Lin Rui had been "invited" by Lin Yueyao to the Lin family's Hall of Rites.
The hall was rarely used—except before a major family ceremony, or when some inner-hall disciple had made a mistake too big to be handled in private.
Stepping inside, Lin Rui felt the temperature drop. Bluestone tiles stretched across the floor, polished to a glare that reflected every footstep. The air was heavy with incense and the stale chill of stone. Ancestral tablets lined the center altar, their names half-lost in drifting curls of green smoke. Both walls were carved from top to bottom with the Lin clan's rules—densely packed, as if daring anyone to break them.
Waiting for them in the solemn hush was an old man in a severe brown ceremonial robe. His skin was withered and tight on his bones, but his eyes—sharp as a hawk's—missed nothing. Not a strand of his pointed goatee was out of place.
Elder Lin Qi: Lin Tianhong's confidant, the family's strictest master of rites, and a walking encyclopedia of everything ancient, outdated, and utterly inflexible.
His voice scraped out of him, dry and brittle, like two dead branches rubbing together.
"Second Miss Yueyao. Young Master Lin." Elder Lin Qi's gaze swept over them.
"The Azure Tea Ancestor Worship Ceremony is the Lin family's most important ritual. It connects heaven and earth, settles the ancestors' spirits, and concerns our entire clan's fate. You two are to preside together over the 'Offering of the New Sprouts' and the 'Azurewood Flame-Continuation' rites. You must perform with absolute sincerity. Not the slightest error or slackness will be tolerated."
Lin Yueyao bowed, every angle of her posture elegant and perfect.
"Please be assured, Elder Qi. I will give my utmost and not let down the family's trust."
Lin Rui followed suit, copying her bow as best he could, but he felt all elbows—like an actor who hadn't learned his lines.
And with that, the real ordeal began.
Every morning before dawn, Lin Rui was dragged back to the Hall of Rites—a place so cold and quiet, it felt more like a mausoleum than a training ground. There, surrounded by rows of ancestral tablets and dizzying, ancient rituals, he spent hour after hour repeating the same tedious gestures, mumbling through tongue-twisting prayers, and trying to cram a never-ending list of Lin family legends into his brain.
The First Ancestor, Azurewood Immortal, who found the heart of a divine tree at the Eastern Sea and attained the Dao in thunder and rain.
The Third Ancestor, Lord Windchaser, who carved out the Spirit Cloud Tea Garden on Qingluo Mountain and coaxed clouds to water spirit sprouts.
The Seventh Ancestor, Battle-Hall Lord, who led the clan in a three-day blood-soaked stand against the Black Wind Bandits, saving Zhuyun Town...
All of it sounded glorious in the retelling. But memorizing these sagas? Pure torture. Lin Rui's mind felt like it was being kneaded into paste. This was a hundred times harder than cultivation. He'd have traded a week of Elder Lin Qi's "You're wrong again" for three hundred rounds against Mo Chong's killer puppets, any day.
Finally—mercifully—the evening arrived. Zhutao showed up with a message: Lin Baobao wanted to treat him at the Drunken Immortal Tavern, to "wash away the dust and ease his aching bones."
Xu Yu, ever the straight shooter, had predicted it with a smirk:
"Lin Rui's probably been strangled half to death by those ancient rules by now."
He wasn't wrong. When Lin Rui shuffled into their private room, every step heavy as lead, he looked like someone who'd spent a day being rung out like a towel.
Qu Youyan's lips curved in a knowing smile. She just stretched out a hand to Lin Baobao.
"Pay up."
Lin Baobao made a face, grumbling as he surrendered a low-grade spirit stone.
"Honestly, I thought someone as sharp as Brother Rui would breeze through all that ritual stuff."
Lin Rui slumped into a chair, waving a hand feebly.
"Don't even mention it."
The waiter soon brought out the dishes. Lin Baobao, eager as ever, heaped Lin Rui's bowl with food.
"Here, try the 'Jade Marrow Bamboo Shoots.' The spirit bamboo is nourished by dew from the upper Green Creek—best thing for clearing your head and cooling internal fire."
On the table were a few dazzling small plates:
—A dish of "Sun-Glow Immortal Peach," glimmering with spirit honey
—A steaming pot of "Hundred-Fungus Spirit-Nourishing Soup," thick with the scent of dozens of spirit mushrooms
—And "Purple Perilla Silver-Thread Fish," boneless river fish wrapped in purple perilla leaves and lightly fried until golden
Lin Rui took a sip of soup. Warmth slid down his throat, bringing his soul back from the brink.
"How have you all been holding up?"
Xu Yu speared a slice of preserved peach.
"Same old, same old—cultivating. Though the town's gotten a lot livelier with your family's big ceremony coming up. Sounds like the other families are busy too."
Lin Rui's interest perked up.
"Oh?"
Lin Baobao, mouth still half-full of perilla fish, chimed in, "Absolutely! My old man says the Wang clan is working overtime to forge some new defensive artifact, planning to show it off as a 'gift' at your family's ceremony. Got to flex those smithing muscles, right? Guess even the iron-heads want a little glory this year."
Qu Youyan sipped her tea, her tone mild but sly.
"And the young master of the Zhao family has been scouring the world for something called 'Hundred-Fragrance Jade Dew.' Supposedly calms the mind and helps cultivators stabilize their emotions. I bet he wants to make a big entrance and wrangle a few herb contracts with the Lin family."
Xu Yu frowned thoughtfully.
"Hundred-Fragrance Jade Dew? I read about that once—it's crazy rare. Has to be harvested from the pistils of specific spirit flowers, under a full moon, when a hundred blossoms are in bloom. Then you refine it for forty-nine days. The Zhao family's really going all out."
Lin Baobao swallowed and added, "And the Yin family's younger folks are composing some new piece called 'Ode to the Green Bud's Auspice' just for your ancestor ceremony. You know how weird their music gets—no telling if they'll set the mood or scare everyone off."
As he listened to all these rival ploys and secret moves, Lin Rui couldn't help but snicker to himself. On the surface, the Azure Tea Ancestor Worship was a Lin family tradition—but really, it was just another arena for the local powers to test each other's mettle.
Dinner wound down, and they all spilled out of the Drunken Immortal Tavern, the night breeze clearing away what little alcohol had stuck. At a fork in the road, Qu Youyan and Xu Yu peeled off, vanishing into the alley shadows.
Lin Rui and Lin Baobao walked on, side by side, the bluestone pavement catching silvery moonlight beneath their feet.
Baobao, ever the gossip, was still chewing on rumors.
"Hey, Rui, what do you think the Wang clan's got up their sleeve this year?"
Lin Rui just shrugged, his mind already drifting back to Elder Lin Qi and those endless, mind-numbing rituals. "Who knows?"
As they rounded a corner, a chorus of cheers and shouts rang out just ahead. A knot of people stood under the lantern glow, watching something with rapt attention.
Baobao's eyes lit up. He grabbed Lin Rui's arm and dragged him over.
"C'mon, let's see what's happening!"
They pushed into the crowd and found a broad-shouldered, shirtless young man, muscles gleaming bronze in the lamplight. On the table before him lay an array of odd little gadgets. He was holding up a beetle-shaped metal trinket—palm-sized, delicate, legs bristling.
With a few muttered words and a trickle of spirit energy, the beetle's six legs started clicking in unison, sending it scuttling across the table to gasps of delight from the crowd.
The man's voice boomed, a mix of showman and smith.
"Ladies and gentlemen, behold! The Tracker Beetle! Just a wisp of your aura, and it'll hunt a target for a hundred miles—perfect for travelers, explorers, or anyone looking to keep an eye on their stuff!"
He switched to a tiny metal whistle and gave it a blow, though not a sound was heard. Instead, anyone in the crowd wearing a matching beetle trinket suddenly found it vibrating at their waist.
"This, my friends, is the 'Silent Whistle' and its paired 'Resonance Tags'! Send a signal, and your whole party gets the message. Never lose your friends in the wild again!"
Baobao leaned in, whispering in Lin Rui's ear.
"That guy's an outsider, just rolled into Zhuyun Town. Name's Qin Lang. Heard he's a legit artificer. Look at those gadgets—they're clever, but practical. Bet he's just selling them here for some pocket spirit stones."
But Lin Rui's attention had wandered from the gadgets to something else entirely: the way the lantern light traced every line of muscle on Qin Lang's arms and chest. The guy looked like he could punch through a wall—or star in an old-school wuxia flick.
"Damn," Lin Rui muttered, only half-joking, "those muscles on Qin Lang are no joke."
Lin Baobao looked down at his own rounded belly, sighed in defeat, and shook his head.
"That's the kind of physique you get from real work. Some people just make the rest of us look bad."
Qin Lang went on to show off a few more gadgets—a "Warming Jade" that heated up in your palm, an "Ink-Smoke Pearl" that let out a cloud of dark smoke to blind your enemies, and each new trick drew more cheers from the crowd.
After a while, Lin Rui and Lin Baobao, having seen enough, slipped quietly away from the crowd and continued their walk home.
The next morning, with the sky still pale, Lin Rui dragged himself out of bed, sporting two impressive dark circles under his eyes. He was practically marched to the Spirit Cloud Tea Garden by Lin Yueyao, with Elder Lin Qi leading the way.
The place was buzzing—disciples from every branch of the Lin family darted about, putting the final touches on preparations for the Azure Tea Ancestor Worship Ceremony.
Lin Baobao, Xu Yu, and Qu Youyan were all there too, each busy with their own assignments.
The main event would take place at a wide altar in the heart of the tea garden, surrounded by temporary pavilions and banners made from fresh spirit bamboo. Elder Lin Qi cleared his throat and began the final rehearsal for Lin Rui and Lin Yueyao.
The old man gripped his ritual ruler, eyes sharp as a hawk.
"For the 'Offering of the New Sprouts' rite: Yueyao in front, Lin Rui three steps behind. No more, no less!"
Lin Yueyao moved with perfect grace, every step measured as if by a ruler. Lin Rui followed, doing his best to keep up, but felt more like a clumsy puppet than a priest.
Then came the "Azurewood Flame-Continuation" ceremony. Lin Rui was handed a special "Fire-Guiding Vine," which he was supposed to ignite with spiritual energy and then deliver respectfully to the ancient bronze cauldron at the altar's center. He took a deep breath and tried to focus, channeling a thread of azure energy from his fingertips.
But his mind was a blur from exhaustion, and his lingering resentment for the rituals made his control slip. With a dull "pffft," the vine failed to catch properly and instead belched out a thick cloud of burnt, grassy smoke, sending nearby disciples into fits of coughing.
Elder Lin Qi's goatee practically stood on end. He rapped Lin Rui's wrist with the ritual ruler—brutal.
"Cough! Lin Rui! Are you planning to smoke the ancestors right out of their tablets?"
Lin Yueyao's frown said it all—utter, unsurprised disgust.
Elsewhere, Lin Baobao was in charge of inspecting the sacrificial fruits and pastries. While directing the junior disciples, he sneakily popped a still-warm "Spirit Wheat Biscuit" into his mouth—only to immediately choke on the oversized bite. Xu Yu, quick on the draw, handed him a cup of water before things could get worse.
Meanwhile, Qu Youyan and Xu Yu were meticulously checking the defensive formations and blessing talismans around the altar. Xu Yu carried a thick copy of Array Formation Primer, whispering to Qu Youyan as they discussed the flow of energy at various nodes. The two of them seemed like an island of focus and calm amid the chaos.
The rehearsal dragged on, tripping over itself at every step. Lin Rui was a magnet for mishaps—misreading rare characters in the prayers (and getting daggers from Elder Lin Qi), nearly tripping on his own feet (earning a crisp, disdainful snort from Lin Yueyao).
At last, Elder Lin Qi, looking as though another five minutes would take years off his life, waved his hand in surrender.
Lin Yueyao snapped instantly into her role as chief coordinator, her voice cutting through the crowd with authority.
"Qu Youyan, Xu Yu—you two double-check the defensive arrays within a hundred yards of the altar. Make sure every talisman is fully charged and nothing's amiss."
They nodded, leading a team from the Array Hall to start the inspection.
"Disciples from the Pill House, distribute the Mind-Cleansing Pills and Qi-Restoring Powders to every inner-hall member in the ceremony—no mistakes."
A group of disciples in Pill House robes bowed in answer.
"The sheet music for 'Ode to the Green Bud's Auspice' from the Yin family goes to the musicians. Get them practicing, and make sure they can play it perfectly before the ceremony begins."
Lin Baobao, still chewing, thumped his chest in assurance.
"Don't worry, Cousin Yueyao, I've got the food and supplies covered!"
Lin Yueyao continued to issue crisp, confident orders to every team in charge of setup and logistics, her presence as sharp as a general's.
Elder Lin Qi watched her with growing approval, then turned to Lin Rui, a picture of exhaustion.
"Lin Rui, you look dead on your feet. That's enough for today. Go back, get some rest, and don't mess up at the ceremony tomorrow."
Lin Rui bowed deeply, grateful for the reprieve, and hurried away before anyone could change their mind.
"Yes, Elder Qi. Lin Rui will... do his best."
He practically fled the Spirit Cloud Tea Garden. All he wanted was to get back to his own small courtyard, collapse onto his bed, and sleep for three days straight.
To save time, Lin Rui took a little-used shortcut through the dense bamboo forest north of the town.
The forest was serene and deep. Towering stalks of spirit bamboo blotted out the sun, which could only filter through the dense canopy in shifting, mottled patterns on the ground. A light breeze rustled the leaves, a soft shhh that only amplified the profound quiet.
He was walking along when, suddenly, he heard it—the faint sound of urgent footsteps and the muffled thud of weapons clashing, punctuated by low, grunted shouts.
A chill went down his spine. He instantly dodged behind a thick cluster of purple bamboo, suppressed his aura, and peered out.
Sure enough, a moment later, three figures—one fleeing, two in pursuit—stumbled out from the depths of the forest.
The man being chased, powerfully built, was none other than the artificer from the market, Qin Lang. His roughspun shirt was now slashed in several places, blood seeping through, and his breathing was ragged. But his eyes still burned with a stubborn, defiant fire.
The two men chasing him wore identical black uniforms, their faces covered with black scarves that revealed only a pair of cold eyes. Their movements were swift and coordinated, clearly the work of trained enforcers from some hidden power.
Qin Lang seemed to be at the end of his strength. He ran a few more paces, then stumbled, nearly falling. He spun around, gripping a short-handled, heavy hammer, its head gleaming with a faint spirit light.
The two men in black stopped, fanning out to corner him.
All three were panting, their chests heaving, clearly drained of stamina and spirit energy from the preceding fight. For a moment, the only sound in the bamboo grove was their harsh, ragged breathing.
Qin Lang's chest rose and fell violently, his voice hoarse with rage. Veins popped on arms.
"What the hell do you want? Why have you been hunting me?"
One of the assassins, a wiry man, spoke. His voice was a venomous rasp, like scraping metal.
"You noticed the Ink-Hiding Stone Powder. For safety, no witnesses."
Qin Lang frowned, confused.
He did remember, just yesterday at the guild, casually mentioning to some other artificers that a few new faces were buying up huge amounts of Ink-Hiding Stone Powder in the market.
Ink-Hiding Stone Powder?
It was nothing special—just cheap stuff used to polish low-grade artifacts or toughen building materials. What could possibly be worth killing over?
Unless...
A spark of realization flashed through his eyes. He looked up, face going tight with sudden, horrified clarity.
The second assassin, wielding twin sickles, smiled—a cold, wolfish curve.
"You figured it out? Good. Now die."
He lunged, dissolving into a blur of motion, twin blades crossing—one for the throat, one for the gut. The air ripped with a shriek, sharp as a knife through sinew, the smell of blood thick.
At the same instant, the other man—the archer—drew his black bow, faint runes lighting its length. Three arrows glowing an uncanny blue were nocked, fanned in a deadly triangle, all aimed at Qin Lang's vitals.
WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
The arrows shrieked through the air, barely visible except for ghostly afterimages.
Qin Lang roared, rushing forward instead of back. He knew: hesitate, and he'd die. He spun his hammer in a flurry, the head a blur, making a wall of afterimages—solid as iron, impossible to pierce.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
All three arrows struck but were turned aside, sparks flying, the shock numbing his arm. He staggered back, sweat stinging his eyes.
The sickle-wielder was already on him.
Qin Lang's eyes narrowed. At the last split second, he dropped low, the blade passing so close it almost grazed his cheek. He twisted his wrist, hammer arcing up in a vicious blow toward the assassin's gut.
The killer barely managed to block with the shaft of his sickle.
CRASH—!
A jolt of force hammered up the assassin's arms, sending him stumbling back two steps. But the dark chill from the enchanted blade seeped into Qin Lang, making him shiver.
The archer wasted no time, nocking another arrow, blue light burning even brighter—clearly channeling a higher-tier spirit technique.
Two on one, and Qin Lang was slipping. His hammer had raw force, but up close, the sickles were too quick, and the constant rain of arrows kept him off balance. Blood ran down his arm, fresh wounds tearing his shirt.
The sickle-wielder found an opening and struck, blade flashing, smashing down on Qin Lang's hammer.
"Try blocking this!"
CLATTER!
A shockwave exploded through Qin Lang's hand—his grip split, blood dripping from his palm, and the hammer went flying, landing with a heavy thunk in the earth.
The two assassins exchanged a glance, then attacked together.
"Let's see you block us now!"
A fierce light flashed in Qin Lang's eyes.
"Think I'm done? Not even close. You forced my hand—now taste this!"
He flung up his left arm. The plain iron bracer he wore suddenly whirred and clicked, plates unfolding and linking together in a flash.
[Hundred-Forged Armoplate: Ambush Mechanism]!
In the blink of an eye, a shield of diamond-shaped metal panels slid into place over his forearm, gleaming coldly in the bamboo light, covering his chest and vital points.
Qin Lang barked the final word like a command to the world:
"Shield!"
Almost at the same instant, the sickle-wielder's blades screamed through the air—
CLANG!
A cascade of sparks burst as the thin diamond shield snapped into place, stopping the killing blow cold. The assassin's sickles slammed against an impossibly hard slab of Xuan-steel, the impact rattling his bones and sending a numb shockwave up his arms.
Before he could recover, a three-inch, tungsten-colored armor-piercing spike shot out from the face of Qin Lang's shield—fast as lightning, aiming right for the assassin's wrist.
"Stab!"
The man didn't stand a chance. Pain lanced through his wrist, sharp and white-hot. His grip went slack, the sickle tumbling into the undergrowth.
"Agh!"
Qin Lang didn't pause. His eyes flashed with a dangerous light as the micro energy array within his bracer surged to life, spirit energy flooding his left arm.
He let out a guttural roar, his fist exploding forward with unstoppable force.
"Burst!"
BOOM!
A bone-jarring thud echoed through the grove. The assassin's chest caved in under the strike, the sound of breaking bone brutally clear as he was hurled backward, crashing into a stand of bamboo. Blood spattered the green stalks as the man slumped, unconscious.
Across the clearing, the archer's face drained of color as he watched his partner collapse in a heap. But he noticed Qin Lang was reeling, his skin gone waxen, spirit energy wildly unstable after that last desperate move.
A savage glint flickered in the archer's eyes.
He backpedaled several yards, nocking one final arrow. This one was pitch-black, its fletching glowing with an evil red light. The aura rolling off it was wicked and heavy—clearly, this was his trump card.
"Perfect. Time to die!" the archer spat, drawing back the string.
But in that split second, a blue shadow slipped silently behind him.
Lin Rui's eyes narrowed to icy slits. He summoned the full power of his [Azurewood Heart Chant], channeling condensed life-force into his palm, fusing it with the short-range striking technique from his old life.
With a single, clinical motion, he struck the base of the archer's skull.
Thump.
There was no cry, no warning. The archer's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed without a sound.
A heavy silence hung in the bamboo grove, broken only by Qin Lang's ragged breathing as he leaned, bloodied and exhausted, against a thick stalk of spirit bamboo. He looked up in disbelief. That blue shadow—his rescuer—had appeared and struck so fast, it felt like a hallucination.
Lin Rui stepped from behind the fallen archer, immediately moving to steady Qin Lang's staggering form.
"Are you alright?"
Qin Lang managed a weak wave, his voice gravelly.
"I… I'll live. Thank you… For the save, friend."He took a few breaths, glancing with a hardened glare at the two unconscious men. "Wait—give me a moment."
From his belt, he untied a coil of thick, inky-black rope shot through with glinting gold threads.
Qin Lang gripped the rope in his left hand, forming a quick seal with his right. "Ink smoke, rise—bind!" he commanded in a hoarse whisper.
The [Ink-Smoke Binding Rope] shot out like a living serpent, splitting in midair. One strand coiled around the archer, the other around the sickle-wielder. The golden threads within the rope pulsed, instantly tightening as they sensed the men's lingering spirit energy, binding them thoroughly.
At the same time, several [Ink-Smoke Pellets] on the rope's surface popped, releasing thick black smoke that enveloped both bodies, masking them from sight—and, more importantly, from spirit sense.
Only then did Qin Lang let out a slow, relieved breath, sweat beading on his brow. Clearly, using the artifact had taxed him as well.
He turned to Lin Rui and gave a formal, grateful bow.
"Qin Lang, of the Heavenly Craft Pavilion. I owe you my life. May I ask your name, benefactor?"
Lin Rui returned the gesture, equally respectful.
"Lin Rui. It was nothing, really. I saw you yesterday at the west gate market, selling those clever little gadgets."
Qin Lang managed a tired grin, scratching his head.
"Those trinkets keep me fed, but this… was something else entirely."
Lin Rui's curiosity sparked.
"Why were they after you?"
Qin Lang's face darkened.
"Ink-Hiding Stone Powder. The powder itself is unremarkable, but if you stockpile enough of it and combine it with a large formation or mechanism, you can disrupt spirit sense across a wide area, even blind warning arrays for a while. Only a powerful, well-organized group would need that much—and pay to keep it quiet."
He glanced grimly at the assassins. "The fact that they tried to silence me… It can only mean one thing: something big is about to go down. They must be plotting to sabotage a critical formation."
A realization crashed into Lin Rui's mind.
"The Azure Tea Ancestor Worship Ceremony—tomorrow!"
The altar's formation was the heart of the ritual, binding the clan's luck to the ancestral spirits. If that array was disrupted during the ceremony…
The consequences would be catastrophic.
Lin Rui made up his mind. "Let's wake them up and get some answers."
They hurried to the two men, but as the smoke cleared, Lin Rui's heart sank. Both faces had turned an ugly black, dark foam dribbling from their mouths. They were already dead.
"Damn it." Lin Rui clenched his fists.
Qin Lang pried open their jaws, grimacing. "Poison. Hidden in the back teeth—bit down the moment things went bad. These are professionals." He rifled their clothes but found nothing: no tokens, no storage pouches—just standard weapons and a few loose spirit stones.
"The trail's gone cold," Lin Rui muttered.
Qin Lang nodded.
"We'll have to report this to the Celestial Law Division."
Dragging the two bodies to the main road, Qin Lang fired a spirit flare. Soon, a pair of bored patrol officers arrived, barely glancing at the scene before recording Lin Rui and Qin Lang's cultivator tablet and delivering the usual canned response: "We'll file a report. Await further notice." Lin Rui watched them go, lips twisted in annoyance. Relying on the bureaucracy was like throwing a rock in a well.
Qin Lang bowed again, his gratitude sincere.
"Thank you, Brother Lin Rui. I'm new in Zhuyun Town, and… well, if not for you…"
Lin Rui waved him off with a smile. "Honestly, your gadgets did more than I did. That bracer's a work of genius."
Qin Lang laughed, producing a simple wooden token from his robes and pressing it into Lin Rui's hand. "If you ever have time, come by Number Three, Old Locust Tree Lane, behind the Heavenly Craft Pavilion's inn. I've got some new inventions in the works. Maybe we can exchange ideas."
Lin Rui's eyes lit up, genuine excitement flickering across his face.
"Sounds great! After tomorrow's ceremony, I'll definitely stop by sometime. I'd love to see your workshop."
Qin Lang grinned, saluted, and strode off toward the market, his figure quickly swallowed by the bamboo shadows.
Lin Rui watched him go, mind racing with questions—and a faint, grudging respect for the man who'd survived the night.