Chapter 1 – When the Moonlight Becomes Silent
From the perspective of Zhuge Su Yeon
Night fell with solemn elegance over Su Yeon's pavilion.
The sky, clear and deep as a black mirror, began to reveal its tapestry of timid stars, while the moon slowly rose on the horizon—a silver disc bathed in serenity.
Su Yeon stood motionless in the center of his personal garden — a silent oasis built with near-obsessive precision. The paths of smooth stones meandered between perfectly outlined flowerbeds, where white blossoms bloomed with ethereal grace. The petals, thin and pale as porcelain, shimmered under the night breeze, releasing a sweet fragrance that faintly resembled lavender, though softer, subtler — as if crafted not to disturb the stillness of thought.
The gentle mist beginning to form between the flowering stems brushed against his ankles like sacred veils. Even the crickets, ever present throughout the estate, seemed to respect the silence of that moment.
Su Yeon looked upward, eyes fixed on the moon's slow ascent. The pale light bathed his face, revealing serene features, yet marked by the weight of memories that did not belong to this world.
Twenty-eight years, five months, thirteen days, eighteen hours, twenty minutes, and fifteen seconds.
He remembered with cruel precision.
It was exactly at that moment, at that precise count, that his previous life was extinguished. The memory was etched with obsessive clarity — the low hum of machines, the metallic scent of the hospital wing, the red flash of the digital clock beside the bed marking his last vision of the world he once called Earth.
Death came not with violence, but with the muffled sound of a continuous beep.
And then… nothing.
Or rather: then, everything.
Because after the nothing, came awakening.
A new body. A new name. A new world — vast, strange, merciless, governed by laws that would make the scientists of his original Earth lose their minds (or pull out their hair). A world where power shaped destiny, and will could part mountains.
Zhuge Su Yeon.
That's what they called him now.
Even after nearly three decades in this place, there were nights when his mind drifted back to Earth. To the silence of the infirmary. To the feeling that he had departed with his pockets full of talent… but a soul starved of purpose.
Tonight was one of those nights.
For long minutes, he remained there, standing, as if part of the garden—another silent statue under the silver sky. But then, as if answering an inner whisper, his eyes turned slightly to the right.
There it was.
Floating in the air, a translucent panel flickered like it were made of liquid crystal and mist.
At the top, written in golden letters:
[Family Investment System]
Su Yeon raised an eyebrow but said nothing. A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips. It was impossible not to think of the stories and games of his past life—golden-fingered transmigrators, magical systems, rewards for wise choices.
Was it his turn now?
The system had appeared that very morning, suddenly and silently, like an old collector come to settle accounts. He hadn't yet explored all its details, but the mere fact of its existence was already a watershed moment.
Twenty-eight years.
Exactly twenty-eight years since he had been reborn in this world.
"How ironic," he thought.
Perhaps the universe had simply waited for him to cross that threshold to finally deliver what was "owed." Or, more likely, it was just having fun at his expense.
After all, if there was one thing Su Yeon had learned in both lives...
It's that fate has a sense of humor.
And it usually laughs last.
On Earth, Su Yeon had another name —
A name that now floated in his memory like a distant echo, worn down by time and irrelevance.
The name of a dead man.
The name of a world he no longer inhabited.
Sometimes, he tried to remember. He forced his mind, searched the drawers of the past like one looking for a forgotten photograph. But even when he managed to retrieve the sound of that old name, it felt empty, like an expired barcode.
Useless.
Because he was no longer that man. And that man, even in life, had walked among shadows.
From an early age, he had been afflicted by a cruel illness — one of those conditions doctors classify as "autoimmune," as if the body itself, in its infinite wisdom, decided to rebel against its own existence. A slow, silent civil war within.
At twelve, he received the diagnosis.
At fourteen, he already understood that his youth would be spent between hospitals, pill bottles, and medical spreadsheets.
But instead of yielding to despair, he did what few would:
He turned fragility into focus.
If he couldn't be strong in body, he would be strong in mind.
And if he wouldn't live long, he would at least live with excellence.
With books in his lap and hungry eyes, he dove into the world of finance like one plunging into a dark ocean — but one full of promises. He read everything. Absorbed everything.
He understood market cycles before many understood the cycles of life.
He invested with surgical precision.
He got more right than wrong.
He made a fortune before the age of 25.
He was young, rich, brilliant — and irredeemably doomed.
The last photos of him showed a fragile appearance, but firm eyes.
A pale face, sunken eyes, but still full of clarity.
The kind of man who dies doing calculations.
Who faces death as an unavoidable, but still negotiable, number.
In the end, it wasn't.
He died surrounded by machines, noises, and hospital protocols.
In the gloom of a sterile room, lit only by the red glow of a bedside clock.
Twenty-eight years. Five months. Thirteen days. Eighteen hours. Twenty minutes. Fifteen seconds.
That was the last thing he saw:
Time, marking his exit.
There were no tears.
No epiphany.
Just a sigh... and darkness.
But fate, as always, had its own agenda.
And when consciousness returned, there was no hospital ceiling, no beeping monitors.
There was the cry of a child. His own.
And the beginning of something entirely new.
Su Yeon's second birth was quiet — no thunder, no prophecies, no celestial fireworks that, according to local legends, usually accompanied the rebirth of the blessed.
Just the cry of a newborn.
The warmth of a mother's lap.
And an adult consciousness... trapped in a body that barely knew how to breathe.
He was born Zhuge Su Yeon, direct descendant of the main line of the Zhuge Clan, a small and traditional family of cultivators isolated in one of the most remote towns of the White Flame Empire — a place even the maps seemed to avoid. There, the dust on the roads was older than many imperial records.
The edge of the world.
Even so, even in that forgotten corner, the name Zhuge carried some weight — an echo of ancient times, perhaps of glories already faded. His father, an outsider, had married the patriarch's daughter and, curiously, had become the most powerful cultivator in the household. His mother, in turn, was the second strongest: intelligent, firm, respected by all.
Su Yeon grew up surrounded by care, but always with watchful eyes.
Not the eyes of a child.
But those of an old man reborn in silence.
From his earliest years, he understood that he had not returned to life to live as before. Earth had given him intellect, ambition, and knowledge; this new world, however, offered something far more dangerous:
cultivation.
And with it... risk.
It was during the first internal tests of the clan that Su Yeon realized:
his talent was an insult to statistics.
His meridians opened like rivers of jade. His spiritual breathing was as natural as the breeze. His absorption of energy, nearly spontaneous.
He was a monster among mortals.
And that terrified him.
Because in this world, too much talent was like gold in a public square: it attracts greed, envy... and death.
So he decided:
"If I can't appear weak, I'll at least appear... mediocre."
With iron discipline and a mind shaped by the cold logic of investors, Su Yeon built his mask.
He hid every advancement, disguised every technique, suppressed his own cultivation even in front of his parents.
It was better to be ignored—or even underestimated—than to be praised too loudly.
While everyone thought he barely reached the second stage of body refinement, Su Yeon was already, in secret, walking through realms that would make the clan elders break into a cold sweat.
He studied by moonlight.
Cultivated under formations he crafted himself, based on theories drawn from dozens of ancient scrolls.
Created his own variations of common techniques.
And waited.
His plan was simple:
reach immortality slowly.
Discreetly.
Safely.
Patiently.
Like a good investor awaits the growth of a tree planted with his own hands.
But the world is made of forces that do not respect well-laid plans.
At twenty-five, his parents disappeared.
No traces. No explanation.
One day they were there — and the next, they were only silence.
The Zhuge Clan, already small, trembled.
Old enemies stirred.
Allies hesitated.
And, as always, the vultures arrived before the answers.
The pressure was unbearable. The family's structure nearly collapsed.
And so Su Yeon, with regret, broke his own rule.
He revealed himself.
Not entirely. Not everything.
But enough to crush three enemy clans in a single move.
Enough to force the elders' respect.
Enough to be named... Patriarch.
The youngest in Zhuge Clan history.
Twenty-five years old.
Unprepared.
Unwilling.
He accepted, not out of ambition, but necessity.
Not to rule, but to protect.
Not to shine... but to hide even better.
As Patriarch, he reshaped the clan from the inside out.
He established a new code of silence, efficiency, discretion.
Revived old contracts, strengthened silent alliances, shielded the most promising members.
And between decrees, he kept cultivating in the shadows, as he always had.
Three years of peace followed.
Until, at the age of twenty-eight — newly completed — the past caught up with him.
And a floating panel appeared before his eyes.
The panel hovered before Zhuge Su Yeon like a blade of jade suspended in the air — firm, serene, alive.
It pulsed softly, as if breathing in tune with the night.
The gentle glow of its edges spread like moon mist, reflecting off the white petals around him.
The fresh scent of the garden — sweet, slightly woody, with notes reminiscent of wild lavender — lingered in his nostrils, as if ingrained in the very breath of the world.
Su Yeon had kept his eyes on the interface for a long time, but his thoughts wandered silently.
He wasn't surprised.
Nothing in this world happened by accident.
Not even the arrival of a system.
On the home page, the information about the Zhuge Clan was laid out with an almost elegant coldness — like numbers carved in sacred stone:
[Zhuge Clan General Summary]
Registered Members: 137
Highest Active Cultivation: Golden Core – Level 1
Highest Registered Potential: White
Political Connections: Weak
Stored Resources: Scarce
Internal Morale: Stable
Regional Influence: Low
External Threat Alert: Moderate
Su Yeon narrowed his eyes for a brief moment.
The highest cultivation... was his own.
That, he knew.
But the "white potential"... that made him hesitate.
He knew what he carried within. A gift beyond reason, beyond logic — the kind of talent that brings disasters as easily as it brings victories.
But the system didn't specify to whom the highest potential belonged.
"Could there be another one...?" he pondered, his gaze drifting through the data.
The idea was unlikely.
But in this world, even the unlikely could be dangerous.
Above the panel, three main tabs shimmered, drawn in ethereal lines — like brushstrokes of light:
1. Members Tab
It was the first he accessed, and also the one that most caught his attention.
There, the clan members' names were listed, accompanied by simple indicators: age, cultivation, potential.
But most advanced information appeared veiled in gold, sealed.
"Required: System Points to unlock."
Unfortunately, Su Yeon had none.
Even so, he had already noticed a pattern:
the more strategic or profound the information, the higher the cost to reveal it.
And some profiles... asked for absurd amounts.
As an experienced investor, he knew — the value of information is directly tied to the risk it represents.
2. Missions Tab
It was, so far, the only way to earn points.
The missions were divided into three categories:
Individual Missions: assigned to a single member. Branch Missions: assigned to small groups, leaderships, or clan sectors. Clan Missions: required joint effort from all active members.
Each of them rewarded only with system points.
No items. No techniques. No glory.
Just resources to invest.
It was... raw, functional.
Exactly the kind of system Su Yeon respected.
3. Shop Tab
The third tab seemed endless.
He had only glanced at it briefly, but was already sure:
everything was for sale.
From common techniques to sealed scrolls of ancient eras.
From basic pills to spiritual cultivation springs.
Even... bloodlines.
"Everything can be bought. It just depends on how much you're willing to pay..." he muttered.
It was the true golden finger.
But a finger that demanded time, patience... and capital.
"This tab... I'll need weeks to understand it." he concluded.
Member Profile: Zhuge Su Yeon
With a light motion of two fingers, Su Yeon returned to the Members tab and selected his own name.
The window that opened was clear as polished crystal, revealing something no other member could see:
Zhuge Su Yeon — 28 years
• Cultivation: Golden Core – Level 9
• Potential: White – Divine Potential
• Physical Condition: Perfect
• Mental State: Stable
• Martial Physique: Supreme Jade Physique (Mutant)
Only thanks to the 1,000 welcome points had he unlocked this information.
He didn't hesitate.
He invested it all, without looking back.
Martial Souls
Below, turning in silence, were his four martial souls — manifestations of his deepest essence:
→ Soul of the Silent Void (Tranquility – White Halo)
A figure made of silver mist, faceless, soundless.
Amplifies inner peace, reduces distractions, and protects against mental attacks.
→ Soul of the Inner Flame (Cultivation – White Halo)
A light-blue flame with a golden core.
Drastically boosts cultivation efficiency and adapts to environmental Qi.
→ Soul of the Glass Serpent (Spiritual Calm – Mutant Halo)
A translucent serpent like liquid glass.
Regulates Qi, slows spiritual stress, and senses latent threats.
→ Soul of the Eternal Mirror (Soul – White Halo)
A silver mirror with a liquid, shifting border.
Allows viewing others' spiritual state and reviewing deep experiences during meditation.
Su Yeon remained still for several seconds.
Even for him, it was... too much.
It was like gazing upon the blueprint of an empire not yet built — but whose bricks already waited, silent, in the courtyard of existence.
With a final gesture, he closed the system window.
The panel dissipated into golden dust, scattering like a whisper into the night.
The wind blew between the white flowers, spreading the garden's fragrance throughout the pavilion.
Su Yeon clasped his hands behind his back and walked in silence.
His steps echoed softly on the white jade floor.
He raised his eyes to the moon — solemn, distant, eternal.
"With this development..." he murmured, emotionless, "some plans will need to be reconsidered."
Then he walked quietly toward his own room.