The announcement came without warning.
Jin was tending to his spirit rice, now two weeks from its second harvest, when the bells began to ring. Not the familiar tones that marked the daily schedule—these were deeper, more resonant, the kind of sound that demanded attention and obedience.
All across the agricultural terrace, disciples stopped their work and looked up.
"Assembly bells," Old Shen said, his weathered face unusually grim. "Everyone to the central pavilion. Now."
Jin set down his tools and joined the stream of disciples flowing toward the terrace's main gathering area. The central pavilion was a large stone platform topped by a peaked roof of dark wood, used for official announcements and seasonal ceremonies. Jin had been there only twice before—once for his initial orientation and once for the harvest evaluation.
By the time he arrived, hundreds of agricultural disciples had already gathered, arranged in rough rows according to their terrace assignments. Jin found his place near Lin Mei and Old Shen, with Fan's nervous form visible a few rows ahead. Even Zhou Tianyu was present, his handsome features tight with apprehension.
The pavilion's elevated stage was empty, but not for long.
A procession emerged from the path leading to the inner sect. First came a dozen guards in purple-black robes, their faces hidden behind lacquered masks, their movements synchronized with military precision. They fanned out across the stage, forming an honor guard that radiated quiet menace.
Then came the elders.
Jin had rarely seen inner sect elders up close. They were figures of distant authority, glimpsed occasionally when important business brought them to the agricultural sections. But now three of them stood on the stage, their presence weighing on the gathered disciples like a physical force.
Two of the elders were familiar—elderly cultivators whose names Jin didn't know but whose faces he'd seen at previous gatherings. They stood slightly back, their expressions carefully neutral.
The third elder was new.
He was younger than the others—perhaps fifty years of apparent age, though cultivators were notoriously difficult to judge. His face was sharp-featured, with high cheekbones, a thin nose, and lips that seemed naturally inclined toward a sneer. His eyes were the color of tarnished bronze, cold and calculating, sweeping over the assembled disciples with the assessing gaze of a merchant evaluating livestock. His robes were the deep purple of the Dark Rose Sect, but cut more elaborately than standard, with golden thread at the cuffs and collar that indicated significant rank.
But what drew Jin's attention most was the man's cultivation aura.
Even at level three Qi Gathering—a breakthrough Jin had achieved just the previous night, pushing his efficiency to 85%—he could barely perceive the upper limits of powerful cultivators. This elder's aura was vast, dense, suffocating. It pressed against Jin's senses like the weight of deep water, making each breath slightly more difficult than the last.
Foundation Establishment at minimum. Perhaps even Core Formation.
"Disciples of the agricultural division," the new elder said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the silent crowd. "I am Elder Feng Baozhai. As of this morning, I have assumed leadership of all agricultural operations within the Dark Rose Sect."
A murmur rippled through the gathered disciples. Leadership changes at the elder level were significant events, usually preceded by weeks of rumor and speculation. This announcement had come from nowhere.
"The previous administration," Elder Feng continued, his lip curling slightly on the word, "has been found lacking. Inefficiencies have accumulated. Standards have slipped. The agricultural division's output has failed to meet the sect's requirements for three consecutive seasons."
Jin exchanged a confused glance with Lin Mei. Failed to meet requirements? The harvests he'd witnessed had seemed acceptable, even good by the standards Old Shen had described.
"This will change." Elder Feng's bronze eyes swept the crowd again, and Jin could swear they lingered on him for a fraction of a second. "I have implemented new policies that will maximize productivity and eliminate waste. You will work harder. You will produce more. And those who fail to meet the new standards will be… reassigned."
The way he said "reassigned" made the word sound like a death sentence.
"To ensure proper oversight, I have appointed new supervisors for each terrace." Elder Feng gestured, and a line of figures emerged from behind the guards. "These overseers will report directly to me. Their authority is absolute within their assigned territories. You will obey them without question."
Jin's heart sank as he recognized what was happening. The old supervisory structure—imperfect but at least familiar—was being swept away. Whatever came next would be different. And based on Elder Feng's demeanor, it would not be better.
"Overseer Huang."
The name cut through Jin's spiraling thoughts. He looked toward the stage and saw the familiar steel-gray figure of his former supervisor being led forward by two guards.
Overseer Huang's face was expressionless, but her posture—usually so confident and commanding—had diminished somehow. She looked smaller, older, as if the weight of whatever had happened had aged her years in a single morning.
"Former Overseer Huang," Elder Feng corrected himself with cold amusement, "has been removed from her position due to persistent failure to enforce productivity standards. She will be reassigned to the processing facilities, where her… particular skills may find better application."
Processing facilities. Jin had heard whispers about those—vast underground halls where harvested crops were refined into the pills and elixirs used by the inner sect. The work was brutal, the conditions harsh, the chance of advancement nonexistent.
A punishment, barely disguised as a transfer.
Overseer Huang said nothing as she was led away. But as she passed the edge of the stage, her eyes found Jin's position in the crowd. For just a moment, something passed between them—recognition, perhaps even warning—before she was gone.
"Now," Elder Feng said, his voice taking on a businesslike tone, "allow me to introduce your new overseer for Terrace Seven."
A figure stepped forward from the line of new supervisors, and Jin felt Lin Mei stiffen beside him.
The man was perhaps thirty-five years of age, with a face that might have been handsome if not for the cruelty that seemed etched into every feature. His jaw was square and strong, his nose straight, his dark hair pulled back in a severe topknot that emphasized the sharp angles of his skull. But his eyes were what Jin noticed most—pale gray, almost colorless, like chips of dirty ice. They held no warmth, no humor, no hint of the humanity that even strict Overseer Huang had occasionally displayed.
His robes were the purple-black of a sect supervisor, but newer and finer than Huang's had been, suggesting recent elevation to the position. A jade pendant hung at his waist, pulsing with spiritual energy that marked him as at least middle Foundation Establishment.
"Overseer Lu Feng," Elder Feng announced. "He comes to us from the enforcement division, where he distinguished himself in matters of discipline and productivity optimization. I trust you will give him the same cooperation you showed his predecessor."
The threat beneath the words was unmistakable.
Overseer Lu stepped forward, his colorless eyes sweeping across the disciples of Terrace Seven with predatory assessment. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft—a whisper that somehow carried to every ear.
"I have reviewed the records of this terrace," he said. "They are… disappointing. Harvest yields below potential. Cultivation progress inadequate. Too many disciples coasting on minimum effort, contributing nothing of value to the sect."
He began to walk along the edge of the stage, his pale gaze lingering on individual disciples.
"This will end. Under my supervision, every disciple will work to their maximum capacity. Every field will produce its optimal yield. And those who fail to meet expectations…"
He paused, and his thin lips curved into something that was technically a smile but held no warmth whatsoever.
"Those who fail will learn what true discipline means."
To emphasize his point, Overseer Lu raised one hand.
The air around his palm shimmered, then erupted. A concentrated beam of spiritual energy—fire-aspected, Jin's enhanced senses told him—lanced out from Lu's hand and struck a nearby storage building. The structure exploded into flame, its wooden walls consumed in seconds by fire that burned with unnatural intensity.
Disciples screamed and scrambled backward. Jin felt the heat wash over him even from fifty feet away, the flames' spiritual component making them far more intense than ordinary fire.
Then, just as suddenly, the flames vanished. Overseer Lu closed his hand, and the fire simply ceased to exist, leaving behind a structure that was half-destroyed but no longer burning.
"I trust my point is made," Lu said into the stunned silence. "Dismissed."
—————
The following weeks were a nightmare.
Overseer Lu established himself with ruthless efficiency. Gone were the measured evaluations and grudging feedback of Huang's administration. In their place came constant surveillance, impossible quotas, and punishments that ranged from reduced rations to public humiliation.
Jin witnessed disciples forced to kneel in the mud for hours because their water channels were deemed "insufficiently maintained." He saw field assignments shuffled seemingly at random, experienced cultivators torn from crops they'd nurtured for seasons and forced to start over with unfamiliar soil. He watched as the careful community that had developed over years of shared labor began to fracture under the weight of fear and suspicion.
But he kept his head down and worked.
[Azure Harmonization Method - Current Efficiency: 85%]
The breakthrough to level three Qi Gathering had come the night before the assembly, a piece of timing that now seemed almost providential. Jin's enhanced cultivation allowed him to meet the increased production demands that Overseer Lu imposed, though just barely. His fields remained healthy, his harvests on track, his name absent from the lists of failing disciples that Lu posted daily.
Others were not so fortunate.
"Did you hear about Wang Mei from the eastern section?" Lin Mei whispered one evening, her usual gossip-loving tone replaced by something darker. "Lu had her whipped for talking during work hours. Twenty strokes. She couldn't walk for three days."
Jin said nothing. He'd heard the screams.
"And Old Chen disappeared completely," Lin Mei continued. "Just gone. Lu said he was 'reassigned,' but no one knows where. His field was absorbed by a disciple from another terrace."
The community that Jin had carefully built connections with was being systematically dismantled. Old Shen had grown quieter, his pranks and jokes abandoned in favor of grim survival. Fan's nervous twitch had intensified to the point where he could barely hold his tools steady. Even Zhou Tianyu's aristocratic arrogance had been replaced by hunched-shoulder subservience.
Only one person seemed untouched by the new regime.
Da Feng continued his work with the same stoic efficiency he'd always displayed. The massive man with the scarred head produced his usual excellent harvests, met every quota, and apparently gave Overseer Lu no reason for complaint. His field remained a model of productivity, his techniques flawless, his manner utterly unremarkable.
But Luo Qiang—number two, as Lin Mei called her—was not so fortunate.
—————
The targeting began subtly.
At first, it was just additional inspections. Overseer Lu would appear at Luo Qiang's field two or three times a day, his pale eyes cataloging every detail, his soft voice noting imperfections that seemed invisible to everyone else.
"Your water channels are misaligned by two degrees," he would say. "Correct this immediately."
"The energy patterns in your northwest section are inconsistent. Redo them."
"Your cultivation posture is inefficient. Report to the training grounds for remedial instruction."
Luo Qiang complied with each demand, her severe features growing more strained with every passing day. The elaborate hairstyle she'd maintained even amid the mud and labor of farm work became simpler, then abandoned entirely in favor of a practical bun. The silver ornaments she'd worn disappeared, sold or hidden, replaced by nothing.
She was still beautiful, Jin realized—still carried herself with the refined grace that spoke of better origins. And that, he slowly understood, was the problem.
Overseer Lu had noticed her.
"He wants something," Lin Mei whispered to Jin one evening, her face pale with understanding. "Did you see how he looks at her? Like a cat watching a mouse. He's playing with her."
Jin had noticed. And the realization made his stomach turn.
"Can anyone help her?" he asked.
"With what? Lu hasn't actually done anything wrong by sect standards. Increased inspections, additional requirements, remedial training—all of it is technically within his authority." Lin Mei's voice was bitter. "That's how people like him work. They use the rules as weapons, pushing harder and harder until something breaks."
"What will he do when she breaks?"
Lin Mei didn't answer. She didn't need to.
—————
The second harvest was two weeks away when everything came to a head.
Jin was working in his field, applying the Earth Drill technique to loosen soil around his maturing spirit rice, when he heard raised voices from Luo Qiang's adjacent section.
He looked up to find Overseer Lu standing at the edge of her field, his colorless eyes fixed on her with that terrible patience he always displayed. Luo Qiang stood before him, and for the first time since the new regime had begun, there was defiance in her posture.
"The quota is impossible," she was saying, her voice strained but firm. "You've increased it three times in two weeks. Even with perfect conditions, no single cultivator can produce what you're demanding."
"Are you refusing a direct order?" Lu's soft voice somehow carried across the distance to Jin's ears.
"I'm stating a fact. The soil is depleted from the first harvest. The spiritual energy levels haven't recovered sufficiently. If I push for maximum yield now, the field will be dead by next season."
"That sounds like an excuse."
"It's agricultural science." Luo Qiang's severe features hardened. "I've been cultivating this terrace for seven years. I know what the land can sustain. What you're asking will destroy it."
Overseer Lu was silent for a long moment. His pale eyes studied Luo Qiang with an expression that Jin couldn't read—calculation, perhaps, or anticipation.
"You've been here seven years," Lu said finally. "Under the previous administration. The administration that was removed for failure. Perhaps that failure has infected you."
"I had the second-highest ratings on this terrace—"
"Had." Lu's voice remained soft, almost gentle. "Past performance means nothing under new management. What matters is compliance. Obedience. Willingness to serve the sect's needs above personal comfort."
He stepped closer to her, and Jin saw Luo Qiang flinch despite herself.
"You have two weeks until harvest," Lu continued. "Meet the quota, or face the consequences. Those are your only options."
He turned and walked away, his footsteps silent on the packed earth.
Luo Qiang stood frozen for several seconds after he departed. Then, slowly, her shoulders slumped. The defiance that had animated her drained away, replaced by something that looked dangerously like despair.
Jin wanted to say something. To offer comfort or assistance or even just acknowledgment of what he'd witnessed. But what could a level three Qi Gathering disciple do against a Foundation Establishment overseer? What words could he offer that would make any difference?
He returned to his work, the efficiency tracker pulsing steadily in his mind:
[Azure Harmonization Method - Current Efficiency: 85%]
Eighty-five percent. A number that had seemed so impressive when he achieved it. Now it felt meaningless—a measure of personal progress in a world where power determined everything and those without it suffered at the whims of those who had it.
—————
That night, Jin sat on his bed and thought about the year he'd spent in the Dark Rose Sect.
Twelve months. Four seasons. Two harvests. Three cultivation breakthroughs.
He'd arrived as a clumsy, naive child who could barely tend basic crops. Now he was a level three cultivator with genuine skills, a solid reputation, and techniques that most disciples took years to master. His efficiency had climbed from 15% to 85%, a transformation that seemed almost miraculous when he considered it.
But what had any of it accomplished?
Overseer Huang had been removed despite decades of service. Luo Qiang was being systematically destroyed by a predator who wore authority like a weapon. The community Jin had grown to value was fragmenting under pressure that no amount of personal cultivation could resist.
He thought about his brother, somewhere in the outside world, working to support a family that had sacrificed everything for Jin's opportunity. He thought about the letter he'd sent six months ago, the spirit stones he'd enclosed, the promise he'd made to make them proud.
Was this what success looked like? Keeping his head down while others suffered? Advancing his own cultivation while pretending not to see the injustice around him?
"You're thinking too loud," Old Shen said from his bed across the room. The old man's eyes were open, catching the faint moonlight that filtered through the dormitory windows. "I can hear it from here."
"How can you sleep?" Jin asked quietly. "After everything that's happening?"
"Practice." Old Shen's voice held no humor. "I've seen regimes change before. This isn't my first monster in overseer's robes. The key is to survive until the situation changes again."
"And if it doesn't change?"
"Then you survive anyway, and you find ways to make it bearable." Old Shen sat up, his weathered face serious in the dim light. "Listen to me, Wei Jin. You've grown tremendously this past year. Your cultivation is remarkable. Your skills are genuine. But none of that will help you if you draw Lu's attention."
"I know."
"Do you? Because I saw you watching when he confronted Luo Qiang today. I saw the look on your face. You wanted to intervene."
Jin couldn't deny it. "She doesn't deserve what's happening to her."
"No. She doesn't. But life in the cultivation world isn't about deserving." Old Shen's voice was heavy with decades of hard-won wisdom. "The strong do as they will. The weak endure. That's the fundamental truth that no amount of progress will change."
"Then what's the point of getting stronger?"
Old Shen was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was softer.
"The point is that someday, you might be strong enough to change things. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday." He lay back down, turning his face toward the wall. "Until then, you survive. You grow. And you remember what you've seen, so that when you have power, you don't become what you've learned to hate."
Jin lay back on his own bed, staring at the shadowed ceiling.
Survive. Grow. Remember.
It wasn't justice. It wasn't even hope, really. But it was something to hold onto in the darkness.
The efficiency tracker pulsed one final time before sleep claimed him:
[Azure Harmonization Method - Current Efficiency: 85%]
Two weeks until harvest.
Two weeks to see what Overseer Lu would do to Luo Qiang when she failed to meet his impossible quota.
Two weeks to figure out if there was anything—anything at all—that Jin could do about it.
—————
End of Chapter Seven