Feng Chen knelt in front of his grandfather's portrait in the ancestral hall.
He leaned forward slightly and picked three incense sticks from the holder beside the altar and held them together between his palms.
He then slowly brought the incense to his forehead and paused.
His eyes closed, and he remained frozen in that position. Minutes went by as he remained frozen in place. Anyone watching from the outside would have thought he had fallen asleep kneeling there.
Finally, after almost ten minutes, he stirred.
He then moved the incense toward the small flame flickering in the bronze lamp and lit the tips. Using both hands, he placed the burning sticks into the sand-filled urn before the portrait, watching as the smoke rose in spirals toward the wooden ceiling.
Feng Chen slowly rose from his position.
He bowed once more to his grandfather's painted image, and then turned toward the door.
The afternoon sun struck directly at his eyes as he stepped outside, forcing him to raise his hand to shield his eyes. As his vision adjusted, he was finally able to see the chaos unfolding outside.
People were running around everywhere. Some disciples hurried past carrying bulging sacks, while others brazenly grabbed anything of value they could find - training weapons, ceremonial items, even the decorative scrolls on the walls.
When they spotted Feng Chen emerging from the ancestral hall, they froze mid-motion. Shame flickered across their faces as they quickly looked away, unable to meet his gaze directly. Some had the decency to at least appear embarrassed about their actions, clutching their stolen goods closer to their chests.
He watched this scene for a long moment, and with a deep sigh, he turned around and walked in the opposite direction. Behind him, he could hear the sounds resume. He shook his head slowly as he walked away.
The Iron Fist Sect had been his whole world, built by his grandfather's blood, sweat, and tears. But now that the pillar holding everything together was gone, the structure was crumbling.
In this region, three martial schools had dominated for as long as anyone could remember - his grandfather's Iron Fist Sect, the Three Rivers Sword Sect, and the Stone Bridge Dojo. They had fought constantly for territory and influence, maintaining a delicate balance of power. But with one pillar suddenly removed, the other two sects would undoubtedly come to claim what remained. This place might even become a battlefield.
He couldn't really blame the disciples for fleeing as there was nothing they could do. Without another strong fighter to lead them, the sect was pretty much done for.
Pushing open the door to his room, Feng Chen began gathering his belongings. Actually, the main reason he didn't blame the fleeing disciples was simply because he was planning on doing the same thing.
Although his grandfather had been a formidable martial artist at the third layer of body refining, Feng Chen himself had never managed to learn any martial arts.
It wasn't that he was lazy, his talent was simply too poor. He knew a few breathing techniques and some body exercise methods, but he had never broken through to the body refining realm despite years of effort.
If he stayed, the other sects would probably use him to save face. Challenging and defeating the sect's heir would look much better to the masses than simply taking over the property of a dead man.
As he folded his clothes and placed them in a worn travel bag, he wondered what he was going to do now once he escaped. His grandfather had been his only family member. His parents had died shortly after his birth, and the only things he knew about them came from his grandfather's occasional stories.
As he packed, his leg suddenly struck something hard on the floor. Looking down, he noticed a black box partially hidden beneath his bed. "What's that?" he wondered aloud, reaching down to pick it up.
He placed it on his table and carefully opened the lid. Inside lay a single piece of paper.
"Is that grandpa's treasure?" he wondered as he stared at the paper.
…
He recognized it immediately. Ever since he was young, his grandpa would sit for hours at the old wooden desk in his study, just staring at a single piece of paper.
Feng Chen had watched him countless times through the crack in the door, noting how his grandfather's expression would grow darker with each reading session. The old man always looked deeply disappointed afterward, returning to his room in a foul mood every time.
"How did it get here?" he wondered aloud, looking under his bed to see if there was anything else. Every time he had asked about it as a child, his grandpa would simply wave him off with the same explanation - that it was a treasure of their Feng family, apparently given to him by their ancestor long ago.
Feng Chen never bought that story though.
After all, his grandpa had been exiled from the Feng family when he was young. The Feng family was quite prestigious in the capital, known for their wealth and influence. If his grandfather had truly been cast out in disgrace, how could he possibly have received a treasure from the family ancestor?
Besides, everyone knew that the ancestor of the Feng family had died centuries ago.
"What was he always looking at anyway?" he muttered, reaching into the box.
"He never let me look at it," he thought as he raised the paper to eye level, finally getting his first clear view of the paper.
"What's that?" he wondered in confusion, his brow furrowing as he studied the strange markings. Feng Chen had received a decent education from his grandpa, even though he wasn't particularly smart, he prided himself on being able to read and write reasonably well.
But when he looked at the letters on the paper, he couldn't make sense of anything. He could make out the individual characters, but when he tried to put them together, his mind seemed to rebel.
His face twisted as if in pain.
"C-U-L-T..." he struggled to read the words, each letter feeling like a huge mountain on his head. The strange symbols seemed to shift and blur before his eyes, making his head throb in pain.
Then suddenly, something clicked in his mind.
"Cultivation 101," he read out loud, the words finally making sense. He paused, wondering what that could possibly mean. He understood the concept of cultivation, every martial artist did. But he didn't understand what this particular phrase signified. Was it some kind of cultivation manual? No, that couldn't be right. It was far too small, just a single sheet of paper.
"Hmm, there's another text," he said, noticing writing on the reverse side. He flipped the paper over, squinting at the simpler characters. "Page one," he read aloud. This side was much easier to decipher.
"Bruh, it's just a useless p..." he began to say dismissively, but before he could finish his sentence, the world suddenly shifted around him.
He was suddenly on the ground. The piece of paper floated before him and turned into a holographic screen:
[The Ultimate Sect System is binding to the host...]