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The valley lay quiet, but the world beyond trembled. News of the overseer's sudden death spread like wildfire through the Outer Sect. Whispers floated along stone paths and narrow alleys, carried by trembling lips and wide-eyed disciples. No healer could explain it. No shield could prevent it. No one had foreseen it. Only Liang Chen knew the truth, and the truth pressed against his chest like a stone, heavy and cold.
He stood once more atop the cliffs, morning sunlight brushing jagged peaks with silver light. The Ledger rested in his satchel, black and humming faintly, as if alive, sensing his thoughts, responding to the pulse of his mind. His fingers traced its surface, feeling the tug of life it demanded from him, the shadow threading through his veins with each stroke of the brush. Every breath he took now felt heavier, as if the world itself measured his debt.
Justice should have tasted sweet, yet instead Liang Chen felt hollow. There had been no scream, no struggle, no acknowledgment of the wrongs avenged. Only the trembling report delivered by a messenger who did not know the weight of the truth.
"Is this… power?" he whispered to the wind, voice swallowed by the valley. "Is this… the cost of justice?"
The Warden appeared, coiling silently, chains rattling softly like dry bones, white eyes glimmering in the morning light. "You have claimed your first life," it said. "Do you feel it? Threads have wrapped around you, binding your soul. Every stroke draws from your life, your fortune wanes, your luck frays. Each name written echoes beyond the one who dies. You may call it justice—but the Ledger does not serve justice. It serves choice. And choice… always has a price."
Liang Chen clenched his fists, staring at distant peaks. "I… I am ready to pay," he said. "I will take them all. Every last one who harmed my family. Every shadow that struck without consequence. I will write their names, and I will—" His voice faltered, swallowed by the weight of what he had already given.
The Warden's gaze sharpened. "Every stroke drains a thread of your life. Every life claimed reshapes your destiny. You may believe you are the author of vengeance, but soon… the Ledger may begin writing for you. Soon, your desires may no longer be your own. And the cost… the cost is more than you imagine. With each life, your future is drawn into uncertainty, your fortune frays, your luck diminishes. Even a minor misstep can be amplified beyond comprehension. Do you understand?"
A shadow flickered across Liang Chen's chest, a tight coil of fear and anticipation. He thought of his family—father's broken hands, mother's screams, sister's silent tears—and the bitter world that had let them perish. Every cruel face, every injustice replayed in his mind, sharpening his resolve. Fear flitted briefly, sharp and cold, but it passed, replaced by bitter resolve. He had waited years for this moment, and he would endure any price to see justice done.
He let the Ledger rest on the stone beside him and closed his eyes. In the silence, he whispered to himself:
I am not weak. I am not powerless. The world has taken everything from me. Now, I take it back. One name at a time. One life at a time. And they will not even see it coming.
His thoughts twisted inward, turning like the mist in the valley. Each name must be known fully—not just the face, but the habits, the fears, the secrets hidden beneath masks of arrogance and deception. The Ledger demanded truth. Only then could the stroke be final.
If I write without knowing… it may fail, or worse, take more from me than necessary. Liang Chen's mind ran through every detail he had gathered. The Ledger was not a simple tool; it was a loom, a living, whispering entity. It required not only skill but insight. It demanded the essence of truth before it would deliver death.
Liang Chen smiled faintly, almost cruelly. They hide, they shield themselves… it does not matter. I will peel every layer. I will dig into their hearts. And when I write their names… it will be final.
A messenger arrived, eyes wide, voice trembling. "Master Liang… the overseer's disciples… they speak of omens, strange disturbances in cultivation… they suspect… something unnatural."
Liang Chen's expression remained calm, though inside he relished the tension. Fear was a tool, and doubt a blade. He inclined his head gently. "Do not speak of this to anyone. Simply observe. Watch how threads of fate twist, unseen and unknowable, in their hearts."
Alone, he let his mind weave deeper. Every step, every movement, every whisper must be precise. Allies could be deceived, enemies manipulated, pawns moved with invisible hands. The Ledger was not just a weapon—it was a loom to weave the world according to his will.
And if the Warden warns me… let it. I will decide how much of myself to give. I will write, and the world will bend.
The Warden hovered silently, chains rattling faintly. "You believe it simple, mortal. You believe justice comes with a single stroke. But soon… the Ledger will test not only your enemies, but your heart. Every life taken leaves a shadow within you. Every life… may ask a question you are not ready to answer. Do not mistake this for freedom—every thread you pull tugs back at you. Misfortune follows as surely as night follows day. Every stroke you take binds you tighter into the web of destiny. You may gain vengeance… but you will also lose pieces of yourself."
Liang Chen's lips curved in a shadowed smile. "Then I will answer," he whispered. "I will answer it with their names, their lives, every breath I take. I will not falter. I will not hesitate. If the Ledger asks a question… I will write the answer in blood and ink, and endure whatever it takes."
The Ledger pulsed beneath his fingers, like a heartbeat in the quiet valley. Shadows gathered, expectant but not threatening, waiting for the next move. He could feel subtle threads stretching from the book into the world, binding past, present, and future, connecting him to the lives he would claim and the unseen cost it would extract. Each life would pull not only on the one who deserved it but on him as well, quietly siphoning strength, luck, and years of life.
Liang Chen's mind turned to the Outer Sect, to the corrupt elders, the enforcers, the shadows who had laughed at his family's suffering. Each name would be chosen, each stroke deliberate, each thread exacting its toll on him as much as on them. He felt the first tug of threads in his own soul: subtle dizziness, a cold ache in his chest, the sense of fortune fraying at the edges of his life. Yet he embraced it.
This is the burden of justice, he thought, voice soft as wind through pines. The Ledger takes from me as much as it takes from them. I will endure it, and still, I will write.
The valley seemed to exhale, mist curling through peaks and valleys, threading through the hearts of those who had wronged him. He could almost hear faint echoes of the threads connecting him to them, pulling lightly, reminding him of the cost. And Liang Chen—silent, calm, burning with quiet fire—prepared for the next stroke.
Every shadow, every whisper, every secret he had uncovered would now be wielded. The first life was but a beginning. The Ledger's song had begun its echo. And Liang Chen… he would write every note, even as threads of his own life coiled around him, tugging at his soul with every step of vengeance.
Above, the morning light touched the valley in silver, but even the sun could not pierce the shadows growing in Liang Chen's heart. He knew each life he claimed would mark him, twist him, change him. And yet, he would continue, because the Ledger demanded truth, and truth demanded action.
They will all fall. One by one. And by the time they realize the truth… it will be too late.