The chaos following the Star-Fall Ritual was a thick, suffocating blanket that draped over the Seven Silver Peaks. Elders barked orders while healers rushed toward the central altar. The "Golden Child," Lin Feng, had been carried away in a flurry of white silk and panicked shouts. No one cared about a single outer disciple standing at the edge of the destruction. No one noticed that the boy in the dusty grey robes looked remarkably refreshed.
Han Ming did not linger. He knew the rhythm of this sect. Soon, the investigation would begin. They would look for a cause, a scapegoat, or a reason why the heavens had turned their back on their favorite son. Being invisible was his greatest strength, and he intended to keep it that way for as long as possible.
He navigated the winding mountain paths with the muscle memory of a man who had walked them for decades. He bypassed the Main Hall and the Spirit Herb Gardens, heading instead toward the northern shadow of the Drifting Cloud Peak. There, nestled against a jagged cliff face, sat a structure that most disciples avoided like a plague.
The Pavilion of Forgotten Remains was its formal name. To the disciples, it was simply the Trash Pavilion.
It was a three-story pagoda that looked as though it were being held together by spite and thick layers of dust. This was where the sect deposited the "waste" of the immortal path. Broken spirit tools, depleted jade slips, rusted weapons from fallen enemies, and artifacts that no one could figure out how to use were all tossed here. It was a graveyard of ambition.
Han Ming stood before the heavy, rotted wooden doors. A faint, acrid smell of ozone and old parchment wafted from the cracks.
"Halt."
A voice like grinding stones echoed from the shadows of the porch. An old man sat in a rocking chair that groaned with every movement. His eyes were milky with cataracts, and his skin resembled yellowed vellum stretched tight over a skull. This was Elder Mo, a man whose cultivation had supposedly crippled centuries ago.
"The pavilion is closed to laborers," Elder Mo rasped without opening his eyes. "Go back to the kitchens, boy."
Han Ming bowed deeply, maintaining the humble posture of a lowly servant. "Elder, the Star-Fall Ritual has caused a great disturbance. The Hall Warden sent me to see if any stabilizing tools remain in the surplus. Everything is in disarray."
It was a blatant lie, but in the current confusion, it was plausible. Han Ming focused his mind, calling upon the Abyssal Balance Ledger. He looked at the old man.
[NAME: MO SHAN]
[STATUS: SEALED]
[DEBT: 12,000 KARMA UNITS]
[OFFENSE: HARBORING A TABOO TECHNIQUE, DECEIVING THE HEAVENS REGARDING DEATH.]
[NOTE: THE DEBT IS STAGNANT. THE INDIVIDUAL IS WAITING FOR A RECKONING.]
Han Ming's heart skipped a beat. Twelve thousand units was a significant sum for a simple gatekeeper. More importantly, the "Sealed" status suggested that Elder Mo was far more dangerous than he appeared.
Elder Mo opened one milky eye. He peered at Han Ming for a long moment. A flicker of something, curiosity or suspicion, passed through his gaze. "The Hall Warden, you say? That fat crow wouldn't know a stabilizing tool if it bit his nose. But I don't care. Go in. If you die because a cursed artifact eats your soul, don't scream too loudly. I'm trying to nap."
"Thank you, Elder." Han Ming pushed the doors open and stepped into the gloom.
The interior was a labyrinth of overflowing shelves and precariously stacked crates. Dust motes danced in the thin slivers of light that managed to pierce the grime on the windows. To any other cultivator, this was a pile of useless junk. The Qi signatures here were faint, erratic, and mostly broken.
Han Ming closed his eyes and let the Ledger expand.
Audit the room, he commanded. Search for negative debt. Search for assets with unclaimed history.
The world in his mind turned into a grayscale map. Thousands of red lines appeared, representing the small debts of broken items, swords that had failed their masters, or talismans that had misfired. He ignored them. He was looking for gold amidst the dross.
Then, he saw it.
In the farthest corner of the first floor, buried under a pile of moth-eaten banners, a single point of cold, blue light pulsed on his mental map.
[TARGET IDENTIFIED]
[ITEM: UNNAMED IRON SPIKE]
[CURRENT VALUE: 0 UNITS (MORTAL TRASH)]
[KARMIC HISTORY: UNCLAIMED]
[DEBT STATUS: -50,000 UNITS (SYSTEM ERROR / UNDERVALUED ASSET)]
Han Ming frowned. Negative debt was a rarity. It occurred when an item of immense importance or power was treated with such disrespect or neglect that the universe itself recognized the imbalance. The "System Error" meant the item's true identity was being suppressed by a powerful seal.
He walked over to the corner and began tossing aside the heavy, dusty banners. His hands hit something cold and rough. He pulled it out.
It was an iron spike, about the length of his forearm. It was pitted with rust, lopsided, and looked like something a common blacksmith would throw away after a failed project. There was no edge, no grip, and no visible runes.
This is it? Han Ming wondered.
He gripped the spike firmly. As his skin made contact, the Ledger surged.
[ASSET RECOGNIZED: THE NEEDLE OF THE FROZEN SEA]
[TRUE RANK: HEAVEN-GRADE SOUL-SUPPRESSOR]
[HISTORY: ONCE USED BY THE IMMORTAL EMPEROR OF THE NORTH TO PIN THE NINE DRAGONS OF CHAOS. LOST DURING THE GREAT CALAMITY. FOUND BY A SECT SCOUT WHO THOUGHT IT WAS A TENT STAKE.]
[RECLAMATION COST: 500 LIQUIDATED UNITS.]
Han Ming choked back a gasp. A Heaven-grade treasure was something the Cloud-Sea Sect didn't even possess in their main treasury. And here it was, being used to hold down a pile of garbage.
I don't have 500 units, Han Ming thought. I only have the five units I took from Wang Hu.
[NOTIFICATION: THE WITNESS MAY 'ADOPT' THE DEBT. BY TAKING THIS ITEM, YOU ACKNOWLEDGE THE DISRESPECT SHOWN TO IT. YOU MUST RESTORE ITS HONOR TO ERASE THE NEGATIVE BALANCE.]
"I accept," Han Ming whispered.
The moment he spoke the words, a cold chill raced up his arm. The rust on the spike didn't vanish, but it shifted, becoming a deep, matte black that seemed to drink the light. The weight of the item increased ten-fold, nearly snapping Han Ming's wrist before he circulated his new Level 3 Qi to stabilize himself.
"Found something, boy?"
Han Ming jumped. Elder Mo was standing only three paces away, moving with a silence that defied his decrepit appearance. He was looking at the iron spike in Han Ming's hand.
"Just a tool for the Warden, Elder," Han Ming said, his heart racing. He tried to slide the spike into his wide sleeve.
Elder Mo leaned forward, sniffing the air. "That thing has a foul smell. Like old blood and deep water. Why would you pick that piece of scrap?"
"I felt a... connection," Han Ming said, choosing a half-truth. "It felt sturdy."
Elder Mo let out a dry, hacking laugh. "Connection! Every brat who comes in here thinks they are the protagonist of an old legend. They think they'll find the legendary blade of a fallen god. But look around you. This is where dreams come to rot."
The old man stepped closer, his milky eyes focusing on Han Ming's face. "You're different from the others. You didn't walk in here looking for gold. You walked in here like a man looking for a weapon."
Han Ming didn't blink. He kept his gaze steady. "In a world like ours, Elder, everyone needs a weapon. Even the laborers."
Elder Mo stared at him for a long time. The pressure in the room began to rise. It wasn't the spiritual pressure of a Golden Core or a Nascent Soul; it was something heavier, more ancient. It felt like the weight of a mountain.
Then, the pressure vanished.
"Take it," Elder Mo said, turning away. "It's been sitting in that corner for two hundred years. If you can make it do anything other than give you tetanus, you're a better man than I am."
"Thank you, Elder." Han Ming bowed and hurried toward the exit.
"One more thing, boy," Elder Mo called out as Han Ming reached the door.
Han Ming paused.
"The Star-Fall Ritual didn't fail because of a calculation error," Elder Mo said, his voice low. "The heavens are angry. Someone has been taking too much without paying the price. If I were you, I would stay away from the 'Golden Child.' When the bill comes due for him, you don't want to be standing in the blast radius."
Han Ming felt a chill that had nothing to do with the iron spike. "I'll keep that in mind, Elder."
He stepped out of the pavilion and into the sunlight. He could feel the Needle of the Frozen Sea pulsing against his forearm. It was a heavy, cold weight, but for the first time, it felt like he had a tool that could actually pierce the "Luck" of people like Lin Feng.
But he wasn't done yet. A weapon without a technique was just a piece of metal.
He returned to the laborer's quarters, finding his small, private shack. He sat on the thin straw mat and pulled out the iron spike.
Ledger, he thought. I have the weapon. Now I need a way to use it. Are there any techniques in the 'Shop' I can afford with my five units?
The Ledger unfurled.
[SEARCHING RECOVERED ARCHIVES...]
[MATCH FOUND: THE SEVEN STRIKES OF THE PENAL CODE (FRAGMENTED).]
[DESCRIPTION: A FORGOTTEN MARTIAL ART USED BY THE ANCIENT JUSTICIARS TO PUNISH CORRUPT CULTIVATORS. IT DOES NOT ATTACK THE BODY; IT ATTACKS THE KARMIC TIES.]
[COST: 5 UNITS (SPECIAL INTRODUCTORY OFFER FOR THE WITNESS).]
Han Ming didn't hesitate. "Purchase."
A flood of information slammed into his brain. He saw images of a man standing before a vast army, holding nothing but a simple iron needle. With every strike, the man didn't draw blood. Instead, he severed the golden threads of fate connecting the soldiers to their power. One strike, and a general became a peasant. Two strikes, and a genius became a fool.
The first strike was called The Asset Freeze.
It was a technique designed to temporarily block a target from accessing their stored Qi if that Qi was gained through "illegitimate" means.
Han Ming smiled. It was perfect. Lin Feng's entire cultivation was built on the "stolen" energy of the Star-Fall Ritual and the parasitic help of his Ring Spirit. If Han Ming could land a single hit with the Needle, the "Golden Child" would be nothing more than a well-dressed mortal.
A sudden commotion outside interrupted his thoughts. Shouts of "Thief!" and "Search every room!" echoed through the laborer's quarters.
Han Ming tucked the spike into his belt and stood up. He walked to the door and peered out.
A group of Inner Disciples, led by the recovery-stricken Wang Hu, were kicking in doors. Wang Hu had a bandage wrapped around his wrist where Han Ming had touched him, and his face was twisted in a mask of pure rage.
"He's in there!" Wang Hu pointed a shaking finger at Han Ming's shack. "That's the one! He did something to me during the ritual! He stole my cultivation!"
The Inner Disciples, dressed in their haughty white silks, turned their eyes toward Han Ming. One of them, a tall youth with a hooked nose named Senior Brother Chen, stepped forward. He was at the peak of the Foundation Establishment stage, his aura radiating a cold, oppressive heat.
"Laborer Han Ming," Senior Brother Chen said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You are accused of using demonic arts to interfere with a sacred ritual and assaulting a fellow disciple. Submit to a soul-search, or be executed on the spot."
A soul-search would reveal the Ledger. It would reveal everything.
Han Ming reached for the iron spike hidden beneath his robes. His eyes turned toward Senior Brother Chen, and for a moment, the world shifted into the red and black of the Auditor's vision.
[NAME: CHEN GONG]
[DEBT: 1,500 UNITS]
[OFFENSE: MURDER OF THREE CONCUBINES, EMBEZZLEMENT OF SECT FUNDS.]
"Senior Brother Chen," Han Ming said, his voice calm and clear. "Before you search my soul, perhaps we should talk about the three women buried under your courtyard? I believe the heavens are quite interested in the interest you've accrued on those lives."
The color drained from Chen Gong's face. The other disciples froze.
Han Ming stepped out of the shack, the rusted iron spike held loosely in his hand. "The bill has arrived, Senior Brother. Would you like to pay now, or shall I collect it by force?"