Stunned, Ling Ye was completely frozen.
His face turned deathly pale, his eyes trembling with fear.
Seeing the once tall mountain now shorter left him with a chilling sense of dread. He finally understood the true power behind the talismans given to him by the elders of the Ling Clan. But beyond that realization, Ling Ye felt real, bone deep fear, for he was certain that the cultivator, or whatever that black clothed figure was, had truly intended to take his life.
The founding feast, once lively, fell into absolute silence after Ling Ye's sudden action. Everyone had felt the overwhelming burst of energy from the talisman. Some, not realizing it came from a talisman, thought a powerful cultivator had descended in fury.
Out of sheer terror, one man dropped to his knees and begged loudly for mercy.
Seeing this, others followed in panic, until nearly everyone was kneeling on the ground, trembling and praying for forgiveness.
Only Ling Ye remained standing, though frozen, before he snapped back to himself and looked around at the sight. All the mortals were on their knees, desperately pleading for a cultivator's mercy… when in truth, there was no cultivator present at all.
And for the first time in his life, Ling Ye truly grasped the difference between mortals and cultivators. Mortals would kneel, tremble, and beg, even against shadows and illusions, because in their minds, cultivators were invincible beings, and they themselves would forever live at their mercy.
"Honorable one, please spare these insignificant mortals!"
"Please, honorable one, spare our little lives!"
The cries echoed all around him. Ling Ye looked at the kneeling villagers, their desperate begging ringing in his ears. His heart burned with an aching desire. if only he could become a cultivator, then he too would wield such strength. But reality struck him again like a cruel hammer.
He would never be one.
"Not blessed…" Ling Ye muttered under his breath, his voice heavy with bitterness. His eyes turned toward the mountain, where the talisman's power leaving a scar in the land.
That destructive might came from a single slip of paper.
Glancing down at the talisman as it drifted weakly back into his hand, Ling Ye noticed it no longer looked the same. The once vivid lines now rippled and blurred, its strength clearly diminished. He realized then what the books had hinted at, talismans were consumable items.
They could be used once, perhaps twice if fortunate, but never endlessly. If he tried again, the results would not be as devastating as tonight.
Minutes passed in tense silence, until suddenly, a gale swept through the hill. The sound of the wind howled fiercely, and Ling Ye's head snapped upward.
An old man descended from the sky.
His white hair fluttered in the wind, his wrinkled face marked by age, yet his black eyes burned with a vitality that belied his years. Ling Ye recognized him instantly, the guardian assigned by the Ling Clan to watch over Quiet Spring Village, who resided at the Quiet Peak with his lone disciple.
The villagers, already kneeling, pressed their heads even lower to the ground. The old man's gaze swept across them, puzzled. He could feel it, a lingering, terrifying Qi in the air, remnants of a powerful strike.
When his sharp eyes shifted to the mountain in the distance and caught sight of the fresh crater carved into its side, his expression darkened.
The old man's expression hardened the moment he saw the shattered mountain. His black eyes gleamed sharply as his Qi flared, readying for battle.
Yet as his gaze swept the area, he realized something unsettling, there was no other cultivator here. Only himself, his disciple at the protective formation, and the kneeling mortals.
A bead of sweat slid down his aged cheek. His heart tightened with unease. If a powerful enemy had struck and hidden from his senses, even he might not survive what was to come.
Then, his eyes landed on Ling Ye.
The young man stood firm amidst the terrified villagers, his face pale but fearless. In his hand, the old man noticed a dirty yellow talisman, its paper faintly scorched, the lines unstable as if just used.
Recognition struck him at once.
"It was him…" The tension in the old man's body eased. No hidden enemy, no mysterious cultivator lurking in the dark, just Ling Ye, wielding one of the clan's gifted talismans. Relief surged through him, and with a long exhale he descended before the youth.
Hovering above the ground, his cold, commanding voice cut through the silence."Explain."
Ling Ye did not hesitate. He recounted what he felt, a sudden sense of imminent death, the sight of a dark silhouette standing on the mountain, and his decision to use one of the talismans given by the clan for emergencies.
He added that the overpopulation of wild beasts had already made him wary, so he acted without hesitation.
The old man listened without interrupting, his gaze turning toward the distant mountain scarred by the talisman's strike. Narrowing his eyes, he drifted forward, his robes fluttering in the night wind. There, amidst the rubble, lay a broken figure.
The corpse of a cultivator.
The old man's eyes gleamed darkly as he examined the body more closely. The man in black robes was indeed a cultivator, though far weaker than himself. Yet the realization chilled him, this one had still managed to completely evade his senses until death.
The old man's expression twisted with anger. Without hesitation, he roughly tore into the ruined corpse, caring nothing for dignity. But the moment his hand closed around something within the body, his fury melted away, replaced by unrestrained joy.
Clutching the object as though it were the delicate hand of a beauty, the old man's face lit up with a foolish smile, like a child discovering a precious toy. Without a shred of shame, he slipped the item into his sleeve, hiding it away as if nothing had happened.
From this, Ling Ye could easily guess that whatever the black-robed figure carried was valuable, perhaps even extraordinary. His own curiosity burned fiercely, and he longed to know what it was, maybe even claim it for himself.
But reason held him back. To demand answers from a cultivator was nothing short of courting death.
With the treasure secured, the old man turned back toward the villagers. His gaze swept over the trembling mortals kneeling in fear, and a cold sneer formed on his lips, "The danger has passed," he declared flatly.
At once, the crowd erupted in relief and gratitude. Voices rose in worship, praising the old man's righteousness, calling him their savior. The old cultivator basked in their adoration, his smile growing ever wider as he accepted their praise.
Ling Ye, however, said nothing. He simply watched, his black eyes growing colder by the moment. A quiet anger churned in his chest.
"It was I who acted… I who saved them. Yet a few empty words from him, and they all believe it was his doing."
The injustice stung, but Ling Ye remained silent, his bitterness hidden behind an aloof expression.
Silently, Ling Ye watched. The old man glanced at him, a cold, knowing smile tugging at his lips. Yet in the very next breath, that smile softened into warmth as he turned back to the kneeling mortals, basking in their gratitude.
Ling Ye understood the message perfectly. No matter what he had done, no matter the truth, the mortals would never praise him. His achievement had been stolen with nothing more than a few words, words the villagers accepted because they could not comprehend what had truly happened.
"Sigh…" With a weary breath, Ling Ye tucked the arrow talisman back into his sleeve. But just as he did, he felt a faint warmth from another talisman, the one marked with an eye.
Noticing the damage on it, he frowned. Then the memory struck him: the exact moment he had felt death press upon him, a warning that had forced him to act. Realization dawned. The talisman had activated then, sacrificing itself to alert him.
"So, that's its use…" Ling Ye muttered softly, intrigued despite the bitterness in his chest. Sliding it away, he lowered himself onto a chair and lifted the mug of beer, taking a slow sip to calm his mind.
But calm did not come. A dull ache had already begun to pulse in his skull, sharper than any ordinary headache. Ten minutes later, the pain was worse, piercing, unrelenting.
The old man was long gone. The villagers, still feasting, praised him as their savior, raising cups of wine in his honor. Their laughter and cheers grated against Ling Ye's ears, each sound driving the pain deeper into his head.
He clenched his teeth, enduring it as long as he could, until the throbbing grew nearly unbearable. Finally, without a word, he turned and walked away from the celebration. He did not care what became of the feast, nor of the mortals still worshipping their false savior.
His only thought now was returning to his house, as his skull felt like it was splitting apart.
Slowly wandering through the empty, shadowed village, Ling Ye felt the cool night air ease the throbbing in his skull. The pain dulled little by little, enough for him to finally reach his house. He collapsed onto the couch in his office, closing his eyes in the hope of sleep. But rest refused him.
The night stretched on, agonizing, endless. Every passing moment made the ache more unbearable, until at last the moon sank and the sun began to rise.
Only then did the pain ebb, softening to something tolerable, and finally fading away. Exhausted, Ling Ye drifted into a deep sleep.
When he awoke, the headache was gone. He touched his temples, testing them, and then exhaled in relief, a faint smile tugging at his lips. For the first time since the feast, he felt calm.
Lying back, he allowed himself hours of stillness, simply thinking. His mind replayed the events, turning them over again and again. Slowly, the truth settled like a stone in his chest.
"If I hadn't been cautious… I would have died without ever knowing why, or how."
The thought lingered, chilling him more than the pain ever had. Even now, he had no answer. Why would anyone target an insignificant mortal village?
Ling Ye closed his eyes again, but this time in thought, not exhaustion. At last, only one possibility came to mind, a single, unsettling reason why someone might strike them...
"Could it be… someone wanted to hurt Father by killing me? Maybe they wanted to see how he would react. Perhaps my death would drive him to anger, to vengeance… Or maybe," Ling Ye's eyes darkened, "they only wanted to disgrace the Ling Clan, killing a member of the main family's bloodline. And since I am the most useless… the easiest to kill…"
His voice trailed off into silence. The more he thought about it, the colder his body felt. Hadn't everything happened too quickly since he had been declared a waste?
A sheen of sweat formed across his forehead. Slowly, a terrifying possibility took shape in his mind.
"If I was placed out here unprotected on purpose… then the elders are using me as bait. To draw out an enemy."
The thought left him trembling. He felt powerless, like a pawn moved without consent on a board too vast for him to see.
"But now… I survived. The enemy revealed himself. That should mean…" He swallowed, trying to convince himself. "That should mean I won't be dragged into this any further. Now, the clan will handle what belongs to cultivators."
Ling Ye exhaled a heavy sigh, forcing his thoughts back to the present. "Hopefully… I am free from their control now."
With that, he pushed the dread away and buried himself once more in his routine work, clinging to the faint hope that such a night would never come again.