The first thing the boy noticed was the silence.
Not the suffocating silence of the assassination camp—where quiet meant someone was about to die—but a gentle, lived-in stillness. The kind that existed when danger wasn't lurking behind every breath.
It unsettled him far more than screams ever had.
He sat up abruptly, senses spreading out by instinct. The room was spacious but simple—wooden floors, pale walls, a low table near the window, and a small bookshelf lined with neatly arranged volumes. No obvious weapons. No traps. No visible surveillance.
That didn't mean they weren't there.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
His shoulders tensed.
"It's open," Lu Shen said from outside.
The door slid open smoothly. Lu Shen stepped in first, composed as ever. Behind him stood a woman with gentle features and calm eyes that carried a quiet strength.
She paused when she saw the boy sitting upright, then smiled in relief.
"You're awake," she said. "That's good."
The boy's gaze flicked to her hands. Smooth. No calluses. No concealed blades. No killing intent.
Not a fighter.
"This is my wife," Lu Shen said. "Yan Mei."
Yan Mei set a tray down on the table. A bowl of porridge sat at its centre, steam rising softly.
"You haven't eaten properly in days," she said. "Try some."
The boy didn't move.
Food had rules.
Poison tests. Observation. Timing.
Yan Mei seemed to understand. Without saying a word, she picked up the spoon, took a slow bite, then placed it back in the bowl and stepped aside.
"It's safe," she said gently.
The boy waited. Thirty heartbeats. Sixty.
Then he ate.
The porridge was warm. Simple. Filling.
His body reacted immediately, warmth spreading through limbs that had known nothing but exhaustion and strain. He ate slowly, carefully, never letting his guard down.
Lu Shen watched quietly.
When the bowl was empty, Lu Shen spoke.
"You don't have a name."
It wasn't a question.
The boy shook his head. Names in the camp were numbers. Temporary things. Easily erased.
"Then we'll give you one," Yan Mei said softly. "If you're willing."
The boy looked up.
"A name is an anchor," Lu Shen continued. "It ties you to this world. Carries expectations. Responsibility."
He leaned forward slightly. "If you accept being my son, you accept that weight."
Silence stretched.
The boy understood weight. Burdens were familiar. What wasn't familiar was choosing one.
"What name?" he asked.
Lu Shen glanced at Yan Mei, then back at him.
"Lu Yuan," he said. "Yuan—origin. A beginning."
The boy repeated it silently.
Lu Yuan.
A name tied to power. To protection. To attention.
A name worth killing for.
"I'll take it," he said. "But I won't forget who I was."
Lu Shen nodded. "You shouldn't."
Life with the Lu family did not soften him.
If anything, it sharpened him in unfamiliar ways.
The estate was vast, hidden behind layers of security and natural formations. Guards patrolled quietly, all of them practitioners. Their gazes followed Lu Yuan wherever he went—not with suspicion, but vigilance.
He noticed everything.
Escape routes. Blind spots. Patrol rhythms.
Old habits refused to die.
Days turned into weeks. His injuries healed at an unnatural rate, far faster than normal. The household doctors were baffled.
Lu Shen only observed.
It was during one quiet morning, while practising controlled breathing in an empty training room, that something changed.
Lu Yuan sat cross-legged, guiding the dark qi within him as he always did—compressing it, restraining it, refusing to let it run wild.
This time, it responded.
The dark qi condensed sharply.
Pain exploded through his abdomen.
Lu Yuan's breath hitched as a dense pressure formed in his Dantian, heavy and suffocating. Sweat drenched his back as something settled into place.
A core.
Crude. Unstable. Incomplete.
But real.
His dark qi had formed a Dark Core.
Lu Yuan clenched his fists, teeth grinding as he forced the energy into stillness. The sensation faded, leaving him trembling.
He didn't smile.
Power had never come without consequences.
Lu Shen was waiting when he exited the training room.
"You felt it," Lu Shen said calmly.
"I formed something," Lu Yuan replied.
Lu Shen nodded. "Something dangerous."
He turned. "Come. It's time you met someone."
They descended deep beneath the estate, passing through sealed corridors and ancient doors etched with worn symbols. The air grew cooler, heavier.
They stopped before a circular chamber.
Inside, an old man sat cross-legged at the centre, eyes closed, softly humming to himself.
Lu Yuan hesitated.
Is he… asleep?
"Master Qin," Lu Shen said respectfully. "He's here."
The old man didn't respond.
Five seconds passed.
Ten.
Just as Lu Yuan began wondering if the man was actually dead, one eye cracked open.
"Oh?" the old man said lazily. "Already? I thought the kid would faint halfway."
Lu Yuan blinked.
Master Qin stood up in one smooth motion, stretching loudly. "Ah, my back. Getting old is truly tragic."
Then his gaze snapped to Lu Yuan.
The pressure hit instantly.
Lu Yuan felt as if every secret inside him had been laid bare.
"Oho," Master Qin said cheerfully. "Now that is interesting."
He leaned in far too close, squinting. "Kid, do you know you're about three bad decisions away from exploding?"
Lu Yuan frowned. "No."
"Good," Master Qin laughed. "That would've been concerning."
He began circling Lu Yuan. "Most children your age struggle just to sense qi. Some can't even sit still without toppling over."
He stopped abruptly.
"And here you are," he continued, tapping Lu Yuan lightly on the forehead, "casually compressing dark qi dense enough to scare instructors."
"It was damaging my body," Lu Yuan said.
"Exactly!" Master Qin clapped. "Practical. I like practical."
Lu Shen sighed quietly.
Master Qin waved him off. "Yes, yes, serious matters."
His tone softened slightly.
"Dark qi isn't rare, kid. But it is troublesome. One day, when you try to strengthen it further, it'll fight back."
Lu Yuan met his gaze calmly. "Then I'll fight back harder."
Master Qin froze.
Then burst into laughter.
"Hahaha! Oh, I like this one."
He wiped his eyes. "Lu Shen, where did you find such a dangerous child?"
From his sleeve, he produced a scroll and tossed it toward Lu Yuan.
"Yin–Yang Balancing Art," he said casually. "Grow a light qi. Keep your dark qi company. Balance things out."
"And the risk?" Lu Yuan asked.
"Oh, you'll nearly die," Master Qin said cheerfully. "Several times, if you're unlucky."
Lu Yuan nodded. "That's acceptable."
Master Qin stared at him, then grinned widely.
"Good," he said. "Let's see if darkness can learn some manners."
Deep within Lu Yuan's Dantian, the dark core pulsed—utterly unaware that it was about to gain a very troublesome neighbour.