"Huff… why is fate so cruel?"
A young man walked through the streets of Wu Tan City, glancing at the familiar sights. He had been here for years—the city of Xiao Yan, bustling yet indifferent to him.
Why was he here? Why did he lack talent in cultivation? Why did he have no cheat, no hidden advantage? Was he just going to fade away without achieving anything?
He shook his head and kept walking. Life here had been painfully ordinary.
Turning a corner, he noticed a group of cultivators from the Misty Cloud Sect heading toward the Xiao Clan residence. Their robes fluttered in the wind, and their aura of power was unmistakable.
A small smirk appeared on his face. So, it's finally happening… Nalan Yanran. The arranged marriage. The start of the chaos.
He tilted his head, observing quietly. She hasn't done anything wrong. Why would she marry someone she doesn't even know? She's a candidate for the next sect master. And Xiao Yan—already fuming—treats it like a personal insult.
Classic Xianxia drama, he thought. Pride, anger, and ambition pushing the world forward, while he remained on the sidelines.
He turned away and headed back to his modest house at the edge of the city. Inside, silence greeted him. He sank into a chair, staring at the empty walls.
I have no talent. No cheat. Nothing that sets me apart. What can I do in this world?
The thought pressed down on him, but he clenched his fists. I can't stay powerless forever. If I'm going to survive… I have to find a way to change the rules.
Somewhere deep inside, a spark of determination flickered. Something had to change.
An hour later, the young man returned to the streets of Wu Tan City. The sun hung lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the bustling market. Life moved on as usual, indifferent to the drama that had unfolded at the Xiao Clan.
As he walked, he noticed the group of Misty Cloud Sect cultivators again, now returning the way they came. Among them, a single figure stood out—Nalan Yanran.
She moved with grace and confidence, her robes flowing like liquid silk. Her eyes, calm yet sharp, scanned the streets as if measuring every detail. Even from a distance, she radiated a presence that drew attention without effort.
For a moment, the young man stopped, his thoughts halting mid-step. So this is… Nalan Yanran.
He watched her for a moment longer, analyzing her movements. How do I even get close to someone like her? he wondered. She's a Misty Cloud Sect prodigy, and I… I'm nothing. No talent, no cheat, no status. Just a nobody in this city.
His mind raced, imagining different ways to approach her without looking foolish—or worse, offending her. Maybe a simple greeting… but that won't be enough.
I need a reason to stand out, to make her notice me without seeming desperate.
He replayed every interaction he had ever had in the city—every moment where he could have acted differently, every chance he had missed.
If I can't rely on talent or strength, maybe I can rely on observation, on timing. Watch, wait, and strike at the right moment.
The young man's thoughts were interrupted by a faint rustle from a nearby alley. He turned sharply and saw an old woman struggling with a heavy basket, wobbling on the uneven cobblestones. Her face was lined with age, and her robes were tattered, clearly worn from years of hardship.
Perfect, he thought. Time to put on an act.
He walked over quickly, exaggerating his concern. "Grandmother, be careful! That basket looks heavy. Here, let me help you."
The old woman's eyes widened with surprise but softened immediately at his gesture. "Ah… thank you, young man," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
He bent down, lifting the basket with ease, all the while keeping his posture humble, his expression earnest. A few passersby glanced over, murmuring approval at the young man's kindness.
From across the street, he spotted Nalan Yanran. She was still moving along the market, but her gaze had caught on the small crowd forming around him. Her eyes narrowed slightly, curious.
He adjusted his stance, making sure to handle the basket carefully, mumbling reassurances to the old woman. "It's alright, I've got you. Just take it slow."
The woman smiled, her grip loosening as he steadied her basket. "Bless you, child. Not many would stop to help an old woman these days."
He nodded, keeping his voice low and sincere. "We all need each other."
As he handed the basket back to her, he caught a flash of Nalan Yanran's interest. She was watching him, intrigued. Good, he thought. First step—getting noticed.
The old woman shuffled away, offering one last grateful smile. The young man straightened, brushing dust from his robes, and allowed himself a small, confident smirk. He had played the part well.
No sooner had he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction than a sharp movement caught his eye. A small, wiry figure darted past him and snatched the pouch at his waist.
"Hey!" he shouted, lunging forward, but the thief was already weaving through the crowded street, disappearing into a narrow alley.
From across the street, Nalan Yanran's eyes flicked toward the commotion. She gave a slight nod to the cultivators walking with her. "Stay here. I'll return soon," she said quietly, then moved with calm efficiency toward the alley, blending into the crowd without causing a scene.
The young man followed, keeping his distance. The alley was narrow and dim, the walls blotting out most of the sunlight.
"Stop! Give it back!" he called, trying to keep his voice steady. "No one needs to get hurt."
The thief froze for a heartbeat—but then the shadows shifted. From the darkness, several large, muscular figures emerged, surrounding him. Their eyes glinted with malice, their postures confident. This was no random street mugging; it was a trap.
The young man instinctively stepped back, sizing them up. There were too many for him to fight outright. But he held his ground, keeping his voice calm. "Look, I don't want trouble. Return my pouch, and no one has to get hurt."
The men laughed, a low, cruel sound. One of them stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Little man thinks he can talk his way out? Cute."
The thief smirked, clearly expecting him to panic. But before anything else could happen, Nalan Yanran stepped into the edge of the alley. She didn't shout. She didn't draw attention to herself. She simply walked with quiet confidence, assessing the situation in a single glance.
One of the men stiffened. "Who's that?" he muttered.
"She's… Misty Cloud Sect," the thief whispered, suddenly uneasy.
Nalan Yanran's voice was calm but carried authority. "Leave him be. Now."
The leader laughed, but there was uncertainty in his eyes. He studied her for a long second, then glanced at his companions. They hesitated.
The tension in the alley broke as the leader gave a grudging glance at his companions. Without another word, the men muttered among themselves, then backed away. The thief, realizing he was outmatched, dropped the pouch at the young man's feet and darted toward the shadows of the street, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.
The young man bent down and picked up his pouch, chest still pounding. Relief washed over him—but it was short-lived as he turned to see Nalan Yanran standing a few steps away, calm and poised, observing him.
He straightened quickly, trying to regain composure. "Th… thank you," he stammered, his voice catching slightly. "I… I'm Wu Chen."
Her gaze met his, steady and discerning. "I'm Nalan Yanran," she said simply, her voice quiet.
The sunlight caught her robes as she adjusted her stance, and for a moment, it felt as though the alley had shrunk around the two of them.
"You… you handled yourself well," she added, her tone neutral, but there was a hint of curiosity beneath it.
Wu Chen swallowed, feeling his heart rate spike. "I… I try to be careful. And… I guess I got lucky," he said, brushing off the compliment, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
For a brief moment, the alley felt alive. The danger had passed, the crowd had moved on, but in that quiet instant, it was just the two of them. And Wu Chen couldn't help but notice—her gaze lingered on him a fraction longer than expected, as though measuring, noting, remembering.
"Thank you, Nalan Yanran," he said again, this time with more confidence.
She inclined her head slightly. "Take care, Wu Chen." Then, with the same quiet grace, she turned and disappeared into the streets, leaving him standing there.
Then, without warning, a faint shimmer appeared before him, hovering in midair. A rectangular panel, glowing softly, materialized out of nowhere. Wu Chen blinked, leaning back instinctively.
The panel displayed his name in bold letters: Wu Chen. Beneath it, a title shimmered like molten gold: Authority of Greed.
Curiosity and disbelief warred within him. He reached out, hesitating for only a moment before tapping the "Authority of Greed" entry.