A full day had slipped by since he outplayed the three juniors. Twenty contribution points weighed pleasantly in his pocket, a quiet promise of breathing room. For someone like him, who earned barely two or three a day breaking rocks in the mines, it felt like the beginning of something wider than hunger and routine.
Morning light spilled across the settlement, sharp and unforgiving. When the sun struck his eyes, Lin squinted and lifted a hand to block it, blinking the sleep away as he pushed himself upright from the patch of ground where he had rested.
"Not rich, huh," he muttered, a dry curl of amusement tugging at his mouth.
He drifted into motion without a destination, letting his feet wander while his mind worked, the way it always did when he needed to think. Dust whispered beneath his boots while his thoughts marched ahead of him.
Twenty points. Enough to plan. Enough to shape a small future.
Five points for food. Five days where hunger would not gnaw quite so loudly. That left fifteen. Shelter would be next. Cold weather crept closer each night, and he had no intention of freezing while pretending to be brave. A decent place would probably cost a point a day depending on how miserable he was willing to live. Seven days. That narrowed it down to eight.
Four would stay untouched. Security. Breathing space. Something to fall back on when the ground gave way.
The last four… now those could be interesting.
He imagined tavern doors, warm noise, spilled drink, and careless mouths. Not so much for the meals, though his stomach certainly would not complain, but for the people. Loose tongues. Gullible smiles. The kind of fools who saw a harmless boy where they should have seen danger.
His lips curved again.
He would eat well. He would sleep warm. And if luck behaved, he would walk out richer than he went in.
"Excuse me, senior." Lin stopped a passing elder. The man carried age like a gentle cloak, with hair turned silver and a beard to match. His eyes softened when he looked at Lin.
"Yes, junior?" The elder's smile warmed instantly. "Do you need help?"
Lin swallowed, voice unsteady. "Do you know any taverns that are… peaceful? Somewhere without constant fighting." The last thing he needed was drunks turning his plans into bruises.
The elder chuckled, amused by the request. "I know only one worth mentioning. I have gone there for ten years. A family place, good people, good hearts. They call it Bamboo Delight." His expression brightened as if the name itself tasted pleasant.
Inside, Lin's thoughts curled into something sharp. Perfect. Kindness often meant soft spots, and soft spots were easy to press.
He bowed deeply. "Thank you, elder. I am a little lost… could you show me the way?"
"Of course." The man seemed delighted simply to help. "Go right from here, then take the first left. You will see a line. It is always full."
Lin thanked him again. The elder walked away with a satisfied smile, pleased with the simple gift of guidance. People loved to help when it cost nothing and made them feel like saints.
Just as promised, a building rose ahead with a wooden sign that read Bamboo Delight. Despite the early hour, a line stretched along the front. People filled tables outside, mugs lifted, plates steaming. Laughter drifted under the morning sun, while deeper voices rumbled from inside. There was an outer seating area, a bustling inner hall, and even a second floor.
Common folk trusted places built by common folk.
Lin slipped inside and chose a corner table where shadows gathered and conversation blurred into a comfortable murmur. The inner hall was nearly full. Warmth pressed against him, soaked with the scent of strong alcohol and rich food. His stomach tightened, hopeful and hungry, but he forced it quiet. He would keep his spending small. Tea would do.
A girl approached his table. She looked barely older than him, blonde hair falling down her back, silver eyes bright with life. Beneath that gentleness, her aura revealed something striking. Rank four, second stage. Someone strong enough to survive alone beyond familiar roads, someone a few steps away from becoming truly formidable. Seeing her here as a barmaid tightened his chest for a heartbeat. Why would someone at that level serve drinks?
He brushed the thought aside and offered a soft, reassuring smile instead. "Hello, sister. A cup of tea, please."
She returned the smile with quiet warmth and moved gracefully toward the other tables, sunlight catching in her hair while the tavern continued to breathe around him.
The reason Lin froze for a moment had nothing to do with her smile or her beauty. Rank four, second stage was never something to dismiss lightly.
Advancing that far meant walking through Heaven's blockades, and none of them were gentle. Three stood between every cultivator and true strength, each one designed to break a different part of the soul.
The first blockade went after thought. Heaven whispered answers wrapped in perfection, insights that glowed with promise while quietly twisting the path beneath them. Only those who resisted earned Truth Carvings. Those who accepted those beautiful lies paid for it, losing carvings, losing clarity, weakening the very Sea they relied on.
The second blockade dug deeper than thought ever could. Regret, fear, longing, and every attachment buried inside rose like storms that shook the Sea itself. Anyone who withstood it stepped forward stronger, marks brighter, spirit steadier. Failure did not simply sting. It carved away strength forever, leaving the Sea shallower for the rest of a cultivator's life.
The third blockade was the cruelest of all. Heaven created a silent reflection, a mirror of the cultivator with the same truth, the same shards, the same strength, yet devoid of will. The battle never took place in the world. It unfolded quietly inside the flesh. Victory devoured the reflection and blessed the main path with a flood of Truth Carvings. Defeat allowed the reflection to settle into the body, replacing the original self and leaving behind a puppet known as a Silent Hand.
Lin recalled what he had learned, letting the knowledge settle again in his thoughts.
Blockades could be triggered at any time, like pressing a mental switch, and each test lasted for a diffrent amout of time it could not be calculated. They could be spaced out, faced slowly, cautiously, but no one could advance without confronting them. That was why so many cultivators lingered forever at second stage rank one, afraid of losing more than they could bear.
Silent Hands remained poorly understood. Scholars still studied them, still argued about their nature. They walked, reacted, and lived, yet something essential no longer belonged to them. Lin always imagined them as finely crafted corpses given movement, bodies guided by the echo of something that once existed.
And that girl… had already stepped through two of those storms.
No wonder he was shaken.
He steadied himself with a quiet breath.
He was only rank three, first stage. That alone reminded him to stay cautious. Advancement sounded glorious when spoken aloud, yet reality was far less forgiving. He had no intention of pushing forward any time soon, especially with the second blockade looming like a silent beast waiting in the dark.
Most cultivators feared that one for a reason.
When it descended, the body slipped into something close to hibernation while the mind drowned inside illusions crafted from its deepest wounds. Anyone undergoing it lay defenseless, trapped between breaths, unaware of the world until Heaven finished judging them. If an enemy struck during that time, fate offered no mercy. Death simply finished the job Heaven had begun.
The first stage seemed harmless in comparison. One only needed to guard their own thoughts, keep the mind steady, avoid being lured by false clarity. Most people cheated their way through it anyway, relying on Notion Shards to sharpen their thinking and steady their Sea. Money was often braver than spirit.
Lin sighed inwardly and let the thoughts fade before they spiraled deeper than necessary.
His gaze drifted through the tavern instead. People filled nearly every table, laughter and idle talk weaving together into a living hum. Most of them seemed ordinary, wrapped in the quiet comfort of stable lives. Middle-class workers, modest merchants, a few cultivators who looked capable enough to walk safely but nowhere near the kind of heights that bent the world. At most, he counted four or five who might hold something resembling real authority, and even that rested more in posture than overwhelming presence.
It felt like a place built on warmth, habit, and community.
Which made it the perfect place for someone like him to quietly move unseen.
A few quiet minutes slipped by before the girl returned with a simple porcelain cup. Steam curled upward, carrying the scent of warmth and calm. Lin thanked her politely and slid a single contribution point across the table. She accepted it with a nod, then disappeared back into the rhythm of work.
He lifted the cup but didn't drink immediately. Instead, he listened.
The tavern always had its own language. Chairs scraping across wooden floors. Laughter. Whispers lowered just enough to feel secret. Eventually, a conversation drifted clearly enough for him to catch. Two tables ahead, a group of middle-aged men leaned in together.
"Milen? I heard of him," one murmured.
"The merchant?" another asked.
A bald man grinned as if preparing to boast. "They say he's a prophet."
"That rumor again?"
"It's true. He told me yesterday would bring Frozen Nova rain. And it did!"
A wave of impressed murmurs followed.
Then someone pointed. "Look. He's here."
The tavern door opened and a man stepped inside.
Long silver hair fell past his back, almost reaching his waist, sleek and well-kept. A silk robe of deep blue wrapped his frame, the sect's crescent symbol stitched proudly across the chest. His posture was rigid and proud, back straight, hands folded calmly behind him. His face lacked beauty, features harsh and almost unpleasant, yet people's gazes softened with respect the moment they saw him. Authority clung to him like a mantle.
The moment he entered, conversation fractured. Then silence swallowed the hall.
He paused only a heartbeat before smiling, voice light and playful. "Friends, what is this silence? I only came to enjoy some tea."
A ripple of laughter followed, tension easing, but the atmosphere didn't return to what it had been. People spoke again, only softer, more careful, as if Heaven itself had leaned in to listen.
Lin narrowed his eyes slightly.
Inner sect perhaps? He sensed no Essence leaking, no clear sign of rank. That alone felt dangerous. Strength hidden always meant trouble.
Then the man moved.
Straight toward him.
Lin's fingers tightened around his cup. The silver-haired cultivator stopped at his table and sat down without asking, posture perfect, gaze unreadable.
This was bad.
Thoughts flared. Had someone traced the scam back to him? Did those three juniors belong to this man somehow? Had the sect already noticed?
His pulse settled into a slow, guarded rhythm as he lifted his gaze to meet the stranger's eyes. Whatever this was, it wouldn't be simple.
The barista returned a moment later, but this time her confidence had slipped away. The warmth in her eyes trembled beneath caution as she stood beside the silver-haired man. Her hands tightened around the tray she carried, and when she spoke, her voice wavered.
"What… what can I get you, honored guest?"
He didn't even look at her.
"Light-Fire Whirl tea," he said, tone flat and dismissive, as if ordering warmth itself held no meaning to him.
No politeness. No gratitude. Just expectation.
"Yes, sir!" she replied quickly, bowing before hurrying away, relief almost visible in the way her shoulders loosened as soon as she turned her back.
The tavern breathed again, but only slightly. Voices rose, though softer than before, every movement just a little more careful. People laughed, yet no one truly relaxed. The man sat with hands still folded behind his back, gaze drifting without warmth, presence pressing quietly across the hall like an unseen weight.
Lin watched him from the corner of his eye, heartbeat steady but alert. This kind of person didn't simply exist in a place. He controlled it.
Milen's gaze finally shifted, settling on Lin with a stern, piercing sharpness that lasted only a breath. Then his expression softened, friendly and easy, as if the seriousness never existed.
"Friend," he said lightly, "are you new to Emberbar?"
Lin didn't answer immediately. His smile remained, but his mind moved fast. The calm authority in Milen's posture, the subtle weight he carried, the way the entire tavern adjusted around him—this was someone anchored deep within the sect. Inner circle. Not just a fighter. Someone important. The kind of man who touched politics, trade, or military command. Influence disguised as casual conversation.
The sect's structure flickered through Lin's thoughts like a quiet reminder. Outer disciples worked. Sect disciples survived. Inner disciples shaped everything beneath them.
He kept his tone warm and harmless.
"Ah, so obvious already?" He laughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes, I'm new. May I have the honor of knowing senior's name?"
Milen's sternness melted fully into polite charm. "Milen. And you, junior? What should I call you?"
For a heartbeat, Lin hesitated.
Names could be anchors. Or chains.
"My name is Lao, sir," he replied, letting a nervous edge creep into his voice.
Milen nodded thoughtfully. "Lao[1], hm. Simple, steady. Then tell me, Lao… where are you from?"
Lin opened his mouth to answer.
The barista arrived first.
She placed Milen's tea gently on the table, careful, respectful, almost reverent. Steam curled upward between them, and for a moment the tavern quieted again, as if waiting to see what the silver-haired "prophet" would do next.
[1] regarding names, I chose random names. Sometimes english inspired chinese etc