When Lin was sixteen, his mother began to cough blood.
At first, she tried to hide it.
She turned away when it happened, pressing a cloth to her lips, forcing a smile when Lin looked at her too long. She said it was nothing... just the cold air, just fatigue, just age catching up faster than it should.
Lin wanted to believe her.
But he had lived long enough without illusions to know better.
Illness in this world was not kind to the poor.
Medicine was expensive. Healers were rarer still. Even the lowest-grade pills cost more silver than Lin could earn in months of backbreaking labor. Had they remained in the clan, this sickness would have been trivial. It would have an inconvenience cured with a single glance from a junior alchemist.
Had he been marked, he could have cultivated, strengthened his body, drawn qi into her meridians, extended her life.
Had.
If.
Words that mocked him every night.
Lin worked harder than ever. He took every job offered; hauling stone at dawn, cleaning cesspits at noon, guarding warehouses at night. His hands cracked and bled. His muscles burned constantly. Sometimes he collapsed onto his bed too exhausted to dream.
And still, it was not enough.
His mother grew thinner. Her breath grew shallow. The cough worsened.
One evening, Lin returned home with a small pouch of herbs he had begged a traveling apothecary for. They were half-wilted and barely effective, but all he could afford.
He found her sitting upright, staring at the door as if she had been waiting.
"You're late," she said gently.
"I'm sorry," Lin replied, rushing to her side. "The work—"
She shook her head. "Sit."
He obeyed immediately.
Her hand was cold in his.
"Lin," she said softly, "have you… heard back from the capital?"
His chest tightened.
"…No."
She smiled anyway.
"That's all right," she said. "You've tried."
Lin clenched his fist. "I'll submit another application. There's another marking ceremony in the winter. I heard—"
"Lin."
Her voice was firm now.
He stopped.
She looked at him for a long moment, memorizing his face... the lines of fatigue too deep for someone so young, the quiet restraint that had replaced childhood softness.
"You must live," she stated.
His breath hitched.
"I will," he said quickly. "I'll work harder. I'll find medicine. I—"
She squeezed his hand, weak but insistent.
"No," she said. "You must live well."
That night, she died.
Quietly, she had breathed her last without any dramatics.
Lin sat beside her until dawn, unmoving.
When the sun rose, the world continued.
People passed outside. Merchants shouted. Life went on, uncaring.
Lin buried her himself on a small hill overlooking the town, using borrowed tools and shaking hands. He carved her name into a simple wooden marker and bowed until his forehead touched the dirt.
If they had been in the clan, she would still be alive.
If he had been marked, she would still be alive.
The thought hollowed him out.
After that, something in Lin broke.
Life became heavier and colorless.
He ate because his body demanded it. He slept because exhaustion forced him to. He worked because there was nothing else to do.
He submitted applications obsessively.
Every ceremony. Every envoy. Every possible channel.
Rejected.
Ignored.
Returned unopened.
At seventeen, Lin knew what people whispered about boys like him.
Too old.
Wasted potential.
Unlucky.
Some said the Emperor could sense unworthiness. Others claimed fate itself rejected certain souls.
Lin stopped listening.
Hope had become a liability.
He took an errand job one morning delivering a bundle of sealed scrolls to the next town. The pay was modest but immediate, which mattered more than anything else now.
The scrolls were important. He could tell by the seals and the way the merchant emphasized discretion.
"Don't open them," the man warned. "Don't damage them. Deliver them before nightfall."
Lin nodded.
He always did.
The road to the next town cut through a mountain range known for its harsh terrain and thin qi. Few cultivators passed through it unless they had a reason. Ordinary people avoided it whenever possible.
Lin had no such luxury.
He walked steadily with the bundle secured to his back and eyes locked onto the winding path ahead.
The mountains rocky peak, stabbed against the sky.
Halfway through the pass, the air changed.
Suffocating and intense pressure pressed down on his chest.
Lin froze.
He had felt qi before. Everyone had, faintly.
This was different.
This was overwhelming.
A thunderous boom shook the earth.
Lin stumbled, barely keeping his footing as a shockwave tore through the pass. Rocks tumbled down the slopes. Birds screamed and fled.
Up ahead—
Two figures hovered in the air.
They were cultivators.
Powerful ones.
Their auras clashed like colliding storms, distorting the world around them. One wielded a blade that radiated blinding light. The other stood barehanded, cracking the air with each movement.
They were fighting and Lin was directly in their path.
Fear seized him instantly.
He turned and ran.
But his legs were weak. His body was untrained. He had never cultivated.
Another explosion rang out.
Boom~
The ground split open.
The earth beneath Lin's feet gave way, collapsing into a yawning chasm as wide as a city street. He screamed with his arms flailing as stones and debris dragged him down.
The last thing he saw was the sky shrinking rapidly above him, framed by collapsing rock and dust.
Then darkness swallowed him whole as Lin fell.