Rowan Miles had no idea that Zara Quinn had returned just after he left.
"Hope Zara makes it into a cultivation sect at this summit," Rowan thought as he wandered the streets, his mood somber.
His feelings for Zara were special—beyond childhood friends, something deeper lingered, hazy and unspoken.
Neither could name it, but it haunted their hearts.
Despite Jordan Quinn's efforts to sever their ties over the years, forbidding meetings, and Zara's genius drawing countless suitors, they'd stolen moments in secret.
It was that unspoken bond that drove Zara to seek a sect and an immortal pill to fix Rowan's body, letting him cultivate.
But they'd missed each other this time, and Zara didn't know Rowan was no longer a waste.
Every involuntary detour past Quinn Manor left Rowan downcast. Today was no different; his spirits sank, and he lost interest in strolling, heading back to the Miles compound listlessly.
Smack!
A heavy hand clapped his shoulder.
Rowan jolted, muscles tensing for a counterstrike—until a familiar voice stopped him.
"Look at you, moping like a lost soul. Passed by Quinn Manor again, huh?" The voice came with a grin as a youth appeared before him.
Rowan felt a pang of shame. Lost in thought, he'd been careless. If it were an enemy, he'd be dead.
Glaring at the boy, Rowan grumbled, "Lee Vance, you bastard, ever hear of scaring someone to death?"
Lee Vance, Rowan's only true friend and confidant, shared a bond forged in hardship.
Lee grinned. "Your face says it all—bad mood. How about a drink to shake it off?"
He nodded toward the "Fortune Inn" behind them.
The Fortune Inn, a solid establishment in Brightvale, wasn't the grandest but well-appointed, always bustling.
"Afraid you'll go broke? Though with your dad footing the bill, maybe not," Rowan quipped as they entered.
"Heh, Rowan, good to see you. Drink as much as you like—my treat. Don't make me sound like a cheapskate," a middle-aged man in the hall laughed, bearing a resemblance to Lee.
The man was Lee Grant, Lee's father and the inn's owner. Lee, naturally, was the young master.
"Uncle Lee's no cheapskate. I just don't want to hurt your business," Rowan smiled back.
"No harm done. Come anytime—even daily. That much, I can guarantee," Lee Grant chuckled.
Rowan opened his mouth to reply, but Lee cut in: "Enough chit-chat, Dad. Rowan and I are heading up. We'll help later."
Lee dragged Rowan upstairs before he could protest, claiming a private room. As the inn's heir, treating his friend was no issue.
Rowan didn't mind—he was used to it.
"Rowan, why stick with that damn Miles family? You're a branch scion, yet slinging manure like a servant—worse than the lowliest!" Lee launched into his tirade the moment they sat.
"Look, you're my brother. Dad likes you too. Help at the inn—with your smarts, you'd rise fast. But you muck stalls, taking beatings daily. You got a masochist streak or what?"
Rowan hadn't even warmed the seat before Lee's barrage.
He smiled, letting Lee vent. He knew interrupting would only prolong it.
Lee had one point: leave the Miles, join the Fortune Inn!
It wasn't pity—Rowan earned it. Though unable to cultivate, he was sharp as a tack.
Yet Rowan had always refused. As Lee said, life here would be a thousand times better than the Miles.
Why? Pride.
A waste, scorned by all—self-pity could've broken him.
But Rowan endured, clinging to the Miles for a chance to rise and crush his tormentors.
Before, that dream was futile. Now, with the Chaotic Heavenly Body Record, he was no waste. Soon, he'd grind the Miles "geniuses" underfoot.
And since Liam's kick, Rowan knew he no longer belonged to this world. His path led to immortality.
Rowan paused, organizing his thoughts to tell Lee he was no longer a waste—
Bang!
The door flew open. A figure burst in—the inn's waiter, by his uniform.
Lee frowned, about to snap, when the waiter blurted in panic, "Bad news! The boss is beaten downstairs!"
"What?"
Lee shot up, bolting out without a word.
Rowan's face darkened. He grabbed the waiter's collar, voice low: "What happened?"
"The Vance family—they're causing trouble again. Boss just spoke, and they attacked him."
"Vance family!"
A cold light flashed in Rowan's eyes. He released the waiter and stormed downstairs.
The Vance family owned the "Guest Like Clouds Inn," a rival next door.
Poor management kept their business lagging behind Fortune Inn. The Vances, a martial house, coveted the location and sought to buy them out cheap.
Lee Grant refused—fair or not.
Over the years, tensions simmered: sabotage, brawls. The Vances kept it subtle—until today, striking Lee Grant.
They'd grown impatient.
Rowan descended with a stormy expression, killing intent brewing.
In this world, only his late parents and Zara treated him kindly. The Lees had too. As a waste, he'd watch helplessly.
Now, Rowan wouldn't stand by while they suffered.
Bang!
As he reached the first floor, a shadow flew toward him, crashing at his feet.
It was Lee Vance—lip split, face bruised, fresh from a beating.
"You're dead!"
Rowan's rage ignited. He helped Lee up, but Lee shoved him aside, growling, "Rowan, go home! Stay out of this!"
Lee glared at the doorway. Rowan glanced over: Lee Grant sat bruised on the floor, injured.
The inn's staff lay scattered, the hall a wreck of overturned tables.
"Vance Sea! You scum, I'll kill you!" Lee roared, eyes red, lunging—only for Rowan to hold him back.
"Toss these fools out—careful not to break anything. It's Vance property now," Vance Sea sneered from the door.
"Beasts!" Lee Grant trembled with fury, eyes blazing. But they were ordinary folk—how could they rival a martial house?
"Rowan, let go! Get home—this isn't your fight!" Lee urged.
"Why? You and Uncle Lee have been good to me all these years. If I walk away, am I even human? This matter, I'm settling!"