The night air coming off the Twin Wardens was sharp enough to cut glass, but Xie Mingzhi sat motionless on the edge of the rocky patch he had cleared.

  The cold biting at his skin was nothing compared to the hollow void in his chest, where the seed of Earth Qi should have been.

  He was exhausted. His hands were raw and blistered from moving the boulders. His knees ached. But he didn't go inside. He couldn't face the silence of the hut, or the look in his mother’s eyes—that terrible, gentle look that said it’s okay that you failed.

  It wasn't okay.

  In his hand, he clenched the rusty block of iron he had found earlier.

  By all logic, it was trash. It was corroded, ugly, and useless. But as Mingzhi sat there in the dark, squeezing it until his knuckles turned white, he felt a strange, inexplicable sensation.

  It wasn't heat. It was presence.

  Holding the object felt like gripping the hand of someone who had been there before the darkness. It grounded him. When he gripped it, the chaotic swirling of his thoughts slowed down. The shame of the failed cultivation felt... manageable.

  It’s just metal, Mingzhi told himself, rubbing his thumb over the rough surface. But why does it feel like the only thing in the world that hasn't rejected me?

  He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against a pile of stones. If I keep this... maybe I can figure it out. Maybe there’s a pattern I missed. I just need time.

  The crunch of heavy boots on gravel shattered his thoughts.

  "Look at this. The Mud Rat is out gazing at the stars, dreaming of things he can't reach."

  The voice was loud, mocking, and all too familiar.

  Mingzhi didn't jump. He exhaled a long breath of white mist and opened his eyes. He slipped the rusty necklace into his palm, hiding it instinctively.

  Three figures emerged from the tree line, their long shadows stretching across the cleared field. A floating lantern bobbed above them, casting a sickly yellow light.

  It was the Wang brothers. All three of them.

  Wang Long, the eldest, wore the navy-blue robes of an Inner Disciple of the Azure Cloud Sect. He stood with his arms crossed, looking at the farmland with bored disdain. Wang Bao, the middle brother, was chewing on a stalk of sweet-grass, snickering.

  And in the front was Wang Hu—the youngest, the bully, the one who had struck Mingzhi earlier that day.

  "We heard a noise," Wang Hu said, stepping onto the cleared dirt. He kicked a stone Mingzhi had spent ten minutes prying loose. "A loud pop. Sounded like a balloon bursting. Or a Dantian failing."

  Mingzhi remained seated on the rock. He knew the dynamics here. If he stood up, it was a challenge. If he stayed sitting, it was submission. But tonight, he didn't care about the game.

  "Go home, Wang Hu," Mingzhi said, his voice hoarse. "There is nothing for you here."

  "We came to offer our condolences," Wang Bao laughed, spitting out the grass. "We heard your father sold his oxen to buy our family's scripture. And now? No oxen, no crop, and still no cultivator. Just a hole in the ground and a hole in your wallet."

  "A bad investment," Wang Long added dryly, his eyes scanning Mingzhi’s disheveled appearance. "But typical for a Xie. You people don't understand the cost of power."

  They fanned out, circling him. It was a predator's tactic. They cut off his path to the hut, cut off his path to the river. They wanted him to feel trapped. They wanted him to beg.

  Mingzhi’s grip tightened on the necklace. The sharp edges dug into his palm, grounding him.

  Don't react, he told himself. They feed on reaction. If I give them nothing, they get bored.

  "The transaction was completed," Mingzhi said evenly. "My father paid the price you asked. What we do with the book is our business."

  Wang Hu’s eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, looming over Mingzhi. "You have a lot of pride for someone sitting in the dirt. You think you're clever, don't you? With your little irrigation tricks and your perfect rows of rice."

  He leaned down, his face inches from Mingzhi’s. “Tonight proved it. You can be clever all you want. Without talent, you’re still something people step on.”

  Mingzhi looked him in the eye. "Is that why you're here? To make yourself feel big by squashing a bug?"

  Wang Hu’s face twisted. He grabbed Mingzhi’s collar and hauled him up.

  Mingzhi didn't fight the pull. He let himself be dragged up, but he kept his right hand clenched tight at his side.

  "What are you holding?" Wang Hu demanded, noticing the fist. "Stolen goods?"

  "Nothing," Mingzhi said.

  "Liar."

  Wang Hu grabbed Mingzhi’s right wrist. His grip was like a vice—stronger than it had been a month ago. Cultivation had already toughened his tendons.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  He squeezed. He twisted.

  "Drop it!"

  Mingzhi gritted his teeth, refusing to open his hand. The pain shot up his forearm, white-hot and tearing. It’s mine. You have everything else. This is mine.

  "I said drop it!"

  Wang Hu slammed his knee into Mingzhi’s stomach.

  The air left Mingzhi’s lungs in a rush. His body convulsed, his fingers spasmed involuntarily.

  The necklace fell.

  It hit the hard-packed earth with a heavy, dull thud, sounding far denser than a piece of scrap iron should.

  Wang Hu shoved Mingzhi backward and looked down.

  "This?" He picked it up with a sneer. "This is what you're protecting?"

  He held it up to the lantern light. "A piece of rusted junk. Just like your family."

  "Give it back," Mingzhi gasped, straightening up.

  "You want it?" Wang Hu dropped it.

  Then, he lifted his heavy leather boot and stomped on it.

  Grind.

  He twisted his heel, burying the object into the dirt, grinding the metal against the stones.

  Something inside Mingzhi tore loose.

  It wasn't a logical reaction. It wasn't the meticulous calculation of a boy who weighed risk versus reward. It was a visceral, physical pain in his chest, as if Wang Hu was stomping on Mingzhi’s own heart. That object—that stupid, rusty object—had felt like hope.

  And they were crushing it.

  "Get off it!" Mingzhi roared.

  He didn't think. He lunged.

  Wang Hu wasn't expecting it. He expected the Mud Rat to cower. He didn’t expect Mingzhi to scoop a fistful of loose gravel and fling it straight into his eyes.

  "Argh! My eyes!" Wang Hu stumbled back, cursing, clawing at his face.

  "You little—!" Wang Bao started to move, but Mingzhi was already in motion.

  Mingzhi grabbed the heavy iron pry-bar he had been using to move rocks. It was heavy, too heavy for a normal fight, but adrenaline flooded his veins. He swung it in a low arc.

  Clang!

  The bar caught Wang Bao in the shin. The middle brother howled and went down.

  "You dare!" Wang Long shouted from the back, his hand going to his sword hilt, but he hesitated. An Inner Disciple drawing a blade on a mortal was a severe crime.

  Mingzhi didn't care about rules. He stood over the buried necklace, the iron bar raised, his chest heaving. His eyes were wild, bright, and dangerous.

  "Touch it again," Mingzhi hissed, "and I break your legs."

  For a second, there was silence. The Wang brothers looked at him—bruised, bloody, holding a farming tool like a spear of the gods.

  Then, Wang Hu wiped the grit from his tearing eyes. His face twisted into a mask of pure, humiliated rage.

  "You're dead," Wang Hu whispered. "You are dead."

  The air around Wang Hu changed.

  He didn't just step forward; he planted his feet into the earth. He took a deep breath, and a faint, yellow-brown light began to flicker around his fists.

  It wasn't bright. It was murky and dim. But as it appeared, the atmosphere grew heavy. The loose pebbles around Wang Hu’s feet began to tremble.

  Earth Qi.

  Mingzhi’s analytical mind punched through his rage. He’s channeling. That’s the Stone Fist Art. But... it’s too fast. He only started cultivating not too long ago.

  "I'm going to break you," Wang Hu growled.

  He punched.

  It wasn't a complex martial art. It was a straight right cross.

  Mingzhi saw it coming. He raised the iron pry-bar to block, angling it to deflect the force. Physics, he thought desperately. Angle of incidence. Deflect, don't absorb.

  But physics relied on known variables.

  When Wang Hu’s fist hit the iron bar, it didn't feel like a fist. It felt like a falling mountain.

  BOOM.

  The iron bar didn't bend. It vibrated so violently it nearly shattered Mingzhi’s wrists. The force traveled through the metal, through his arms, and slammed into his chest like a battering ram.

  Mingzhi was lifted off his feet.

  He flew backward, crashing hard into the pile of jagged rocks he had cleared earlier. Sharp edges sliced into his back. His head slammed against a granite slab.

  The world turned white, then gray, then red.

  He couldn't breathe. His ribs felt like they were woven from broken glass.

  Wang Hu stood over him, breathing hard, the yellow light fading from his knuckles. "That taught you. Stay down, trash."

  Mingzhi lay there, gasping, staring up at the spinning stars. Through the haze of pain, his mind—traitrously sharp, unable to stop working even now—analyzed the hit.

  That density… Mingzhi thought, blood trickling into his ear. That wasn't normal Qi. It had mass. It had weight. That’s an Attribute. Earth Attribute.

  How?

  He’s a beginner. He must have a high percent Earth Constitution, not like me...

  The Manor. The ridge. Earth Manual….

  The realization was cold and bitter. It wasn't a fair fight. It never was.

  "Enough," Wang Long’s voice came from the darkness. "He’s broken. If you kill him, the Sect will investigate. Let’s go."

  Wang Hu spat on the ground near Mingzhi’s face. He looked at the spot where the necklace was buried. He laughed.

  "Garbage defending garbage."

  He kicked the dirt, unearthing the necklace and sending it skittering across the stones. It landed right next to Mingzhi’s limp hand.

  Mingzhi flinched as it landed. Even through the agony, seeing it kicked caused that strange heartache again, a pull in his soul that wanted to reach out and apologize to the object for failing to protect it.

  "Come on," Wang Bao groaned, limping away. "My leg hurts."

  The three brothers turned and walked back toward the glowing manor on the hill, their laughter fading into the wind.

  Silence returned to the rocky patch.

  Mingzhi lay still. He tried to move his arm, but his body refused.

  "I lost," he whispered. "Again."

  Blood from the cut on his head trickled down his temple. It was warm, a stark contrast to the freezing night air. It ran over his eyebrow, down his cheek, and pooled on the ground.

  It flowed toward the necklace.

  Mingzhi watched, unable to move, as the thick, dark liquid touched the corroded metal.

  Drip.

  The moment the blood made contact, the world seemed to hold its breath.

  Hummmmm.

  A vibration started. It wasn't the ground shaking. It was the air itself shivering. A high-pitched resonance drilled into Mingzhi’s skull, bypassing his ears entirely. It sounded like the spine of a book cracking open after a thousand years.

  The rust on the necklace didn't flake off; it dissolved into mist. The black wood beneath drank the blood, the carvings lighting up with a faint, ghostly white glow.

  A connection snapped into place in Mingzhi’s mind—like a door being kicked open in a dusty room.

  He felt a sudden, vast presence brush against his consciousness. It felt old. Dusty. Confused. Like walking into a library that had been sealed for an eon.

  A voice stirred inside his mind.

  It was dry. Hoarse. Displeased.

  “Hm.”

  “This is… unfortunate.”

  The floating block rotated slowly, its glow unsteady, as if adjusting to existence itself.

  “Blood activation,” the voice muttered. “Crude. Inelegant. And performed by someone who does not even know what he holds.”

  Mingzhi tried to speak. Only a broken wheeze escaped his throat.

  The presence brushed against his consciousness again, heavier this time. Not hostile—evaluating.

  “You are alive,” it said after a pause. “Barely.”

  The necklace drifted closer, its light sweeping over his bruised ribs, torn skin, and empty Dantian.

  “…This is not an upper realm,” the voice continued slowly. “The Qi density is abysmal. The laws feel… simplified.”

  Another pause.

  “How deeply disappointing.”

  Mingzhi’s vision swam.

  “You,” the voice said at last, sounding faintly incredulous. “Are you my new Master who awakened me?”

  The presence hesitated, as if consulting memories buried under layers of dust.

  “I remember pursuit. Betrayal. Damage.”

  Its tone sharpened.

  “And then silence.”

  The necklace steadied in the air.

  “Tell me,” it said. “What era is this?”

  A beat.

  “…And why does the world feel so terribly young?”