The path of cultivation was vast, like an endless river that carved through heaven and earth. For mortals it began with the Man Realm, the first fragile step where flesh, blood, and spirit were tempered to break free of weakness. Most lived and died here, never daring to dream beyond.
Above it stretched the Earth Realm, a gulf so wide it seemed another world entirely. Those who stepped into it were no longer bound by the struggles of common men. Their qi surged like rivers, their presence enough to suppress entire clans. A single Earth Realm cultivator could anchor a city, bend the fate of a generation, or topple dynasties if left unchecked.
Beyond even that lay the Heaven Realm, whispered in hushed tones, a stage of legends. The few who climbed its heights stood as lords over mountains and seas, their wills resonating with the Dao itself. At its pinnacle shimmered Immortal Ascension, where one severed mortal coils and stepped into eternity.
Each stage was not a step but a chasm. To bridge the Man Realm and Earth Realm was like leaping from dust to the stars. That gulf alone separated men from giants.
In the Lin Clan, only one had crossed that chasm—Patriarch Lin Huang, the pillar whose existence alone allowed the clan to stand firm in Lutong Town. Without him, the Lin Clan would have been swallowed whole by rivals generations ago. With him, no one dared move lightly against them.
---
When the Patriarch's presence finally withdrew, it was as though the heavens themselves had lifted. The suffocating pressure that had pinned the square dissolved into uneasy silence. Children gasped for breath as though they had been drowning. Elders straightened their backs with trembling dignity, pretending they had not nearly buckled under the strain.
Disciples whispered in awe, their voices sharp yet hushed. That was the Earth Realm… that was the strength that shields us all.
Yet no one dared speak loudly. The echo of Lin Huang's voice still lingered, his declaration ringing in their ears: the turning of an age.
Lin Xun stood at the center where his testing had revealed five radiant lights. Sweat clung to his back, his breathing uneven. His body trembled slightly, though whether from exhaustion or exhilaration, none could say. He had withstood the weight of the heavens and the scrutiny of an entire clan, yet his gaze still burned like a steady flame.
That pressure had nearly crushed him. But it had also carved something into his bones—a mark of the summit, unreachable but beckoning.
Lin Zhentian, his father, stepped forward and placed a steady hand upon his son's shoulder. "Stand tall, Xun'er. From this day forward, the clan's eyes will never leave you."
Lin Xiuying's gaze softened, though her voice carried a sharp edge. "Do not be swayed by whispers. Walk your path. The heavens have marked you. Let no man rob you of it."
Lin Xun bowed his head. His heart roiled with quiet storms. I am not only myself. I carry the weight of two lives. For me, and for him, I must climb… no matter the cost.
---
The square slowly unraveled into pockets of murmurs. Elders gathered in hushed circles, their voices sharp but restrained. Mothers pulled children away with anxious whispers. Servants hurried about, preparing for the evening gathering when results would be formally declared.
But not all left in peace.
At the far edge of the grounds, beneath the withered pine, two figures lingered. Lin Jianhong stood tall, his robes crisp, eyes calm as deep water. Yet beneath that calm flickered cold calculation. Beside him, Lin Yueqin appeared serene, her beauty like polished jade, though her lips curved with the faintest trace of frost.
Their son, Lin Ming, knelt before them, head bowed low, his body stiff with humiliation. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles bled.
"Father… Mother… how can I endure this shame?" His words trembled with fury. "In front of the clan, before the Patriarch himself… all eyes mocked me."
Jianhong's hands clasped behind his back. His voice was quiet but unyielding. "Control yourself. A blade sharpened too quickly snaps in battle. You must endure. The Patriarch will not live forever, and brilliance too sharp invites its own ruin."
Lin Yueqin's eyes glittered, a trace of venom hidden in her smile. "Do you think it is chance the boy survived that attack? A blade meant to kill leaves him half-dead, yet instead of ending, he awakens stronger, brighter? No, Ming'er. There are hands unseen. Fate does not weave such threads without reason."
Lin Ming's head snapped up, eyes burning red. "Then—"
"Silence." Jianhong cut him off. The authority in his tone cracked the air like iron. "Patience is a blade sharper than steel. Today he shines. Tomorrow, he may choke on his own fire. For now, you will cultivate harder than ever. Let them praise him. When his light falters, you will be the one they turn to."
Yueqin's smile thinned into a cruel line. "And if his light does not falter, then there are always… other means. A flower admired by all is the easiest to cut."
Lin Ming's shoulders trembled, but his fury slowly solidified into venomous resolve. He bowed deeply, voice hoarse. "I will not forget this day. Nor his face."
The couple exchanged a brief glance. No words passed between them, but ambition and malice threaded through the silence. Lin Xun's rise was a storm. And storms could be weathered—or redirected.
---
By nightfall, Lutong Town itself hummed with whispers. Traders in the market, drunkards in the taverns, guards at the gates—all spoke of a youth in the Lin Clan who bore the five elements in brilliance unseen for generations. Some called it divine favor, some called it omen, and many more called it threat.
"Five elements, brighter than heaven itself," one merchant muttered. "If he survives, he will not remain bound to this little town."
"If he survives," another repeated darkly.
Already, the news spread beyond the walls, carried by tongues eager for drama. In rival clans, elders frowned in worry while schemers smiled with interest. The Lin Clan had birthed a star, and stars drew both reverence and blades.
---
Back in his courtyard, Lin Xun returned with his parents. Servants bowed lower than before. Whispers trailed after them like shadows—some reverent, some envious, some filled with doubt.
Within his chamber, Lin Xun sat cross-legged, the flickering lamplight painting his face half in shadow, half in gold.
The images replayed again and again—the five-colored brilliance, the suffocating presence of the Patriarch, the sudden weight of expectation pressing against his shoulders. His chest rose and fell as though still beneath that pressure.
But within that weight, a fire flickered stubbornly.
This path is cruel, yet it is the only one worth walking. Once, I was nothing. On earth, I was a boy no one remembered, mediocre, crawling through life without aim. I tasted humiliation, rejection, loneliness. I was cut down like a dog in the dark, left to bleed out in the filth. That boy died. Yet I remain. Heaven gave me another chance, and I will not waste it. I will not crawl again. I will stand. I will climb. For both of us.
His eyes snapped open, sharp as twin blades. The silence pressed close, but his words cut through it like steel against stone.
"If these paths are treacherous," he whispered, his lips curling into a fearless smile, "what else is there to lose? I already died once."
The night deepened. Stars scattered across the sky, cold and distant. In the Lin Clan, a prodigy had risen. But already, unseen hands reached out from the darkness, weaving schemes in silence.
The heavens had given Lin Xun light. The shadows of men would answer with blades.