Night draped itself over the clan compound like a heavy cloak—thick, muffling, full of secrets if you knew where to listen. I definitely wasn’t supposed to be outside after curfew, but I’d gotten very good at pretending I didn’t exist. Turns out that when everyone already thinks you’re useless, slipping into the shadows is less a skill and more a biological instinct.

  Still, I moved carefully.

  My ribs ached. My back ached. My everything ached. But that was normal for me, apparently. The first meridian thrummed under my skin in a way that was almost comforting now—like a half-awake cat purring against my insides, occasionally stretching claws in warning when I pushed too hard.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I whispered to myself as I crept past the servants’ yard. “I’ll rest later. Probably. Maybe.”

  The ancient pine rose ahead, twisted and enormous, its bark rippling in moonlight like wrinkled bronze. I hesitated at its base. It looked exactly as it had earlier today—quiet, still, about as threatening as any ordinary tree. Which was hilarious considering this spot had just changed the course of my life.

  The jade token sat warm against my chest, tucked under my shirt like a guilty secret. Every few seconds it pulsed—soft, rhythmic, like a heartbeat not quite syncing with my own.

  I knelt before the tree, exhaling slowly.

  “Okay,” I murmured, glancing around to make absolutely sure no one felt like taking a midnight stroll. “Round two. Don’t die. Don’t scream. Don’t attract supernatural attention from anything other than the thing I’m voluntarily poking.”

  Great pep talk.

  I settled into a more-or-less straight posture and let my breath fall into the familiar rhythm of Flow Cycle. Inhale—draw the warmth from my dantian. Exhale—guide it into the meridian. Inhale—smooth around the tender spots. Exhale—ignore the throbbing headache building behind my eyes.

  After a minute or two, the edges of the world softened. The chirping insects grew distant. My heartbeat steadied. My awareness tucked inward like folding paper.

  The token warmed.

  A whisper fluttered against the inside of my skull.

  …child… return…

  “I’m here,” I breathed aloud, though I had no idea if sound mattered.

  I placed my fingers lightly on the jade.

  The world vanished.

  There was no sensation of falling. No spinning. No dramatic swirling vortex like some fantasy anime. One moment I was kneeling beneath a pine; the next, I stood inside an unending expanse of pale jade mist.

  It felt…thick. Heavy. Saturated with something ancient—like time had soaked into the air itself.

  And then the mist parted.

  A figure emerged: tall, straight-backed, dressed in archaic robes that seemed woven from old moonlight. His beard flowed like carved crystal, and his expression was the kind that could make mountains feel ashamed for not standing properly.

  His eyes, though—those were sharp. Alive. Clear as polished jade.

  I swallowed.

  “Uh. Hi.”

  The figure looked at me the way one might look at an insect attempting calculus.

  “Child,” he said, voice resonant like temple bells underwater. “At last you return.”

  “I—yes. Sorry for the delay. I had chores. And then dinner. And then existential dread. Full day, really.”

  He stared.

  Right. Maybe ancient spectral elders weren’t big on humor.

  He lifted a hand, and jade light shimmered around him. “I am Jian Shuhai,” he intoned. “Once elder of the clan you now serve. Bound within this token so that my legacy might endure where the living faltered.”

  Bound. Elder. Legacy. Great. Zero pressure.

  “I’m… honored?” I said, trying to decide where to put my hands. Salute? Bow? Pretend I knew ancient ghost etiquette?

  “You were the first in generations to resonate with the token,” Master Jian continued. “The first whose spirit did not collapse at the mere touch of my Will.”

  I blinked. “Wait—the whisper earlier almost knocked me unconscious.”

  “Yes,” he said. “That was the gentlest greeting I am capable of.”

  “Oh,” I said faintly. “Cool. Awesome. Absolutely not terrifying.”

  His gaze sharpened. “You carry the scent of awakening. The faint stir of Qitan in your meridian. Your Will is weak but unbroken. Suitable raw clay.”

  I opened my mouth to object to being called clay, but then again… fair.

  “I will test you,” Master Jian said.

  “Test? As in—”

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  The mist rippled.

  And something slammed into my mind.

  It wasn’t physical. It wasn’t even emotional in the way I understood emotions. It was pressure—pure spiritual force—bearing down on me like an avalanche made of every unpleasant memory I’d ever tried to forget.

  Pain flared at the base of my skull. My knees buckled. The world lurched sideways.

  Images flooded in:

  The boy whose life I’d taken over kneeling in mud while disciples spat on him.

  The moment my real-world body collapsed alone in my apartment.

  The suffocating certainty that no one would notice I was gone.

  The servants’ mocking laughter, the pit, the bruises, the fear—

  My breath hitched as Master Jian’s Will pressed harder, twisting the memories, turning them into knives aimed inward.

  Worthless.

  Weak.

  Unfit.

  My consciousness flickered like a dying flame.

  No—no. I refused.

  The System stirred inside me—quiet but firm.

  Stabilize. Anchor. Resist.

  Something inside my mind shifted, like a weight sliding into place. A sensation bloomed—subtle but steady—like a cord tying me to myself, holding me upright when everything else tried to break apart.

  Spirit Anchor awakened.

  It wasn’t a voice. Not a notification. Just instinct, as natural as taking a breath during drowning.

  I exhaled—and the crushing force no longer felt like being buried alive. More like leaning against a heavy door. Still painful. Still overwhelming. But I could move inside it. I could breathe inside it.

  Master Jian’s silhouette loomed through the mist, watching.

  More pressure surged.

  My teeth clenched hard enough to hurt. My knees trembled. My heartbeat pounded like a drum in a war shrine.

  But I didn’t fall.

  I set my imaginary anchor deeper—somewhere in the center of my chest—and let the force crash over me. Waves pounded; I remained.

  Minutes passed—or years. Hard to tell.

  Finally, the weight lifted.

  I sagged forward, catching myself with shaking hands. Sweat—or something like spectral sweat—dripped down my face.

  Master Jian nodded, expression still stern but now carrying a glimmer of approval.

  “You endured,” he said. “Unexpected.”

  “Glad to… exceed… expectations,” I panted. “Can we maybe not do that every night?”

  He entirely ignored that.

  “You have awakened a Guard-type skill,” he said. “Primitive, yet effective. Spirit Anchor. It will serve you well if you intend to walk the Foundation Path without perishing.”

  “I strongly intend not perishing,” I muttered.

  Master Jian paced slowly, hands behind his back. “Qitan Will is the foundation of true mastery. Without a firm mind, all techniques crumble. Even one meridian open is enough to begin shaping your intent.”

  “Right, yes. Intent shaping. Just tell me how without destroying me further.”

  “This token holds fragments of my knowledge,” Master Jian said. “I will impart them in segments. Your body is too weak for rigorous training, so we begin with cultivation of Will and refinement of Flow.”

  That sounded… promising. Maybe. Unless he meant more psychic beatings.

  He raised a hand, and patterns of jade light spiraled in the mist—meridians, Qitan flows, diagrams so complex they resembled sacred geometry on caffeine.

  I stared blankly.

  Master Jian sighed.

  “You truly are starting from nothing.”

  “Hey, I have one meridian open.”

  “Yes,” he said dryly. “One.”

  He gestured again, simplifying the diagrams. “You will return each night. You will cultivate here where my presence can guide you. And you will guard the token with your life. If the clan discovers it—if certain elders discover it—you will be silenced before dawn.”

  “Great. Love that for me.”

  His eyes hardened. “Do not fail, child. I slumbered long for one worthy enough to awaken me. I will not waste that opportunity.”

  Before I could ask more questions, the mist dissolved.

  And I snapped back into my body.

  Night air hit my lungs like a splash of cold water. I gasped, doubling over, clutching the token to my chest. My entire body trembled—not from physical strain but from sheer mental exhaustion. Sweat soaked my shirt. My head throbbed with the aftershocks of Master Jian’s test.

  But beneath all that…

  Something steady pulsed.

  Spirit Anchor. A faint but solid firmness in my mind, like a pillar holding everything upright.

  “I did it,” I whispered, stunned.

  The token glowed faintly for a moment, then dimmed. My connection to the spiritual space faded into a soft echo.

  I tucked the jade carefully into the hidden inner seam of my shirt—the safest place I had—and crept back toward the servants’ quarters, feeling both battered and weirdly victorious.

  For the first time, I wasn’t completely alone.

  Morning arrived with all the enthusiasm of a hammer to the face.

  “Up! Chores don’t do themselves!” someone yelled outside the dorm room.

  I groaned, rolled over—and regretted it because my everything hurt worse today than yesterday. Apparently spiritual trauma came with full-body repercussions.

  But Flow Cycle hummed faintly in my meridian, and Spirit Anchor settled in the back of my mind like a silent guardian.

  Small victories.

  I rose, stretched carefully, and shuffled out to gather my usual buckets and brooms.

  Chores began.

  Which meant it was the perfect time for illicit cultivation.

  As I carried laundry baskets across the courtyard, I turned my focus inward.

  Flow Cycle. Slow. Gentle. No dizziness.

  Spirit Anchor. Steady the mind. Reduce drift. Maintain clarity.

  The difference was immediate.

  Where yesterday the Flow had felt like pushing syrup uphill, today it moved more smoothly, like someone had lubricated my insides with spiritual WD-40. The strain remained, but it no longer threatened to topple me every few steps.

  I breathed. Guided. stabilized.

  And did not spill a single laundry basket. Progress!

  A pair of older servants passed nearby.

  “Tournament’s in three days,” one gossiped. “Heard Elder Xun’s nephew plans to dominate every round.”

  “Of course he does. Boy’s practically born with three meridians open.”

  “Five now, I heard. Monster talent. Everyone says he’ll take first place without even breaking a sweat.”

  They both laughed.

  I kept my head down—but my ears burned.

  Five meridians? Was that even legal at his age? Meanwhile, I had one. Singular. Uno. The lonely pillar of hope inside a body held together by spite and duct tape.

  Later, while delivering firewood, I glimpsed the prodigy himself crossing the training grounds. He wore pristine robes, hair tied neatly, posture straight as a spear. A faint aura shimmered around him—controlled, refined, nothing like my flickering beginner-level mess.

  He didn’t spare a single glance my way.

  Which somehow made it worse.

  “Yep,” I muttered under my breath. “Can’t wait to get publicly obliterated by him. That’ll be fun.”

  But then I remembered the jade token warm against my skin.

  Master Jian’s voice.

  Spirit Anchor steadying my mind.

  A mentor—secret, dangerous, but mine.

  And for the first time, the tournament didn’t feel like a death sentence.

  It felt like a stepping stone.

  A terrifying, potentially bone-breaking stepping stone—but a real path forward.

  I straightened my shoulders.

  Tonight, I would return to Master Jian. Train harder. Learn something—anything—to close the gap between me and every disciple who thought I was beneath contempt.

  I might be weak. Frail. Untrained.

  But I wasn’t alone anymore.

  And I wasn’t done.

  Not even close.

  That night, as the moon climbed high and the clan compound settled into silence, I slipped once more toward the ancient pine.

  The token pulsed in welcome.

  I smiled, heart racing with equal parts fear and anticipation.

  “Alright, Master Jian,” I whispered. “Round three. Let’s see how much more of your ‘gentle guidance’ I can survive.”

  And with a steadying breath—and Spirit Anchor warm in my mind—I pressed my fingers to the jade and let the world dissolve.

  Darkness waited.

  So did possibility.

  And I stepped forward, ready to meet both.