wisp of soul power forming at its tip.
"I'll teach you a new method," he said. "But for now, you will cultivate exactly as I say. No adjustments. No cleverness."
Inside, Xiao Yan almost smiled.
He wants obedience. Control.I'll give him both—just not in the way he expects.
The first attempt was agony.
Yao Chen's method forced Xiao Yan to slow his breathing even further, to loosen his control rather than tighten it. Dou Qi resisted at once, surging erratically, scraping against his meridians like dull blades.
Xiao Yan gasped, body tensing.
"Don't fight it!" Yao Chen snapped. "Let it move!"
Xiao Yan grit his teeth, sweat beading at his temples.
Pain bloomed in his chest, sharp and insistent. His vision swam briefly, and he nearly lost control altogether.
This isn't acting, he thought grimly. He's not holding back.
Finally, the pressure eased.
A thin stream of Dou Qi settled into place, faint but stable.
Xiao Yan collapsed forward slightly, breathing hard.
Yao Chen nodded in approval.
"Again."
By the third cycle, Xiao Yan's body trembled.
By the fifth, his hands were clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms.
Yao Chen watched with increasing interest.
He endures better than expected.
On the seventh cycle, something shifted.
The Dou Qi did not disperse.
It condensed—just slightly—but enough.
Xiao Yan felt it.
His eyes flew open.
"I—I felt it," he said, disbelief breaking through his exhaustion.
Yao Chen allowed himself a thin smile.
"Of course you did."
Inside, Xiao Yan's thoughts were sharp and focused.
That was intentional.He's pushing me just far enough to inspire dependence.
He bowed his head deeply.
"Thank you," he said hoarsely.
Yao Chen waved it off, though satisfaction glimmered in his eyes.
"This is only the beginning," he said. "If you're serious, you'll stop thinking like a clan genius and start thinking like a survivor."
Xiao Yan nodded.
Oh, I already do, he thought.
Later that day, word spread quietly through the clan.
Xiao Yan had remained in his room all morning.
Some said he was sulking.
Others said he'd finally broken.
Xiao Zhan stood outside Xiao Yan's courtyard for a long moment before turning away, expression heavy.
None of them noticed the faint change.
That night, as Xiao Yan sat alone again, he opened his eyes and smiled softly to himself.
The warmth in the ring pulsed steadily.
The first step had been taken.
And everyone—especially the old man in the ring—believed it had been taken on their terms.