The rain was colder outside the sect gates.
Lin Chen was thrown forward, his body skidding across wet stone before collapsing into the mud. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, but no one waited to see if he would rise.
The massive gates of Azure River Sect closed behind him with a heavy boom.
Final.
No farewell.No explanation.No justice.
Lin Chen lay still as rain soaked into his clothes, mixing with the blood that had yet to dry on his lips. Every breath felt wrong—empty. The familiar warmth of spiritual energy that once flowed through his body was gone, leaving behind a hollow ache that spread from his dantian outward.
He tried to circulate qi.
Nothing happened.
A dull pressure answered him instead, like shattered glass lodged deep inside his body.
So it was real.
"My meridians…" he whispered.
Broken. Completely.
A weak laugh escaped his throat, quickly turning into a cough. Blood splashed into the mud.
In the distance, figures gathered beneath umbrellas—outer disciples, servants, guards. They did not approach. They watched with thinly veiled curiosity, as if observing a dying animal.
"Is that Lin Chen?"
"The former genius?"
"What a waste."
"He brought it on himself."
Their voices carried easily through the rain.
Lin Chen closed his eyes.
He did not feel anger yet.
Only clarity.
In this world, strength decided truth. The strong spoke, and the weak explained themselves until they died.
He forced his arms to move, dragging his body away from the gates inch by inch. Each movement sent pain tearing through his nerves, but he welcomed it. Pain meant he was still alive.
By the time he reached the forest path below the mountain, night had fallen.
The sect's lights burned brightly above, warm and distant, like a different life.
Lin Chen leaned against a tree and slid down slowly, leaving a faint trail of blood on the bark. His breathing was shallow now. Exhaustion pressed down on him like a mountain.
"This isn't how it ends," he muttered.
He remembered Elder Zhao's calm voice.Chen Yu's lowered eyes.The way no one questioned the verdict.
He etched every detail into his mind.
"If I die here," Lin Chen said quietly, "then they were right."
The rain slowed.
Somewhere nearby, thunder rumbled low and deep, like the world itself breathing.
As Lin Chen's consciousness began to fade, something cold pressed against his palm.
He frowned and forced his eyes open.
A stone.
No—a jade fragment, half-buried in the mud. Its surface was cracked, dull, and ancient, unlike the polished jade slips used by the sect.
The moment his blood touched it, the fragment trembled.
A sharp pain stabbed into his palm.
Lin Chen gasped.
A voice—old, dry, and utterly indifferent—echoed inside his mind.
"Meridians destroyed?""Good.""Then you are finally qualified."
Lin Chen's eyes widened.
The jade fragment dissolved into light, sinking into his body.
Pain followed.
Not the chaotic pain of destruction—but something colder, more deliberate.
As darkness claimed him, one thought remained clear in his mind:
The path he was about to walkwas never meant for the intact.