"Hey there, darling, give me a smile—or should I give you one instead?"
"What's this 'no'? Watch me wave some silver notes under your nose!"
In a private chamber on the second floor of the Jade Tower in White Poplar Town, two alluring women sat on Yang Chen's thighs. He tossed a handful of silver bills onto the table, grinning triumphantly. Their eyes lit up, and they nudged their chests against his arms, cooing, "Young Master Yang, your generosity knows no bounds…"
Suddenly, the door burst open. A servant named Xiao Huang, drenched in sweat, pressed through the crowd and whispered into the young noble's ear, "Master Chen, the Third Elder's son-in-law has passed away!"
Xiao Huang had been Yang Chen's most trusted companion for years.
Yang Chen froze. After a long moment, he brushed off his sleeves, stood up, and left without a word. The servant's face fell, but he couldn't keep pace.
On the bustling street, Yang Chen muttered to himself, "That drunkard might've lived ten more years—why'd he kick the bucket now?" He quickened his pace toward the Yang Estate.
White Poplar Town was ruled by two clans: the Bai and the Yang. The Yangs controlled nearly half the town's resources, their power unchallenged. To be born into such a family should've been a blessing—but not for Yang Chen.
The Yang Patriarch had been a genius in his youth, his cultivation unfathomable. He built a vast dynasty, fathering countless children. Yang Chen's mother, the Third Elder's daughter, was renowned for her talent. Yet his father, Long Qinglan, had been a mere bridegroom—once dashing, perhaps, but now a broken drunkard, abandoned in a shabby hut to rot.
A useless father meant a useless son. Yang Chen was a ghost in the clan, ignored by his mother and mocked by others. He roamed the streets, relying on the Yang name to live recklessly—until today.
Ignoring the guards' cold stares, he slipped through the side gate. The estate's pavilions and gardens spoke of ancient grandeur.
Soon, he spotted two figures: Yang Zhan, his cousin—tall, cold, and clad in white silk—and his sycophantic follower Chen Liu.
"Heard your waste of a father bit the dust?" Yang Zhan sneered, blocking his path. At seventeen, he'd already broken four Dragon Meridians, a prodigy among the Yangs.
Yang Chen had never been their equal. While they trained with rare techniques, he'd been left with nothing. Once, he'd outshone peers in physical training, but without a cultivation method, he stagnated—never even breaking the first Dragon Meridian.
"Why so quiet? Don't tell me you're proud of that drunk?" Yang Zhan taunted.
Usually, Yang Chen swallowed such insults. But today, grief and rage simmered beneath the surface.
"Move," he said coldly.
"Such disrespect from my little brother? Let me teach you manners!" Yang Zhan laughed, punching him in the stomach before striding away. Chen Liu spat at him, snickering, "Ain't he nimble for a clan dog?"
Servants watched, unsurprised. No one offered sympathy.
Yang Chen rose, wiping blood from his lips. His eyes gleamed with vengeful fire.
"A cultivator… If I were one—if I reached Dragon Meridian Realm—I'd make them pay!"
He clenched his fists and headed for his father's hut.
The stench of alcohol and waste hit him first. Long Qinglan lay face-down, his skin mottled, surrounded by servants who fled as he entered.
"You came…"
Yang Chen stared at the corpse. Sixteen years, and he'd never truly known this man.
"Who were you? We're strangers, even now. Not a tear for my own father—am I truly so heartless?"
Yet a bitter tear escaped. He brushed it away, scoffing.
Outside, his mother—a regal woman in crimson—appeared. She glanced at the body and said flatly, "The karma ends here. Bury him." Without a second look, she vanished.
Yang Chen shouldered the corpse, ignoring stares, and hired a cart to the outskirts. He chose a shaded grove, murmuring, "Here, beneath the flowers, you'll rest. Maybe ghosts will keep you company—if you're still a charmer in death."
As he dug, Long Qinglan's eyes snapped open.
"F-Fraud!" Yang Chen stumbled back.
"Fool!" Long Qinglan croaked, "Before I truly die, carve the dragon-shaped jade from my dantian! Only then will I find peace…"