From Zhuge Su Yeon's Perspective
The city of Gray Sky lay in the northern reaches of the empire, draped in a constant melancholy. The wind swept fine dust through its stone streets, as if even the heavens had given up on coloring that place.
At the city's northern edge, hidden behind tall wooden walls darkened by time, was a courtyard—the courtyard of the Zhuge clan's patriarch. Nothing luxurious. Just enough. The pale stone ground was spotless, but unadorned; trees trimmed into straight lines cast their meticulous shade; a small pond reflected the gray sky without trying to embellish it. It was the sort of courtyard that didn't seek to impress visitors, but simply to sustain the serenity of those who lived there.
At its center, a Go board sat on an old wooden table. Two figures faced each other across it.
The first, an elderly man with white hair and beard, wore a simple dark-blue robe embroidered with the emblem of a crane. His eyes were deep, and his posture upright, reminiscent of a general at his peak. The wrinkles he bore did not speak of weakness but of stories. With every move, he studied the board as though it were a battlefield to be conquered or lost. This was Zhuge Liang Shan, once patriarch of the clan.
The other man was younger, his long black hair tied back with a simple golden coronet. His white and blue robes, adorned with swan patterns, carried an authority few would dare question. Yet unlike the elder's intensity, his eyes were calm, almost indifferent. As he observed the stones on the board, he even found time to sip tea, as if the match were nothing more than a pastime to scatter silence.
The impasse didn't last long. With a slow, precise movement, the younger man placed a black stone on the board. The dry click echoed like the seal of a verdict. The lines connected, closing off the last possibilities.
"Hmph…" Liang Shan let out a heavy sigh, his firm gaze dissolving into resignation.
He lifted his head and looked at his grandson.
"Boy… do you really prefer spending your birthday torturing this old man over a game of Go instead of holding a celebration worthy of the Zhuge clan's patriarch? Imagine full halls, music, lavish tables, beauties vying for your presence. That would be more fitting."
Zhuge Su Yeon's expression remained serene, as if nothing in the world could shake him from that artificial calm.
"Of course, Grandfather. Parties always seemed to me like contests to see who hides their intentions best behind a smile." He set down his teacup, watching the steam rise. "To me, that sounds like more work than celebration."
Silence settled over the courtyard. Liang Shan propped his hand against his chin, staring at the empty board. He sighed again, somewhat unwilling to concede.
"Even so, we could hold a gathering just among the clan members. Among our own, the Zhuge clan has nothing to hide."
Su Yeon didn't argue. The serenity on his face was not a mask—it was conviction.
"How about next year?" he replied, calmly arranging the stones on the board. "As for this year, what about another round?"
The old man smiled, and his eyes regained the competitive spark long buried under battles and responsibilities.
"Very well, very well. This time, this old man will show you his skills."
That young man, who spoke with the calm of someone watching the world from the outside, was the Zhuge clan's patriarch: Zhuge Su Yeon.
The man across from him, seasoned by experience yet defeated on the board, was Zhuge Liang Shan, the former patriarch and grandfather who now spent his days between counsel and sighs.
Yeon respected the man deeply. His grandfather had been, for more than three decades, the Zhuge clan's pillar—firm, dependable, admirable. A true patriarch whose presence had sustained their survival in uncertain times.
But, sadly, he was wrong.
The Zhuge clan had much to hide. And Yeon knew it better than anyone. After all, he was the one concealing each of those secrets with surgical patience.
In truth, if there was one specialty that defined him, it was not cultivation, nor politics, but concealment. Zhuge Su Yeon was a master of hiding information, of manipulating silence, of disguising his true nature until the world forgot it existed. He had always had a plan—and every step taken so far was part of it.
The first secret he hid…
Perhaps the most shocking, if it were ever revealed to Liang Shan, was simple and at the same time impossible to fully comprehend: this was not his first life. Nor even his first world.
Yeon was a transmigrator.
A man from Earth, an ordinary human of a modern world where wars were won with machines of mass destruction, not with a flick of a finger. There, mountains could only be brought down with explosives or nuclear weapons. Here, they yielded to will and spiritual energy.
He had died young, of an incurable illness, and awakened in this new place. A world of cultivation. A world where the impossible could be shaped by one's own hands.
And that wasn't the only secret he carried.
The second—perhaps even more dangerous if revealed—was his talent.
Yeon remembered clearly the moment he discovered it.
At that time, he was nine years old in this world. But adding the twenty-eight years of his past life, he carried the mind of a thirty-seven-year-old. And like anyone thrust into a world where one could cultivate, fly through the skies, and topple mountains with bare hands, he was eager.
The anticipation of finally beginning his cultivation journey burned within him like a restrained fire. If not for the absolute rule forbidding children from cultivating before the age of nine—when their meridians stabilized—he would have started earlier.
So, on the day it was his turn, Yeon made a silent vow.
No matter how much pain or hardship came, he would not give up. He would grow strong in this new world. Strong enough never again to be dragged by the chains of a petty, uncertain fate like in his past life.
But in the end, every one of those promises proved meaningless.
Because his talent wasn't just high. It wasn't just rare.
It was an insult to every standard measure.
When he closed his eyes to cultivate for the first time, he felt the spiritual energy around him like a vast, tranquil river, flowing through his meridians without blockage, without hindrance.
His father had told him, with the weight of tradition, that it was normal to take two or three days to sense spiritual energy for the first time.
For Yeon, it was instant.
The elder had also said that if he reached the first level of Body Refinement in a month, he would be called a genius.
Yeon needed only one minute.
And after another five minutes of cultivation, he had already reached the second level.
It was then he realized.
His talent was not merely rare. It was utterly inhuman.
And that talent both thrilled and troubled him.
On Earth, he had been an investor. A wealthy man condemned by an autoimmune disease. That combination—wealth and the shadow of death—had taught him something about human nature.
Greed.
He had drawn not one, but many people with that nature, each waiting for the day his eyes would dim, each with their sights set on his fortune.
He could see it.
The insatiable hunger for power, for control, for anything that shone too brightly.
And now, in this new world, his talent shone far too brightly. Too strong. Too terrifying. It didn't take him long to reach the obvious conclusion: if he revealed it, he would attract the same greed he knew too well. Not only from strangers, not only from distant enemies, but from all sides—even within his own clan.
It was simple.
The nail that sticks out is always hammered down.
From that day forward, Yeon decided.
He would hide his talent.
And, unexpectedly, it wasn't difficult. It was as if his very body wanted to help. With a mere intention, his spiritual presence molded itself to others' perception.
If he wished to appear a mere mortal, that was what others saw.
If he wished to appear at Body Refinement, that was what they saw.
If he wished to appear at Spiritual Refinement, that was what they saw.
His body simply masked his true nature.
And so came Yeon's third secret: his true cultivation.
To the Zhuge clan, and to all of Gray Sky City, he was known as a patriarch at the fifth level of Spiritual Refinement. A level that alone was enough to intimidate every cultivator in the region.
But that level of power wasn't something he had wanted to reveal.
It had been an accident on his path, an unavoidable one.
His parents had vanished—gone like smoke. No matter how hard he searched, no matter how much the clan mobilized, there was no trace of them. To an outsider, it might even be possible to doubt they had ever existed.
And unfortunately, they hadn't been just anyone in the clan.
His father hadn't been just another elder.
And his mother hadn't been just the pampered youngest daughter of the then-patriarch.
Together with his grandfather, they had been the true pillars of the Zhuge clan.
And when they disappeared, leaving the household hollow, its fragility was laid bare.
The other three great clans of Gray Sky wasted no time.
To them, it was the perfect chance to expand their holdings, crush a weakened neighbor, and divide the Zhuge clan's wealth and territory.
That was when Yeon found himself cornered.
Either he revealed a portion of his true power…
Or he would lose the home he had lived in for twenty-five years in this world.
In the end, he chose to protect his home.
But perhaps he overdid it.
To himself, he had revealed only enough to make the three clans retreat, tails tucked in fear.
But to the Zhuge clan, that display meant something else.
They saw it as proof that a new leader had risen.
And so, even against his will, Zhuge Su Yeon was crowned Patriarch.
Yet, even in that situation, Yeon found a way to turn things around.
If he now stood under the spotlight as Patriarch of the Zhuge clan, then he would use the position to his advantage. His solution was simple, direct: turn the clan into something that no longer drew greed. A clan isolated, discreet, nearly invisible.
That was when his true talents came into play. He would be a master of concealment again—but this time, what he hid would be far larger.
Of course, it wasn't easy.
The elders argued.
The clan nearly fractured.
Not everyone was willing to abandon alliances, riches, or the vanity of belonging to a prestigious house.
But in the end, his personal strength—combined with the firm support of his grandfather, the former Patriarch—was enough to impose his will.
Day by day, year by year, the Zhuge clan withdrew. Their names vanished from social gatherings, their wealth pulled back behind their walls, their public appearances growing rare until nearly nonexistent.
To the city's eyes, they had disappeared.
To Yeon's eyes, the plan had succeeded.
And so he gained what he thought impossible: peace.
For three years, at least.
Until today.
On his twenty-eighth birthday—the same age he had lived in his previous life on Earth—Yeon gained a new secret.
The fourth.
A system.