The candlelight in Pavilion Seventeen flickered once.
Then again.
And then the flame vanished altogether.
Wang Lin didn't move.
He sat cross-legged beside the half-rolled scroll on the meditation table, its ink still shimmering faintly, symbols shifting slowly like sleepwalkers in the dark. Outside, the wind pressed softly against the paper walls. But the silence inside was absolute.
He kept his breath low.
His senses wide.
Something had entered.
Not through the door.
Not through a window.
But beneath.
He placed one hand against the wooden floorboards.
No vibration.
But beneath the surface — below the stone foundation of Pavilion Seventeen — something waited.
It didn't pulse like Qi.
It didn't move like spirit beasts.
It didn't breathe.
But it was there.
"Long Shan."
"Confirmed. A soulless spiritual construct. No heartbeat. No conscious thought."
"Sent by someone."
"Or something."
Wang Lin's fingers twitched.
He didn't draw a weapon.
He didn't stand.
He waited.
Then — crack.
A single floorboard shifted near the far corner of the room. Not broken. Not pried. Just slightly lifted, as if a claw from the void had pressed against it from below.
Then another.
And another.
Until the entire section groaned beneath its own weight.
And then the creature emerged.
It wasn't large.
No more than the size of a curled dog, but built like a twisted centipede — dozens of jagged, bony legs, a serpentine spine, and a mouth stitched where no mouth should be. No eyes. No tongue. Its hide was translucent, pulsing with pale, smoky Qi that barely clung to this world.
It didn't make a sound.
It didn't need to.
Because it was already inside.
Not just the building.
But inside Wang Lin's spiritual field.
Inside his defenses.
It crept forward — not like a predator, but like a priest approaching a forgotten altar.
"It's looking for the egg."
Wang Lin didn't blink.
"I know."
"Should I move it?"
"No."
The creature reached the center of the room.
And stopped.
It raised what passed for a head — and turned toward Wang Lin.
There was no face.
But somehow… it looked at him.
Wang Lin stood.
No stance.
No hostility.
Just presence.
The air bent between them — one unnatural thing facing another.
And then the creature trembled.
Not in fear of a threat.
But in memory.
A memory older than its own existence. Imprinted into its summoning matrix. Coded into its bones.
It backed away.
Just one inch.
Then another.
Its legs scraped the floor, drawing a faint ring of shallow claw marks around Wang Lin's feet.
A circle.
A boundary.
A sign of respect.
Or warning.
"Long Shan."
"It's not going to attack."
"No."
"It's going to report."
Wang Lin raised one hand.
Palm open.
The creature froze.
And in the stillness — Wang Lin released a single, concentrated pulse of his bloodline. Not enough to kill. Not enough to rupture.
Just enough to remind.
The light flooded the chamber in a wave of shimmering blue — hot and ancient and merciless.
The creature screamed.
Not aloud — but spiritually.
Its form cracked.
It twisted on itself.
Then dove back beneath the floor, vanishing into the foundation stone like smoke into water.
Gone.
Silence returned.
But the air was different now.
Sharper.
Heavier.
He sat down once more, his pulse steady.
Then snapped his fingers.
A panel opened.
[Status Update]
Bloodline Pulse Used: Celestial Mark
• Nearby soul-bound entities will now identify host as Tier-One Celestial Vessel
• Any spiritual creatures lacking permission will react with instinctive submission or retreat
Egg Status: Active Resonance (Stabilizing)
• Pulse Match Detected: 99.8%
• Emotional Imprint: Partial
• Identity: Still Unknown
"That thing was afraid."
"It wasn't supposed to be."
"What does that mean?"
"It means even the things sent to spy on you… aren't sure they want to report back."
Wang Lin rolled his neck once and stared at the half-finished scroll.
Then closed it.
Not out of fear.
Out of focus.
"I've seen enough for tonight," he said. "Let them wonder what I'm hiding."
"They already are."
"Then let's feed their fear."