Part One: The Ghost in the Room
Lin Chen didn't sleep.
How could he? Every time he closed his eyes, he wasn't in a shed. He was on a mountain peak above the clouds. He was in a pill refinement chamber where time flowed differently. He was painting constellations onto silk with a brush dipped in starlight.
He was everywhere except here.
And he was never alone.
The memories didn't sit quietly in some mental archive. They moved. They breathed. They had weight. He could feel Tianyuan's presence like a second person in the small shed—a ghost standing just behind his shoulder, watching through his eyes.
You're not real, Lin Chen thought toward the presence. You're just memories.
A sensation like laughter. Not heard. Felt. In the bones.
Then a memory surfaced, unbidden:
Tianyuan meditating in a cave, centuries before he became a god. A similar thought had crossed his mind about his own teacher. "You're just a memory now."
His teacher's ghost—because yes, it was a literal ghost that time—had materialized and flicked his forehead. "Memories have more power than you think, boy."
Lin Chen opened his eyes. The shed was dark. Rain still fell on the roof, a steady rhythm.
He could hear each individual drop.
More than hear—he could place them. Which tile they hit. At what angle. With what force. The roof was a map of impacts, and his mind drew it without effort.
This was Tianyuan's perception. A god's awareness crammed into a mortal's senses.
It was overwhelming. Like being in a silent room and suddenly hearing every insect crawling in the walls, every heartbeat of every mouse in the foundation, every rustle of every leaf for a mile.
He focused on his breathing. In. Out. A basic meditation technique.
But even that was contaminated.
He remembered Tianyuan teaching breath control to his third disciple—a girl with fire in her eyes who would later poison an entire realm because they insulted her.
"Breath is the bridge between body and Dao," Tianyuan had said. "Control the breath, control the self."
The disciple had smiled. "And if I want to control others?"
"Then you've missed the point."
Lin Chen's breath hitched. The memory was so vivid he could smell the incense in that meditation chamber. Sandalwood and something else—the disciple's perfume, lilac and betrayal.
He stood abruptly. Paced the three steps the shed allowed.
I am Lin Chen, he thought fiercely. Son of Lin Wei and Mei Ling. Born in the Lin Clan compound. Seventeen years old. My parents are dead. I want revenge.
A wave of… not disagreement. Addition.
I am Tianyuan. Born from chaos and order. Lived ten thousand years. Master of all Daos. Betrayed by those I loved. I want…
The thought trailed off. What did Tianyuan want? Peace? Justice? Revenge? Something else?
Lin Chen didn't know. The memories were complete, but the conclusion—the final desire of a dying god—was missing. Or buried too deep.
He stopped pacing. Looked at the door.
Dawn was coming. Grey light seeped through the cracks.
He had survived the night. The first miracle.
Now what?
Part Two: The Archives of Forgetting
The Lin Clan Archives were a monument to selective memory.
Three floors of scrolls, jade slips, and carved stone tablets documenting the clan's glorious history. Every victory recorded. Every defeat rewritten. Every shameful act carefully omitted.
Lin Chen had spent most of the last three years here. Not because he loved history. Because it was the only place they mostly left him alone. As long as he was reading, they could pretend he was improving himself instead of wasting space.
The archivist, Old Man Luo, looked up from his desk as Lin Chen entered. His eyes—clouded with cataracts—narrowed.
"You're early."
"Couldn't sleep," Lin Chen said.
Old Man Luo grunted. He'd never been cruel to Lin Chen. Never kind either. Neutrality was his religion. "Section three needs dusting. Don't touch the restricted shelves."
Lin Chen nodded and moved past him into the main hall.
The Archives smelled of dust and ink and something else—the faint ozone scent of preservation formations. Basic things, meant to keep insects out and slow decay. To Lin Chen's newly sensitive perception, they glowed with faint blue light. Crude work. Full of flaws.
He could see three points where the formation would fail if a specific character was scratched. He knew a dozen better ways to design it.
The knowledge didn't come as a list. It came as memory:
Tianyuan designing a preservation formation for the Library of Ten Thousand Worlds. The formation had to protect against time itself, against dimensional shifts, against conceptual erosion. He'd spent a century perfecting it.
The finished design was beautiful. Like frozen music.
Lin Chen shook his head. Focus.
He walked to section three—the clan's own historical records. Started dusting.
But his eyes kept being drawn to the restricted shelves at the back. Sealed with a more complex formation. Guarded.
He knew what was there. He'd tried to access it before. Records of "traitors and expelled members." His parents' files would be there. The official version of their crimes.
A memory surfaced:
Tianyuan's own library, far vaster than this. No restricted sections. "Knowledge should flow like water," he'd told his disciples. "Restricting it creates dams. Dams break. Usually violently."
First Disciple had disagreed. "Some knowledge is dangerous, Master."
"All knowledge is dangerous," Tianyuan had replied. "The question is who gets to decide what 'some' means."
Lin Chen finished dusting. Looked at Old Man Luo, who was dozing at his desk.
He walked toward the restricted section.
The formation hummed as he approached. A warning.
Lin Chen stopped. Looked at the formation lines glowing on the floor. Simple five-element seal. Earth generates metal, metal carries water, water feeds wood, wood feeds fire, fire creates earth. A cycle.
To break it, you'd need to disrupt two elements simultaneously.
Or…
A memory: Tianyuan as a young man, facing a similar seal. Instead of breaking it, he'd harmonized with it. Adjusted his own energy signature to match the formation's rhythm. Walked through like he belonged.
Could Lin Chen do that?
He had the knowledge. Did he have the control?
He reached out a hand. Let his awareness—Tianyuan's awareness—flow into the formation.
Immediately, he felt the rhythm. The pulse of energy moving through the five elements. Steady. Predictable.
He adjusted his breathing. Let his own meager Qi—what little he had now that the false meridians were gone—match the pattern.
Earth… metal… water… wood… fire…
His hand passed through the barrier.
No resistance.
He stepped forward. Through.
The restricted section was smaller. A dozen shelves. Thick dust.
He went straight to the "L" section. Found the scroll labeled "Lin Wei and Mei Ling – Treason and Execution."
His hands shook as he unrolled it.
Part Three: The Official Lie
The scroll was brief.
Lin Wei, branch family member, and his wife Mei Ling were found guilty of stealing the clan's ancestral treasure—the Heaven-Touching Jade—and attempting to sell it to the rival Zhao Clan. Evidence: the jade was discovered in their quarters. Confession extracted under proper questioning. Sentence: execution. Property confiscated. Son Lin Chen spared due to youth and demonstrated lack of talent.
That was it.
Three years. Two lives. One paragraph.
Lin Chen had read it before. It had made him cry then.
Now it made him angry in a cold, clear way.
Because now he saw the flaws.
"Under proper questioning" meant torture. "Evidence discovered" meant planted. "Demonstrated lack of talent" meant they'd already been poisoning him with the Qi-Gathering Pills for years.
And "Heaven-Touching Jade"…
He knew what that was. A green stone that supposedly helped communication with ancestors. A treasure, yes, but not worth killing over. Not for the main clan, who had better treasures.
Something didn't fit.
A memory nudged him. Not Tianyuan's. His own.
His father, a week before the execution, whispering to his mother: "They're getting closer. They know it's not the jade they want."
"Then we hide it better," his mother had said.
"Some things can't be hidden forever."
Lin Chen had been half-asleep in the next room. He'd thought they were talking about money troubles.
Now he understood.
They hadn't stolen any jade.
They'd been hiding something else.
Something the clan wanted.
The stone.
His hand went to his empty chest. The stone was gone now. Transferred into him. But before…
What had it been?
Just a black, cracked rock. Nothing special to look at. But his father had guarded it like it was more precious than life.
Because it was.
Lin Chen rerolled the scroll. Put it back.
Looked around the restricted section. What else was here?
He moved to the older records. Dust thicker. Scrolls brittle.
One caught his eye: "Record of Fallen Treasures – Items Lost or Destroyed."
He pulled it. Unrolled.
A list. Dozens of items. The Heaven-Touching Jade was there, noted as "recovered, then lost again in the great fire of 312."
But near the bottom:
"Black Soul Stone – gifted to clan by wandering cultivator circa 280. Properties unknown. Cracked. Considered worthless. Lost during the treason of Lin Wei."
Black Soul Stone.
Not its real name.
Lin Chen almost laughed. They thought it was worthless. They'd killed his parents over something they didn't even understand.
The irony tasted bitter.
He put the scroll back. Turned to leave.
And froze.
Old Man Luo stood at the entrance to the restricted section, watching him.
"The formation didn't alert," the old man said slowly. "How?"
Lin Chen's mind raced. Excuses. Explanations.
But before he could speak, Old Man Luo's clouded eyes seemed to clear for a moment. To really see him.
"Your eyes," the old man whispered. "They're like hers."
"Whose?"
"Your mother's. When she came here. The day before they took her." Old Man Luo stepped closer. His voice dropped. "She looked at the restricted section too. Didn't go in. Just… looked. And her eyes had that same… depth."
Lin Chen said nothing.
"What are you looking for, boy?"
"The truth."
Old Man Luo sighed. "Truth is expensive. More than you can pay."
"I've already paid," Lin Chen said. "With both their lives."
The old man studied him. Then, slowly, he reached into his robes. Pulled out a small jade slip. Not clan issue. Personal.
"Your mother gave me this. The day before. Said if you ever came asking… really asking… to give it to you."
He held it out.
Lin Chen took it. The jade was warm.
"It's voice-recorded," Old Man Luo said. "One play only. Then it shatters. Don't use it here."
He turned and walked back to his desk.
Lin Chen slipped the jade into his sleeve. Walked out of the restricted section. Through the main hall. Past Old Man Luo, who didn't look up.
Out into the rain.
Part Four: Mother's Voice
He went to the only private place he knew—the old watchtower at the compound's edge. Abandoned. Partially collapsed. No one came here.
He climbed to the highest stable floor. Sat in a corner where the roof still offered some cover.
Rain fell through holes in the ceiling. One drop landed on his hand.
He remembered: Rain-Dance Sword Style, movement seven, "Tears of the Sky." A defensive technique that used falling water as a shield.
The memory brought pain. Not physical. Emotional. Tianyuan's pain.
He pushed it aside.
Pulled out the jade slip.
Hesitated.
This was the last piece of his parents. The last voice. Once played, gone forever.
He breathed in. Breathed out.
Pressed his thumb to the activation point.
A soft glow. Then his mother's voice, strained but clear:
"Chen'er. If you're hearing this, you're old enough to ask. And I'm… not there to answer."
A pause. Rain in the background of the recording too. She'd made this in the rain.
"The stone isn't ours. It came to your father's line generations ago. A falling star, they said. Black. Cracked. Always cold."
Another pause. He could hear her breathing. Shaky.
"Your grandfather believed it was a key. To something. He spent his life studying it. Found nothing. Your father continued. He… he thought he made progress. The stone would sometimes… whisper. Not words. Feelings. Memories that weren't his."
Lin Chen's breath caught.
"Then the main clan noticed. They thought it was the Heaven-Touching Jade at first. But when they realized it was something else… something older… they wanted it. For study. For power."
A sound like a sob, quickly stifled.
"We refused. They threatened. We hid the stone. Pretended we lost it. They didn't believe us. What comes next… I think you know."
Silence for three heartbeats.
"Listen carefully. The stone is not a treasure. It's a test. Your father believed that. A test set by Heaven itself. The cracks… he thought they were deliberate. Like a shell. Something meant to be broken open when the right person found it."
Lin Chen looked at his hands. The hands that had broken it.
"If you have it… be careful. It's more dangerous than they know. And if you don't have it… then maybe that's better. Live quietly. Forget us. Be safe."
A longer pause. When she spoke again, her voice was thick.
"I love you, Chen'er. Your father loves you. Whatever happens… know that."
The jade slip cracked. Then shattered into dust.
The pieces fell through his fingers. Mixed with rainwater on the floor.
Gone.
Lin Chen sat there for a long time.
Rain fell.
Memory fell.
A test. That's what she'd said.
He'd broken the test open. And now he carried the grader inside his head.
Part Five: The Shed's Secret
He returned to his shed as evening fell.
Something was different.
The door was slightly ajar.
He pushed it open. The inside had been searched. Not roughly. Professionally. Everything was where it should be, but slightly off. The mat was at a different angle. The blanket folded differently.
They were looking for the stone.
Of course. Lin Hao and Elder Feng would have reported his survival. His sudden… competence. They'd want to know why. And the only unusual thing about him was the stone he always wore.
Which was gone now.
Inside him.
He stepped in. Closed the door.
And immediately knew he wasn't alone.
Not a person. A formation.
Subtle. Almost invisible. A monitoring formation etched into the floorboards beneath the mat. New. Still settling.
He knelt. Examined it without touching.
Basic surveillance. Would alert its caster if anyone entered or left. Would record energy fluctuations.
Crude work. But effective for its purpose.
A memory: Tianyuan discovering a similar formation in his own chambers, placed by his second disciple. He'd not only disabled it—he'd reversed it. Turned it into a channel to spy on the spy.
Could Lin Chen do that?
He had the knowledge. The theory was clear in his mind. But the execution…
He placed his hands on the floor. Let his awareness flow into the formation.
Immediately, he saw its structure. Like a blueprint glowing in his mind. The energy channels. The trigger points. The connection leading back to… somewhere in the main compound. Elder Feng's quarters, probably.
He traced the connection. Felt it like a thin thread of energy stretching through the compound.
Now, to reverse it…
He needed to reroute the energy flow. Change the direction without breaking the connection. Like turning a pipe around while water was still flowing.
His hands moved without conscious thought. Fingers tracing new lines in the dust on the floorboards. Not physically altering the formation—just redirecting its energy with his own Qi.
It was delicate work. His control was terrible. His Qi was thin. But his understanding was perfect.
Like a master surgeon with trembling hands.
He focused. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
Slowly, slowly…
The formation's energy shifted. The direction reversed.
Now, instead of monitoring his shed, it would feed false information—an empty, quiet room—while letting him monitor the caster's location.
He finished. Sat back. Exhausted.
That small effort had drained him. His dantian felt empty. His body weak.
This was the problem. He had a god's knowledge in a mortal's body. The gap was enormous.
He needed to cultivate. Properly. For the first time in his life.
But how? With what resources? The clan wouldn't give him spirit stones. Wouldn't give him proper pills. Wouldn't teach him real techniques.
He'd have to steal.
Or… make his own.
Part Six: The First Pill
He waited until full dark. Until the compound was quiet.
Then he slipped out.
Not toward the Alchemy Pavilion—too guarded. Toward the herb gardens at the compound's eastern edge.
The rain had stopped. The moon was a sliver behind clouds.
The gardens were locked. A simple formation on the gate. Simpler than the one in his shed. He disabled it with a touch.
Inside, rows of medicinal plants glowed faintly in his enhanced perception. Each had its own energy signature. Some bright and clean. Some dim. Some… sickly. Poorly tended.
He moved quickly. He knew what he needed.
Basic Qi-Gathering Pill recipe: three parts Spirit-Grass, two parts Clear-Root, one part Moon-Petal, bind with dawn dew.
But he could do better. Tianyuan's memory held thousands of pill recipes. Including one for "Mortal Foundation Pill." Meant for those starting cultivation with poor talent. Used common ingredients but combined in a way that amplified their effects tenfold.
He gathered:
Spirit-Grass (but only the blades that had grown toward the east—they absorbed morning sun energy)
Clear-Root (but only the thin, young roots—more flexible Qi)
Moon-Petal (but only petals that had fully opened last full moon)
Plus two ingredients the basic recipe didn't use: Whisper-Moss (grew in shade) and Dawn-Vine (climbed walls)
He needed a cauldron. Fire. Processing tools.
He had none.
But he remembered something: Tianyuan's first pill. Made as a child. With no tools. Just his hands and will.
"Pills are not about cauldrons," the memory whispered. "They're about intention. About convincing separate energies to become one."
Could he do that?
He found a secluded corner behind a tool shed. Sat cross-legged. Placed the herbs before him.
Closed his eyes.
Focused on his breathing. On the energy within the herbs. He could feel it—faint threads of wood energy, water energy, earth energy.
He needed to combine them. Not physically. Energetically.
He placed his hands over the herbs. Let his meager Qi flow out. Not to force. To invite.
"Come together," he whispered. Not with his voice. With his intent.
The herbs shimmered.
Slowly, their energies began to mingle. To dance around each other.
He guided them. Gently. Like teaching children to hold hands.
Spirit-Grass's bright energy. Clear-Root's steady pulse. Moon-Petal's cool flow. Whisper-Moss's subtle whisper. Dawn-Vine's climbing aspiration.
They resisted at first. Different frequencies. Different natures.
He persisted. Showed them—through his intention, through his own Qi—how they could complement each other. How together they could be more.
Slowly, slowly…
They began to harmonize.
The herbs themselves began to dissolve. Not into paste. Into light. Swirling colors merging.
The process took an hour. Maybe two. Lin Chen lost track of time. His concentration was absolute. Sweat poured down his face. His Qi was nearly exhausted.
But he didn't stop.
Finally, the lights merged into a single, soft golden glow.
The glow condensed. Solidified.
A pill lay on the ground where the herbs had been.
Imperfect. Lumpy. Not the smooth, glowing pills of legend.
But it was a pill. Made with no tools. With will alone.
He picked it up. It was warm. Hummed with energy.
He'd done it.
A memory surfaced, not of triumph, but of sadness:
Tianyuan's first pill, also imperfect. His teacher had held it, smiled sadly. "The first step is always the hardest. And the most dangerous. Because now you know you can walk."
Lin Chen swallowed the pill.
Part Seven: The Storm Inside
The effect was immediate.
Heat. Starting in his stomach, spreading through his meridians.
But not the violent, destructive heat of the Meridian-Breaking Powder. A gentle, building warmth. Like the first rays of sun after winter.
His empty meridians drank it greedily.
He felt his dantian begin to fill. Slowly. A trickle becoming a stream.
He guided the energy. Not with a specific technique—he knew too many to choose. Instead, he let it flow naturally. Let it find its own path.
It flowed through the newly formed meridians—the real ones the stone's inheritance had built. Clean. Unblocked. Perfect.
The energy cycled. Grew.
He felt his awareness expand. Felt his connection to the world deepen.
The night sounds grew clearer. The scents sharper. The energy flows in the plants around him became visible as faint auras.
He was cultivating. Truly cultivating. For the first time in his life.
And it was… easy.
Not effortless. But natural. Like breathing.
Because he'd done this before. Ten thousand times. In ten thousand ways.
The memories rose with the energy:
Tianyuan's first breakthrough. The joy. The sense of infinite possibility.
Tianyuan's hundredth breakthrough. The routine. The focus on perfection.
Tianyuan's last cultivation session before the betrayal. The melancholy. Knowing something was wrong but not what.
Lin Chen pushed the memories down. Focused on the now.
The energy reached a peak. His dantian was full. For the first time.
He should stop. Consolidate.
But something urged him onward. A whisper from the memories. A path he knew without knowing.
He pushed.
The energy compressed.
His dantian trembled.
He pushed harder.
A crack. Not breaking. Opening.
The energy collapsed inward. Then exploded outward in a new pattern.
His dantian was no longer a pond. It was a swirling vortex. Still small. But organized. Structured.
Foundation Establishment.
First stage.
He'd done it in one night. What took most cultivators months or years.
He opened his eyes. The world was different.
Colors were brighter. Sounds richer. The air itself seemed alive with energy he could now sense.
He looked at his hands. They glowed faintly with inner light.
He was a cultivator.
Truly.
A memory surfaced, unbidden and unwelcome:
Tianyuan's first disciple reaching Foundation. The pride Tianyuan had felt. The hope. "You'll do great things," he'd said.
The same disciple, centuries later, using that foundation to build an empire of blood.
Lin Chen stood. His body felt strong. Light. Capable.
But his mind felt heavy.
He walked out of the garden. Back toward his shed.
The moon was higher now. The compound silent.
He reached his shed. Stopped.
Someone was inside again.
Not hiding. Waiting.
Lin Chen pushed the door open.
Lin Hao sat on his mat. Two older clan members flanked him—inner disciples. Stronger.
"Cousin," Lin Hao said, smiling that handsome smile. "We need to talk about today. About how you're suddenly not completely useless."
Lin Chen looked at him. Saw not just a bully now.
Saw:
Foundation Establishment, mid-stage (strong but sloppy)
Imbalance between fire and water meridians (too aggressive)
A telltale tremor in the left hand (hidden injury)
He saw more: Lin Hao's energy was tainted. Too many pills taken too quickly. Impurities building up. He'd hit a wall soon. Maybe never break through to Core Formation.
All this in a glance.
"I survived your poison," Lin Chen said quietly. "That's all."
"That's not all." Lin Hao stood. "Elder Feng examined you. Says your meridians are… different now. Clean. And you've got Qi. A lot of it, for someone who had none yesterday."
Lin Chen said nothing.
"Where's the stone, cousin?"
"Lost."
"Find it."
"I can't."
Lin Hao's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then you'll have to come with us. Elder Feng wants to examine you more closely. Figure out what changed."
The two inner disciples stepped forward.
Lin Chen calculated. He was Foundation, early stage. They were Foundation, late stage. Two against one. Bad odds.
But…
He remembered a thousand fights. A thousand techniques.
He knew how to fight multiple opponents. Knew where to strike. How to move.
But knowing and doing were different.
"Don't make this difficult," Lin Hao said.
Lin Chen breathed in. Breathed out.
Made a decision.
He moved.
Not toward them. Toward the wall.
His hand slapped a specific board. The one with the reversed monitoring formation.
He channeled Qi into it. Not much. Just a pulse.
In Elder Feng's quarters, the monitoring formation would suddenly show… something. An energy spike. A disturbance.
Hopefully enough to draw the elder's attention.
"Stop him!" Lin Hao snapped.
The disciples lunged.
Lin Chen didn't fight. He flowed.
Between them. Around them. Out the door.
He ran.
Not with speed—he didn't have that yet. With cleverness.
He knew the compound. Every alley. Every hiding spot.
He led them on a chase through the dark.
And as he ran, a plan formed in his mind. Not fully his. Part Tianyuan's.
A memory: escaping assassins in a celestial palace. Not by outrunning them. By disappearing where they'd never look.
He reached the Archives.
Old Man Luo was gone for the night.
Lin Chen disabled the door formation—simpler now with real Qi—and slipped inside.
Went not to the main hall. To the basement. The forgotten storage.
Dusty. Packed with broken furniture and old records.
He hid behind a collapsed shelf. Quieted his breathing. Quieted his Qi.
The disciples ran past outside. Didn't stop.
He waited.
Silence.
He was safe. For now.
He sat in the dark. Listened to his own heartbeat.
And realized something:
He couldn't stay here.
They'd keep coming. They'd keep testing. They'd eventually figure out what happened. Or they'd just kill him trying.
He had to leave.
Tonight.
But where?
A memory surfaced. Not helpful. Poignant.
Tianyuan leaving his own home for the first time. Young. Scared. Excited.
"The world is larger than you know," his teacher had said. "And more dangerous. And more beautiful."
Lin Chen stood. Brushed dust off his robes.
Looked toward the compound's outer wall.
Beyond it: the Beast Forest. Danger. But also freedom.
And somewhere beyond that: answers. About the stone. About Tianyuan. About the nine disciples who now ruled heavens.
He took a step. Then another.
Toward the door.
Toward the night.
Toward whatever came next.
End of Chapter 2