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Night had fallen like a heavy curtain over the Outer Sect, wrapping the settlement in silence thick with unease. The world seemed to hold its breath. Lanterns flickered faintly along the stone paths, casting long shadows that swayed like spirits disturbed. Liang Chen moved among them, the Ledger hidden beneath his robes, black as a moonless sky, silver inscriptions pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
He paused at the edge of a courtyard, where a minor official—one of the many who had helped destroy his family—slept, oblivious to the threads of fate stretching toward him. Liang Chen's fingers brushed the Ledger's cover, feeling the weight of what he was about to do.
Every stroke… takes more than life, he whispered to himself. It takes my time, my fortune, my luck… it twists the world against me even as I pull it against them.
He dipped the brush into the inky blackness provided by the Ledger, feeling the familiar tug, a subtle siphon as a portion of his lifespan was already claimed. A chill coiled through his chest, tight and pressing, reminding him: every life stolen comes at a cost.
The first name flowed, silver characters glowing faintly in the moonlight. The man muttered in his sleep, tossing uneasily as the invisible threads wound around him. The moment the brush lifted, Liang Chen staggered slightly, dizziness striking his head, his vision momentarily blurred. Luck felt thinner, a subtle shadow brushing across his future, as if the world had already begun to claim its debt.
The Warden appeared silently, coiling like smoke from a distant corner. Its white eyes glimmered faintly. "Do you feel it?" it asked, voice soft yet hollow. "Your life has been slightly drained. Your fortune has shifted. Every action you take now bears a subtle misalignment. Each thread you pull does not end with your target—it loops back to you."
Liang Chen's lips curved into a faint, grim smile. "I feel it. Let it take from me. Let the Ledger test me. Each life I erase… each stroke I write… is a price I willingly pay."
He closed his eyes and pictured the faces of his family—their screams, their fear, their helplessness—and let it fuel his resolve. If I do not act… if I wait… they will remain unavenged. I will endure the cost. Every stolen life, every lost year, every shadow of misfortune… is mine to bear.
The first official gasped in his sleep, clutching his chest as if invisible hands squeezed him. Liang Chen felt the subtle echo of the thread in his own veins, tugging lightly, reminding him that the Ledger did not grant power without consequence. Even as the man's life slipped away, faintly and silently, Liang Chen's thoughts were sharp, calculating, twisting inwards.
This is only the beginning. Each life I take draws me further into shadows… yet the shadows serve me.
He moved next to the enforcer who had struck his father down. The man stumbled drunkenly through the streets, laughing at what he thought was safety. Liang Chen's voice was soft, a whisper carried only to the man's mind, threading doubt and fear through him.
"You have forgotten the weight of your sins," he murmured, almost to himself. "The Ledger sees all. It takes all. And tonight… you will remember, though no one will see, no one will hear, no one will save you."
The man froze, chills running down his spine, eyes darting into dark corners, but Liang Chen did not touch him. The Ledger worked invisibly, silently. With each stroke of the brush in his mind, silver words forming in ink that was not ink, threads of life were severed, and yet a shadow of their toll returned to him.
Dizziness struck again, subtler this time, a whisper of fatigue, a cold pressing at his bones. His mind felt lighter yet heavier, clarity sharpened but his luck dimmed, fortune fraying at the edges. He steadied himself, leaning against a stone wall. This is the price, he reminded himself. This is the thread I must endure to weave justice.
By midnight, three lives had been claimed. One collapsed in sudden paralysis, the second fell with silent breath, and the third, writhing in a nightmare only he could see, faded into nothingness. Liang Chen felt the cumulative pull, threads tugging at his essence, reminding him of what he had given.
He poured a cup of tea in the inn where he had taken refuge, savoring the warmth, letting it soothe the subtle ache threading through his body. Yet his mind was alive with plotting, whispering, planning. Each thread he pulled from others was mirrored by a thread within him—his fortune, his luck, his years now subtly diminished, each a quiet debt etched into his veins.
I am weaker for it, he admitted softly, "yet stronger for what I gain. Every stroke, every life, every thread… I bend the world, though the world bends me in return."
The Warden hovered silently, chains rattling faintly. "You are beginning to understand," it said. "The Ledger does not simply grant power. It demands payment. Each life taken shapes destiny… yours as much as theirs. Soon, mortal, the threads will twist in ways you cannot foresee. Misfortune will strike, fortune will wane, luck will falter… and yet, you will continue. You must. For every injustice left unchecked pulls at your soul."
Liang Chen's eyes, dark and steady, met the Warden's hollow gaze. "I will bear it. I will endure. Each thread I pull… I accept the toll. Each misfortune, each shadow, each step closer to the edge… is worth the justice I bring."
He rose, walking silently along the rooftops, observing the Outer Sect as fear and confusion rippled through it. Elders whispered of curses, minor officials trembled in fear of unseen forces, and disciples wondered, silently, if their world had shifted overnight. None knew why, none knew the true cause—but the seeds had been planted.
And Liang Chen, standing in the moonlight, brush in hand, Ledger at his side, felt the threads coil back around him. Each life claimed was a thread tugged, pulling a piece of him toward shadows, toward misfortune, toward the cost he had promised to bear.
This is the burden of justice, he thought, voice soft as wind through the pines. The Ledger gives, the Ledger takes. I will endure the debt… and they will know the price of cruelty.
Outside, the night deepened, silent yet full of threads stretching invisible between the living and the dead, between past and future, between the seeker of justice and the world that had betrayed him. And in the quiet, Liang Chen whispered to the shadows:
I am not afraid. I will write. I will pay. I will see justice done… even if the threads of my own life unravel in the process.
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