The sound came before the fear.
Clack—clack—clack.
Wooden tablets struck together outside Jingling Village, sharp and rhythmic, slicing through the morning mist like a verdict already decided.
Wei Zhen froze.
The steam rising from the bowl of millet porridge trembled as his hand tightened around it. He did not need to look outside to know who had arrived.
Azure Cloud Sect Harvest Inspectors.
Every year, they came. Every year, someone disappeared.
This year, they had stopped at his door.
Two men in deep-blue robes stood at the threshold, their boots clean, their expressions flat. The insignia of the Azure Cloud Sect gleamed faintly on their caps—authority made visible.
Behind them, villagers gathered in silence. No one spoke. No one dared.
The lead inspector opened a lacquered ledger and traced a finger down the page.
"The Wei household," he said calmly. "Qi contribution… insufficient."
The word insufficient fell heavier than a blade.
Wei Liang, Zhen's father, bowed deeply. His back was already bent from years in the fields, yet he bent further, as if trying to disappear into the floor.
"Honored inspector," he said hoarsely, "my son is cultivating. Please grant us—"
The inspector raised a hand.
"The sect does not trade in hope," he replied. "Only results."
He turned his gaze to Zhen.
"Without compensation, your household will be reassigned to labor service."
Labor camps.
Stone quarries. Broken meridians. Shortened lives.
Zhen felt the cold bloom behind his sternum.
He did not panic.
Panic wasted time.
Instead, his mind began to calculate.
Cause. The sect required Qi. His family could not provide it.Effect. They would be taken.Consequence. Unless he changed the equation.
The only path forward was the Foundation Preliminary Examination, held twelve li north at the sect outpost. Pass it, and his family would receive protection and a stipend.
Fail—
There was no need to finish that thought.
Zhen knew the requirements by heart.
Ten minutes.
A stable Core Qi within the lower dantian.
He glanced inward, sensing the slow, thin circulation he had cultivated for three years.
Mortal Base.Ji Di.
Nowhere near enough.
That was when his fingers brushed the jade pendant beneath his clothes.
It was cool. Always cool.
A relic from his grandfather, tied to his chest since childhood. To anyone else, it was nothing more than old jade.
To Zhen, it was a silent ticking clock.
At dawn each day, the pendant produced something no cultivation manual dared describe.
A YearPoint.
One point could compress a full year of practiced effort into a single day.
Not enlightenment.Not realm-skipping miracles.
Only acceleration.
And it always demanded payment.
Zhen swallowed as the familiar chill tightened in his chest.
He remembered the first time he had used it.
The surge of progress.The terrifying clarity.
And afterward—the emotional numbness. The way anger dulled. The way pain felt distant.
He had named it in his mind: Detachment.
Each point sharpened his cultivation.
Each point carved away something human.
He had sworn to use it sparingly.
But the inspectors were still standing outside.
And his family was still breathing.
That night, Zhen sat alone in the courtyard.
The village was quiet, but the silence pressed harder than noise ever could. His mother prayed softly inside. His younger brother paced like a caged animal.
Zhen placed his palm over the jade pendant.
It pulsed faintly.
One point.
He reviewed his options with ruthless honesty.
If he continued cultivating naturally, he would fail the examination.
If he spent the point on a peripheral skill, it would change nothing.
Only one path existed.
Root Qi Circulation.
The foundation of everything.
He exhaled slowly.
"I will use it," he whispered.
The moment the point dissolved, the world seemed to tighten.
Qi surged through familiar pathways as if months of effort were collapsing into a single breath. His lower dantian burned, compressed, thickened.
Zhen bit down hard, refusing to make a sound.
The cold came next.
A sharp, spreading numbness behind his heart.
He noted it dispassionately.
Detachment increased.
But the Qi—
The Qi was real.
Denser. Stronger.
For the first time, he could almost feel the shape of a core forming.
When the surge ended, he remained standing, breath steady, pulse controlled.
He had crossed a line.
There was no turning back now.
At dawn, the jade pendant dimmed.
Zhen rose and faced the distant outline of the sect outpost beyond the hills.
The inspectors would return.
The examination would come.
And with each sunrise, another point would be waiting—another choice between power and humanity.
He clenched his fists.
"If this is the price," he murmured, "then I'll pay it."
Behind him, Jingling Village slept.
Ahead of him, the path to cultivation opened—cold, narrow, and unforgiving.