The Lin Clan's ancestral hall was vast and cold, its marble floors polished to a mirror sheen. Golden lanterns burned along the walls, casting shadows that danced like mocking spirits. At the center stood a long table where elders sat in rows, their expressions carved in stone.
Before them knelt a thin boy in patched clothes, head lowered. Lin Xun, son of a side branch, born to a mother the clan scorned and a father who had long looked away.
"Useless child," spat Lin Chen, the elder son of the Second Wife. He stood proudly among the gathered youths, jade robes embroidered with the Lin insignia. Lin Yue, his younger sister, giggled beside him, her laughter sharp as needles. "At ten years old, you still can't sense a wisp of qi. What right do you have to call yourself a Lin?"
Murmurs of agreement rolled through the elders.
"His mother is Su Mei—low-born and weak," one elder whispered. "He clings to her skirts like a beggar child. No wonder Heaven denies him."
Another snorted. "The clan has no need for dead branches. If he cannot cultivate, let him serve as a menial until he rots."
Each word pierced Lin Xun's chest. His fists trembled, but he did not raise his head. He had grown used to humiliation. Yet when he thought of Su Mei, who had starved to feed him, and of his little sister Lin Yan, whose bright eyes still trusted him completely—the shame burned deeper than anger.
He wanted to shout that he would prove them wrong. But his meridians were empty. No matter how hard he tried, not a thread of qi had ever stirred within him.
At last, the presiding elder raised a hand. "Enough. Take him away. We waste breath on trash."
Laughter followed him as he stumbled out, vision blurred.
—
That night, Lin Xun packed quietly. In their tiny courtyard, a single candle glowed through the paper window of his mother's room. He stood outside the door for a long time, his heart twisting.
"Mother… Yan'er…" he whispered.
If he stayed, Zhao Lian—his father's second wife—would keep using him to hurt Su Mei. Lin Chen and Lin Yue already treated them like slaves. If he left, at least their burden might ease. And if he could somehow cultivate… if he could grow strong… he could come back for them.
He clenched his jaw and turned away. He carried nothing but a stubborn determination as he slipped into the night.
He would join a sect. He would cultivate. He would grow strong enough to protect them, even if it killed him.
—
By dawn, crowds swelled outside the mountain gates of the Azure Cloud Sect. It was recruitment day—when hopeful youths offered their fates to a glowing crystal and an elder's nod.
Lin Xun joined the winding line, surrounded by sons and daughters of small nobles, merchants with purchased talismans, and village boys with callused hands. He kept his head low, painfully aware of his plain clothes and gaunt frame. Still, in his eyes—banked beneath humiliation—burned a coal of resolve.
"Next!"
Candidates stepped forward to place their palms upon a crystalline sphere the height of a barrel. Those with talent lit the orb with vibrant colors and earned approving nods. Those without… were dismissed. Some wept. Some snarled. Most left in silence.
"Next!"
At last, Lin Xun's turn came. He stepped forward, ignoring the whispers.
"Isn't that the useless branch son from the Lin Clan?"
"He dares to come here?"
"Hah—he'll shame himself and shuffle home."
Lin Xun set his palm to the crystal.
For a long moment, nothing happened. The sphere remained dull.
Snickers rose around him like flies. Somewhere behind, someone muttered, "Knew it."
Then—faintly, ever so faintly—a flicker stirred within the crystal. Not bright. Not pure. But there.
Lin Xun's breath hitched. Hope—thin as a spider's thread—stretched between his heart and the light.
"Hah," a mocking voice cut through, smooth and contemptuous. "Even gutter-candles can flicker. They still die at dawn."
A youth stepped from the watching circle—tall, broad-shouldered, aura steady. The insignia at his chest was a stylized blue peak under a crescent: Lan Clan. His name rippled through the crowd like a dropped stone: Lan Qingshan.
He looked down at Lin Xun as one might consider an insect struggling in dust.
"You disgrace leave the path," Lan Qingshan said, voice mild and cutting. "Better to snuff you out than waste the sect's time."
An Azure Cloud elder turned, frowning. "Boy, step—"
Lan Qingshan moved first, palm lancing out with a sheath of qi. The strike crashed into Lin Xun's chest like a falling cliff.
Bone cracked. Breath vanished. Sound warped into a high ringing as Lin Xun flew backward and slammed into packed earth. The crystal's dim flicker blinked out.
A hush fell. Then the crowd exhaled all at once—some gasping, some laughing, many looking away. To offend the Lan Clan was to court ruin; no one stepped forward.
Lin Xun lay curled, mouth opening and closing for air that would not come. Blood slicked his lips. The sky above him was a white glare.
"Mother…" he rasped. "Yan'er…"
He thought of Su Mei's thin hands, raw from work. He thought of Lin Yan clutching his sleeve, asking, "Gege, will we be happy one day?" He had promised. He had believed the promise even when he knew it was a lie.
He tried to rise. His arms shook and failed.
Lan Qingshan's shadow fell over him. "Trash," he said softly, almost bored. "A kindness to end it here."
He raised his foot.
Something in Lin Xun broke—perhaps a bone, perhaps a last illusion.
The heel descended.
Pain exploded. The world shattered into black.
Silence.
—
The line of candidates inched forward again, as if nothing had happened. The Azure Cloud elder's frown deepened, but his gaze slid away, shackled by clan politics. A pair of attendants dragged the limp boy to the side of the road.
No one noticed the thin silver thread that trembled in the morning air, visible only for a heartbeat. It quivered above Lin Xun's still chest—like a plucked string reaching from distant heavens to a broken body—then vanished.
The crowd surged. The sphere glowed for another child. Laughter, cheers, and footsteps rolled on, swallowing the place where a promise had just died.
Lin Xun did not move.
Far away, beyond cloud and sky, something old and vast stirred.