The first rays of dawn crept softly across the courtyard, brushing against his feet before slowly climbing upward, wrapping his body in a gentle warmth that chased away the night's chill. Time had slipped away without his notice; between each failed attempt, the night had vanished, leaving only the quiet light of morning.
As Yi Zhen slowly opened his eyes, he found himself lying in his own room. His brows furrowed in confusion. The last thing he remembered was meditating beneath the moonlight, refusing to give up no matter how many times his core shattered.
Startled to find himself home, he muttered under his breath, "Damn... did Father bring me here?"
"So I dozed off, huh..."
With a faintly melancholic expression, Yi Zhen turned his head toward the distant horizon. Outside, the morning sun painted the streets of Shadowcliff City in warm hues. In the courtyard beyond, children around his age were laughing and playing, their qi swirling freely as they practiced simple techniques—effortlessly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
A soft sigh escaped his lips. "Should I just give up? How will I ever help Father like this?"
The thought stung. In Shadowcliff City, the strength of a family was measured by its cultivators. Power decided influence; weak families faded into obscurity, while the strong ruled over trade, spirit mines, and cultivation resources. It was the same across the entire nation of Xuanwu—where competitions between clans were not mere formalities but brutal, unpredictable contests that determined survival.
And yet, those very contests were what allowed the nation to thrive—new families rose from nothing, while others vanished overnight.
His gaze drifted toward the distant horizon. Beyond the city walls, children of Shadowcliff City laughed and played, their qi weaving freely around them as if it were nothing at all. And yet here he sat, trembling, his own core still refusing to take shape.
Doubt gnawed at him. In Xuanwu, a family's strength was measured by its cultivators. The mighty prospered; the weak vanished into obscurity. Clan competitions—unpredictable and merciless—could elevate an overlooked family or erase the proud entirely. The thought pressed on him like a weight:
Yi Zhen lowered his gaze. "If I can't even form my core... what good am I to Father?"
His eyes wandered beyond the familiar streets, across the vast expanse of Xuanwu Country, a land steeped in history and power. At its heart lay the Tianxuan Kingdom, one of the mightiest realms, commanding five great states, each brimming with its own unique strength.
Yi Zhen had spent years journeying across Xuanwu with his father, overseeing trade deals and meeting nobles, cultivators, and scholars. Yi Zhen's thoughts tangled in quiet despair. His mind drifted back to the countless journeys he had taken with his father—across the blazing markets of Emberflame, the frozen alleys of Frost Viel, the endless rivers of Celestial Stream. He had seen merchants bow before cultivators, cities crumble overnight, and fortunes vanish with a single clash of Qi.
In the end... power ruled everything.
Even within the mighty lands of Xuanwu Country, strength dictated worth. The five great states each held their own dominion—the Azure Rift of hidden sects, Celestial River Stream of spiritual masters, Emberflame of forgers and fire cultivators, Frost Viel of assassins and secrets, and Thunderclap Union where lightning tamers thrived. And at their heart stood the Tianxuan Imperial City, where all power converged under one throne.
Yet beneath that shining order, Yi Zhen knew, shadows writhed—ancient sects, forbidden organizations, and entities beyond mortal comprehension.
A shiver traced Yi Zhen's spine. The world was vast, perilous, and unforgiving. But within him, a spark of resolve stirred. "I have to... I must find a way," he whispered, clenching his fists. The first rays of dawn spilled across his room, brushing his body with warmth, carrying with them the quiet promise that even the longest night could not last forever.
Sirens blared. Yi Zhen quickly came out of his daze. As his gaze shifted downward, a convoy of royal-like carriages rolled into the courtyard, their golden wheels glinting under the morning sun. Each carriage bore a unique family crest, proudly etched onto the fluttering banners that crowned their roofs — symbols of power and lineage that even the city's nobles dared not disrespect.
The air grew tense. Servants rushed about, arranging the courtyard in hurried silence.
Yi Zhen's heart sank as a memory surfaced — his father's calm yet worried voice from the night before.
"Tomorrow, we'll visit the clan's Spirit Hall. The elders might know what troubles your cultivation."
He froze.
"So... they've come."
His small fists tightened as he stepped closer to the window, watching the elders descend from their carriages. Robes embroidered with ancient patterns, jade ornaments glowing faintly with spiritual light — every detail screamed authority. The faint pressure of their cultivation rippled through the courtyard, making even the air feel heavier.
Yi Zhen swallowed hard. He knew what this meeting meant. His failure was no longer just his own—it had drawn the attention of the entire clan.