Morning unfurled fully across Qingyang Town, and with it came the murmurs.
By the time the sun touched the marketplace roofs, word had spread like smoke: something had shaken the western ridge — a burst of light, a flare of power no one could explain.
Some said it was a rogue cultivator testing forbidden arts.
Others whispered that the Lin Clan had unearthed an ancient treasure.
But beneath all those rumors lay the same trembling curiosity: the balance between clans might be shifting again.
At the Lin estate's training yard, the younger disciples were restless. Wooden swords clacked, laughter rang too loud, and every conversation circled back to the same question.
"Did you hear? They say a spirit beast was born out there."
"Nonsense. I heard it was the Lei Clan trying to probe our borders again."
"No, my cousin said a talisman lit up in the woods—"
The chatter died the moment Lin Langtian stepped into the yard.
Tall, calm, and unbearably composed, Langtian was everything Lin Dong wasn't — the clan's prodigy, already a first-level Yuan Dan stage cultivator at seventeen. His robes barely stirred as he walked; the air seemed to bend around him.
He looked over the group once, eyes cool.
"If you have time to gossip, you have time to train," he said, his voice low and cutting.
Instant silence.
Langtian's gaze swept the horizon for a moment — toward the western ridge — and something flickered behind his eyes.
Curiosity.
Or perhaps… warning.
He turned away without another word. But as he passed through the courtyard arch, he murmured quietly to his companion, Lin Ke'er:
"If there was a surge, we'll know soon enough. And if it came from within the clan… the elders won't tolerate it unsupervised."
Ke'er nodded softly, her delicate features shadowed by concern.
"You think it's an outsider?"
Langtian didn't answer.
His fingers flexed absently — feeling, beneath the calm, a faint ripple of energy still hanging in the air.
Elsewhere, in a quieter courtyard surrounded by peach trees, Lin Dong sat cross-legged. The morning wind brushed his hair as sunlight spilled over the small table beside him — a simple meal, untouched.
The mark on his palm pulsed faintly, like it was alive beneath the skin.
He couldn't stop staring at it.
"If I can control it," he whispered to himself, "I can change everything."
He remembered his father's bowed figure in the clan hall, the whispers about their "fallen branch," the sneers.
He could still hear Langtian's voice from months ago — calm, cold, absolute:
"Power decides worth, cousin. Without it, you're dust beneath our feet."
A soft thud pulled him back. Qingtan appeared at the gate, breathless.
"Brother! Father's been summoned to the council chamber. They said the patriarch demands answers."
Lin Dong's blood went cold.
"Answers about what?"
"About… what happened this morning."
At that same moment, inside the ancestral hall, Lin Xiao stood before the gathered elders.
The air was thick with incense and scrutiny.
Zhentian's gaze rested on him — sharp, unyielding.
"Lin Xiao," the patriarch said, "the disturbance began near your territory. I trust you have nothing to hide?"
Lin Xiao bowed, fists clasped tight.
"Father, I swear I know nothing. Perhaps it was a passing cultivator, or—"
"Enough excuses." Elder Lin Mu cut in, voice rough as stone. "We all felt the fluctuation. That wasn't the work of a passerby. If something dangerous is festering within our lands, it must be found."
Zhentian's gaze darkened.
"Send scouts. Search the western ridge. I want the truth before nightfall."
Lin Xiao hesitated, pulse pounding.
Because he already knew the truth — and it was no beast.
It was his son.