The Mo Clan's ancestral hall stood in hushed reverence, the only sound the soft hiss of incense smoke. Oil lamps flickered, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls and the rows of nervous youths. Each fifteen-year-old carried the weight of the day's ritual.
The Awakening Ceremony: the keystone of their future.
At the hall's heart was the Spirit Tablet, archaic runes etched across its surface, pulsing with a faint, heart-like rhythm. A single touch would reveal a child's two truths: their Affinity Grade and their Chi Seed, the chains that would bind their cultivation and define their potential.
Elders sat in solemn silence, their eyes sharp and discerning. Parents whispered hopes, their hands concealing their mouths. Some children trembled, others feigned calm.
Among them was Mo Han.
Tall, with black hair cascading down his shoulders, his expression was a mask of stillness. To onlookers, he was just another forgettable orphan.
But within him lay a silence that dwarfed the hall itself.
Seven hundred years…
He had once been Zhuo Fang, cursed with a C Affinity and the Decay Seed. Fate dictated he would halt at Tier Four, his body consumed by his own Chi.
But fate was a cage.
Through blood and treachery, Zhuo Fang had ascended to Tier Six Immortal, defying the heavens. Seven centuries he had clawed from the world, earning the name Heavenly Decay.
And then, he died.
Reborn as Mo Han, he stood at the beginning once more.
Immortality is fleeting. This body is mortal, weak. Time races. I must rise before age claims me. This life is not a blessing, but a race against heaven.
The first child stepped forward.
"Mo Liang."
His palm met the Spirit Tablet. A vibrant green light erupted.
"B Affinity. Wood Seed," the elder declared.
The hall buzzed with approval. A B Affinity promised Tier Five, perhaps higher. The boy's future shone bright.
"Mo Xiu."
A golden flare. "B Affinity. Metal Seed."
More cheers.
"Mo Mei."
A pale blue ripple. "D Affinity. Water Seed." Silence fell. D Affinity meant mediocrity, capped at Tier Three. The girl fought back tears.
One by one, destinies were revealed, each carrying its weight.
Finally, Mo Han's turn.
"Mo Han," the elder announced.
Whispers rippled.
"The orphan."
"No talent."
"Forgotten bloodline. D is his peak."
Mo Han ignored them, approaching the Spirit Tablet with steady steps. He pressed his palm to its cold surface.
Silence. Then, a faint, earthy brown pulse.
The elder squinted, his voice flat: "C Affinity. Shadow Seed."
The hall stilled.
Shadow.
Rare, yet unvalued.
"Shadow?" someone muttered. "That useless path?"
"No Shadow cultivator has reached Tier Two."
"A waste."
"Earth or Fire would have been better."
Laughter rippled through the crowd, sealing Mo Han's fate: a mediocre Affinity and a useless Seed.
Mo Han withdrew his hand, turning away without a word. His face remained calm, unreadable.
But within him, silence hardened into steel.
Shadow. Rare, useless. They will dismiss me. Forget me. Perfect.
He sat, eyes half-closed.
I turned a cursed Decay Seed into immortality. With seven centuries of knowledge, can they think I cannot do the same with Shadow? Fate is a joke. Affinity, talent—shackles for the weak. To me, they are nothing.
The clan's murmurs faded.
Immortality. Again.
The Spirit Tablet pulsed behind him, as if the shadows themselves leaned closer.