The sect bells rang at dusk.
Not the steady, measured toll used for gatherings.
Not the hollow rhythm of mourning.
This was sharp. Urgent. Broken.
Clang—clang—clang—
Metal screamed against metal, echoing across the Qingyun Sect like a warning ripped straight out of its spine.
Lin Mo froze mid-step.
The sound cut through the air and into his bones, dragging an old instinct to the surface—the kind that only appeared when something had gone catastrophically wrong.
That's not a drill, he realized.
Doors burst open along the elder quarters. Disciples spilled into the paths, faces pale, voices overlapping in confusion.
"What happened?"
"Where's the alarm coming from?"
"Did someone suffer deviation?"
Lin Mo's heart sank.
Deviation.
The word alone made his pulse spike.
He turned toward the sound.
It was coming from only one place.
The neglected training yard.
Lin Mo broke into a run.
—
Zhao Fan collapsed onto the cracked stone like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
His body hit hard, breath blasting out of his lungs as if punched free. His fingers spasmed, clawing at the ground, nails scraping against stone.
Pain ripped through him—not sharp, not dull, but wrong.
Like his body was trying to move in two directions at once.
His skin flushed deep red, heat radiating off him in waves. Veins surfaced briefly along his arms and neck before sinking back down, as if something inside him was testing boundaries… then retreating.
Disciples gathered at the edge of the yard, panic spreading fast.
"He collapsed!"
"Is he cultivating?"
"No—he wasn't even meditating!"
"Get an elder!"
Someone was already sprinting away.
Zhao Fan tried to breathe.
He couldn't find a rhythm.
His chest felt tight, compressed, like the air itself had turned hostile.
Elder said… don't force it…
That thought anchored him.
He stopped struggling.
Stopped fighting the sensation.
He let his body do whatever it was doing.
The pain didn't vanish.
But it stopped escalating.
A strange warmth gathered in his lower abdomen—not qi, not energy, just a pressure that felt… full.
Then—
Crack.
The sound rang out clearly this time, sharp enough to make several disciples flinch.
"What was that?!"
"That came from him!"
Zhao Fan's eyes flew open.
The pressure burst outward.
Not violently.
Not explosively.
It spread—slow, heavy, deliberate—through his limbs, his spine, his chest.
His muscles trembled.
Then stilled.
The warmth settled.
The pain vanished as suddenly as it had come.
Zhao Fan lay there, staring at the darkening sky, breath coming slow and steady.
He felt… solid.
Grounded.
Different.
Footsteps thundered toward the yard.
Lin Mo arrived just as the first elders did.
He skidded to a halt at the edge of the gathering, eyes locking onto the figure on the ground.
Zhao Fan.
Alive.
Breathing.
But—
Lin Mo's pupils shrank.
That sensation…
Several elders pushed forward, robes snapping as they knelt beside Zhao Fan.
"Move," one barked. "Give him space."
Another pressed two fingers against Zhao Fan's wrist, frowning. "Pulse is stable."
A third closed his eyes, spiritual sense sweeping over the boy.
His expression twisted.
"There's no qi fluctuation," he said sharply. "None at all."
Murmurs rippled outward.
"No qi?"
"Then why did the alarm trigger?"
"He collapsed—this must be deviation."
"An elder should be held responsible."
Lin Mo felt the words like knives sliding toward his back.
The elder sensing Zhao Fan's condition opened his eyes, already turning toward Lin Mo.
"This disciple—"
Before he could finish—
Zhao Fan inhaled.
Deep.
Calm.
The air around him shifted.
Not surged.
Not gathered.
It settled.
The elder froze.
His eyes widened.
"Impossible…"
"What?" another elder snapped.
The first elder swallowed. "His body—his physique—it's changed."
Lin Mo's breath caught.
Zhao Fan pushed himself upright slowly, movements steady, controlled. He looked down at his hands, flexed his fingers.
Strength answered.
Not overwhelming.
But undeniable.
"Elder?" Zhao Fan said, voice hoarse but clear.
The elders stared at him.
"What realm are you in?" one demanded.
Zhao Fan hesitated, then answered honestly. "I… don't know."
"That's nonsense!"
"Check him again!" someone barked.
The sensing elder did so, face growing more strained by the second.
Finally, he pulled back, disbelief plain on his features.
"Body Refinement," he said slowly. "Middle stage."
Silence slammed down on the yard.
"What?"
"That's not possible."
"He didn't draw qi!"
"There was no circulation!"
"That's not cultivation—that's—"
Zhao Fan looked around, confused. "Is something wrong?"
Lin Mo felt his knees weaken.
Middle stage.
Three months ago, Zhao Fan had been stuck at the very beginning.
Four years of stagnation.
No qi.
No technique.
No resources.
And now—
This is wrong, Lin Mo thought.
Cultivation did not work this way.
It could not work this way.
The elders erupted.
"This violates basic principles!"
"The manuals—"
"The environment—"
"Who taught him?!"
Eyes turned.
Slowly.
Unavoidably.
Toward Lin Mo.
The weight of their gazes hit him like a wall.
Lin Mo opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because at that exact moment—
Something answered him.
A presence bloomed in his chest, cold and vast, like a door cracking open somewhere deep inside his soul.
His vision blurred.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
And words—not spoken, not heard—etched themselves directly into his mind.
Misalignment Ascension System — Activated
Lin Mo's breath hitched.
A surge of unfamiliar warmth rushed through his body—not chaotic, not violent, but precise. His stagnant cultivation base trembled, then shifted, something loosening that had been locked in place for years.
He gasped quietly.
Misalignment confirmed.
Time requirement: Met.
Outcome: Successful.
Reward calculation in progress…
Lin Mo staggered back a step, barely keeping his balance.
This is real.
This wasn't imagination.
This wasn't coincidence.
This was—
Dangerous.
His cultivation ticked forward—just a little—but the sensation was unmistakable. A foundation reinforced. A bottleneck softened.
Proof.
Absolute proof.
Zhao Fan looked at him then, eyes bright, unguarded, filled with something that made Lin Mo's chest tighten.
"Elder," the boy said, awe creeping into his voice, "I think… I understand now."
Lin Mo's mouth went dry.
Around them, the elders argued louder, voices sharp with disbelief and suspicion.
But Lin Mo barely heard them.
Because deep within his mind, the system's presence lingered—silent now, watching.
Waiting.
And Lin Mo understood something with terrifying clarity.
His advice—
Careless.
Lazy.
Given without thought—
Was not harmless.
It was a loaded blade.
And the world had just felt its edge.