Yan Kesh stopped right at the boundary of the vegetation.
Before him, the forest changed abruptly. Behind his back, the woods were noisy with the sounds of poisonous insects and restless rustling leaves. But the region ahead was absolute death.
Silence.
There was no wind. No chirping insects. Even the dense black mist seemed to freeze the moment it touched the edge of this area. The trees within were bare, twisted, and pale gray—like sun-dried bones left exposed for thousands of years.
Yan Kesh did not step in immediately. He picked up a small pebble and tossed it into the silent zone.
Tuk.
The stone fell.
No surge of energy.
No trap formations activated.
No ferocious beast leapt out.
"Not a predator's territory," Yan Kesh analyzed inwardly, his eyes narrowing.
"If this were the lair of a Beast King, there would be scattered bones or the stench of blood marking its domain. This place is clean. Too clean."
This was an anomaly.
And in the cultivation world, anomalies usually meant one of two things—
A peerless heavenly treasure,
or an ancient grave with no way out.
Yan Kesh lowered his gaze to his thin hands. He had nothing left to wager, and his life was currently dirt cheap.
"Move forward and die of starvation. Retreat and be devoured," he muttered.
"Entering is a gamble with the highest odds."
He stepped past the boundary of silence.
The moment his foot touched the gray soil inside, he felt something strange. Not an overwhelming pressure that crushed bones—like the aura emitted by high-grade treasures—but a sensation of being… ignored.
As if this place did not care that he existed.
As if he were so insignificant that even the natural laws here were unwilling to acknowledge him.
Yan Kesh walked about a hundred steps before reaching the heart of the anomaly.
In the center of the barren clearing lay a black stone.
It did not float.
It did not glow with golden light.
It was not surrounded by a rainbow halo.
Its shape was rough, about the size of a water buffalo's head, pitted and uneven. It looked like an ordinary river stone—something one could find in any roadside ditch.
If this stone were placed by a village road, not even a beggar would spare it a glance.
And yet, that was precisely why Yan Kesh was interested.
"Most treasures flaunt their Qi," Yan Kesh murmured, his eyes fixed on the stone's coarse surface.
"They lure living beings closer, either to enslave them or devour them. But this stone… it hides itself in absolute simplicity. It emits nothing. It is empty."
He approached cautiously, prepared for the stone to explode at any moment. But even when he was within arm's reach, there was no reaction.
Yan Kesh noticed faint grooves on the stone's surface. Ancient characters—crude, as if carved with bleeding fingernails rather than the elegant strokes of a calligraphy master.
He read them silently.
"If you seek power to conquer the heavens, leave. The heavens do not care about you."
"If you seek a way to not die, read on."
Yan Kesh fell silent. The corner of his lips lifted slightly, forming a thin, cold smile.
These words were different from every clan scripture he had ever read. Clan manuals always spoke of "Becoming a God," "Ruling the Nine Heavens," or "Eternal Immortality." Sweet lies, all of them.
But these words…
This was an honest transaction.
"Being powerful and not dying are two completely different things," Yan Kesh whispered, his mind rapidly unraveling the philosophy behind the message.
"The powerful often die because they challenge danger to prove their strength. But those who only wish to survive… they'll do anything—become cowards, become cunning, even become trash—as long as they're still breathing tomorrow morning."
Yan Kesh placed his palm against the stone's cold surface.
"I don't need to conquer the heavens. The heavens are too high," he said softly.
"I only need those people to never be able to step on my head whenever they please."
"I want to survive."
As if responding to his pure intent—free of heroic ambition—the stone did not shine. Instead, it absorbed the faint light around it, plunging the area into momentary darkness.
Then, new words appeared beneath the first. This time, the grooves were deeper, as though they were being carved directly into Yan Kesh's retinas.
[The Law of Initial Balance]
"The world is a ledger of debt. Nothing is free. Every breath is a loan. Every power is an installment."
"You cannot cultivate because your vessel leaks. Then do not store water. Become the flow itself."
Yan Kesh's head throbbed violently—not from an influx of information, but from the sheer heresy of the concept. It contradicted every principle of cultivation he had learned in his life.
Cultivators gathered energy—saving it.
This stone told him to circulate energy—treating it as a transaction.
"Do not store…" Yan Kesh murmured, cold sweat dripping down his forehead.
"That means… I don't need to keep Qi inside my broken dantian? I only need to borrow it, use it, and pay it back?"
It was madness.
It was heresy.
But for Yan Kesh—already pronounced "dead" by the orthodox path—the heretical road was the only highway left.
He sat cross-legged before the stone. Not to worship it, but to study how it worked.
"Very well," he said to the lifeless object.
"Let's see how much interest you're charging for this worthless life of mine."
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