Chen Hao draped his dark cloak over his shoulders and slipped silently out the side door of the house. The morning air still carried the scent of the previous night. A faint mist clung to the cobblestone streets, and the spindly pines lining the homes stood like silent sentinels beneath their silvery veil.
Green Sun City, though ranked low among the cities of the Azure Cloud Province, had preserved its unique identity. Nestled in the northern hills, among limestone knolls and narrow rivers, its area barely exceeded five square kilometers, and its population likely didn't even reach twenty thousand. Yet its cobbled streets, houses with curved, intricately-carved roofs, and colorful fans hanging from balconies preserved an authentic spirit. Though small, the city had silently held onto over a century of tradition.
At its heart—where three main roads converged—the city bustled with life. There, ancient temples stood beside small bazaars. The people, hardworking and steeped in trade, nature, and rituals, filled the city with quiet perseverance.
Three great clans served as the city's pillars of power: the Chen, the Li, and the Mu. But their long-standing balance had fractured. The young lady of the Li clan, Li Jin, had awakened the Earth Meridians, drawing the attention of the mighty Eternal Glory Kingdom. With her rise, her entire clan had gained prominence. The Mu clan, too, had silently aligned itself with the Lis.
Caught in this shift, the Chen family—once the undisputed rulers of Green Sun City—now stood on uncertain ground. The prolonged silence of Chen Yuntian, Chen Hao's father, still commanded respect like a sheathed sword, but it was no longer enough.
As Chen Hao walked toward the marketplace, these realities weighed on his mind. The city they once proudly ruled had become a playing field for others.
Time truly was ruthless.
At the convergence of the city's three main streets stood a striking three-story building with curved roofs and deep violet tiles: the Purple Moon Pavilion. At first glance, it could be mistaken for a royal residence, though no one knew its true owner. Only a persistent rumor floated around: it was one of hundreds of branches belonging to a vast and mysterious organization rooted deep in the Eternal Glory Kingdom.
Chen Hao paused not far from it, gazing at the structure. The stone columns made from black starstone, the silk-framed windows, and the gilded calligraphy tablets shimmering in the morning light all spoke of unimaginable wealth and power.
"It's not impossible," he thought, "that the assets of just this one branch exceed those of all three great families combined."
At that moment, a masked man passed by him without a word, ascending the stone steps and entering the pavilion. Though silent, his presence passed like a heavy shadow over Chen Hao.
"The Purple Moon Pavilion is filled with hidden experts. No wonder no one dares to offend them."
Taking a slow breath, Chen Hao ascended the steps as well. He was there to make a purchase—a list of rare ingredients found only in this place. And though his mind was crowded with questions, his duty came first.
His simple, unadorned attire easily distinguished him from the other customers. No family emblem, no jade on his belt, no fine silks. Just a young servant came to greet him, polite but lifeless.
"May I assist you, young master? What are you looking for?"
Chen Hao smiled and opened his mouth to reply, "I—" but a mocking, drawn-out voice from behind cut him off.
"Hah? Isn't that the fourth young master of the Chen family?" The voice dripped with sarcasm, like poison that even children could sense.
Several heads turned. Customers on the first floor, some browsing, others waiting, looked toward Chen Hao with open disdain.
"Isn't he the one who hasn't opened a single meridian?"
"Useless trash!"
"What's he doing here? Self-humiliation?"
Whispers crawled like termites through the air around him.
The servant stepped back slightly, a small frown forming. Bad luck. Why did he have to be the one serving the infamous failure? Surely he'd be mocked by his peers for this.
But Chen Hao remained calm. As though he had heard nothing. He simply turned toward the voice.
A boy with narrow eyes and medium height.
Mu Hai, the seventh young master of the Mu family. He himself had opened only three meridians—nothing special—but his older brother, Mu Han, was one of the city's top five talents, having opened seven meridians. Thanks to that, Mu Hai had become a local bully whom few dared confront.
Chen Hao met his gaze dispassionately, then turned back to the servant.
"I need a fifty-year-old ginseng root, a Starburn Grass, and a Sunflower Root."
The servant blinked. Stunned. These three ingredients cost more than two thousand silver coins combined.
Mu Hai laughed loudly.
"You? I heard the glorious young master of the Chen family can't even afford his next meal. Found a hidden treasure, have you?"
Chen Hao smiled indifferently.
"Indeed. I've found a treasure."
The reply, like a spark, ignited fresh waves of laughter. Yet he didn't blink once.
Grinning, Mu Hai pointed at him.
"Let's make a bet, Chen Hao! If you really can buy those three items, I'll kneel here, right now, and call you grandfather three times! But if you can't—you'll kneel and call me grandfather!"
The crowd stared at Chen Hao. But he didn't hesitate.
"Deal."
The servant, still uncertain, obeyed and left to retrieve the items. The room fell into silence. Moments later, he returned with a glass tray bearing the three precious ingredients—ginseng with golden roots, Starburn Grass shimmering with blue streaks, and the thick, flame-tinted Sunflower Root.
"Fifty-year-old ginseng: 1000 silver coins. Starburn Grass: 400. Sunflower Root: 650. That's a total of 2050 silver."
Mu Hai's smug grin was blooming. Even the other servants and customers were preparing to enjoy the show. But Chen Hao calmly pulled a leather pouch from his sleeve. He poured the coins onto the table.
"...Twenty-six, twenty-seven... exactly two thousand and fifty. And ten silver coins for you."
The servant froze. Hands trembling.
"Ten silver?!" That was more than twice his monthly salary. A fortune. Others looked on in envy—and regret for not stepping forward earlier.
The air shifted—from disdain to awe, from doubt to respect.
If you lack strength, then have wealth!
Chen Hao turned to Mu Hai.
"You lost. I'm waiting. Three kneels."
Mu Hai, pale, forced a cold smile.
"True... but the Pavilion has strict rules. I won't break them. Let's go outside and settle this."
The crowd understood. Purple Moon Pavilion did not tolerate chaos. But Mu Hai's smile dripped with revenge. He clearly planned to both humiliate and rob Chen Hao outside.
Chen Hao placed the items in his pouch and exited. His face showed no anger, no fear. Only silence. That silence drew even more onlookers outside.
A circle formed quickly before the pavilion. Mu Hai stood inside it, a cold smile hiding bruised pride. Chen Hao faced him—calm, indifferent, as if this duel was just a stroll in the garden.
That unnerved Mu Hai more than anything.
He couldn't meet Chen Hao's eyes—so steady, so unshaken, so empty of concern.
Mu Hai laughed, to himself more than to anyone else.
"Well then, time to crush your last shred of dignity."
He reached into his sleeve and drew a pale gray sword, marked with silver veins.
Cloud Ash Sword—a low-grade Yellow-rank weapon.
Whispers rose:
"That's the Cloud Ash Sword!"
"Worth over five thousand silver!"
"That's one of the Mu family's heirlooms!"
Mu Hai raised it proudly. His father had lent it to him for occasions like this—one show of its shine could shift public perception. Respect. Envy.
"One more bet, Chen Hao. If I lose, the sword is yours. If you lose, I take the three ingredients."
Despite it not being his to give, Mu Hai never imagined losing.
The crowd buzzed again. Chen Hao simply nodded.
"Alright."
No excitement. No dread. Just acceptance.
Then, the fight began.
Mu Hai lunged forward with a yell, swinging his sword toward Chen Hao's shoulder. It was fast—but crude.
What happened next wasn't a technique. It was a moment.
Chen Hao stepped forward, raised his right hand, and punched.
Simple. Like a greeting.
The sound of bone breaking echoed.
The Cloud Ash Sword fell. Mu Hai crumpled to the ground, unconscious, his arm broken.
A deathly silence seized the crowd. No one could believe what they had seen.
Chen Hao picked up the sword, sheathed it, and walked through the stunned crowd. No one dared stop him.
"Didn't they say he hasn't opened a single meridian?"
"What was that strike?"
"Could he have awakened his meridian in secret?"
No answers. Only whispers.
And high above, in the third floor of the Purple Moon Pavilion, behind a half-open window, a figure stood hidden in shadow. Their face unseen, but their voice chimed like a celestial bell:
"Interesting..."
…
At that very moment—while the Cloud Ash Sword was being picked up—in a place far from the city's noise, a heavy silence cloaked the Graveyard of Bones. A place abandoned by life, where only whispers of death remained.
Qiantai Wuji sat cross-legged atop a mound of worn, brittle bones. Motionless. Something within him stirred.
His Mother Dantian—that mysterious presence he could never fully understand—had reacted to the death qi since the moment they entered this realm. As though awakening from slumber, it consumed the death qi with a quiet but ravenous hunger. Qiantai Wuji didn't know why, nor what it meant—but for once, he didn't ask. He only breathed deeper, letting the Mother Dantian choose the path.
An hour passed. The black smoke-like death qi slowly flowed into his body, bringing a chilling, heavy sensation to his veins. Then, the flow halted. The Mother Dantian calmed, as though sated or finished.
Qiantai Wuji opened his eyes. He didn't understand what had happened. But he accepted it. Acceptance was always part of the path.
He rose from the bone pile and wandered again through the cold, suffocating air. The wind's shriek through the skeletal remains sounded like the dead whispering their untold tales.
Then he saw it in the distance—something intact amidst the sea of bones.
A pagoda.
More accurately, a temple—still standing. Red in color.
Its crimson surface stood out like a wound in the darkness.
He stopped. A red pagoda. Motionless. Silent. Alone.
Why did such a structure remain untouched in this dead land?
A question with no answer. Not yet…