Morning mist rolled across Huan Village, blurring the crooked rooftops and the muddy fields until the world looked half-swallowed by clouds. To the farmers who bent their backs in silence, it was an ordinary day—plowing, watering, arguing with stubborn oxen.
But today was not ordinary.
At the edge of the square, someone had drawn a chalk circle where the Leyline Stone stood, gray and unyielding. Its surface was veined with faint silver lines that seemed to breathe with the earth itself. To mortals, it was sacred. To the cultivators who visited once every decade, it was merely a tool to test resonance.
The villagers gathered long before dawn, crowding the square. Mothers clutched children, fathers whispered promises they had no power to keep, and old men murmured prayers to Heaven.
This was the day the Azure Ninefold Peak Sect would descend from the mountain.
A sudden hum shook the clouds. Gasps rang out as a shadow cut across the sky—a flying boat, its wooden hull etched with glowing talismans. Light rippled beneath its keel, parting the mist as though Heaven itself had sent a chariot.
The villagers fell to their knees in awe.
All except one.
At the back of the crowd, a youth leaned against the crooked wall of a grain shed. His robe was patched three times over, his hair was tied so loosely it looked ready to fall apart, and in his hand he held a half-gnawed fish bone, greasy enough to stain the cloth at his sleeve.
His name was Mo Ren, fifteen years old, and if Heaven truly kept records of men's virtues, his page would have been blank—save for debts and complaints.
"Stand straight!" hissed an old woman nearby, tugging her grandson down into a bow. Her eyes flicked toward Mo Ren with a mix of disgust and fear.
Mo Ren popped the last shred of fish into his mouth and chewed slowly. "Everyone's so serious," he muttered, voice dripping with lazy amusement. "It's just a ledger check."
A cough of disapproval rippled through the villagers, but no one dared rebuke him loudly—not today.
The flying boat settled with a low hum. From it descended figures robed in azure, their very presence pressing down like unseen weights. The villagers bent lower, foreheads nearly touching mud.
Mo Ren tapped his chin thoughtfully. That much reverence for men who borrowed Heaven's strength? Interesting. If Heaven is the bank, then cultivators are just loan collectors in prettier clothes.
At their head, a white-haired elder unrolled a jade scroll. His voice carried like thunder, though his lips barely moved.
"Bring forth the youths. Today, Heaven's resonance shall be tested. Those with seeds may ascend. Those without… remain."
One by one, the children stepped forward, trembling.
The first boy pressed his palm to the Leyline Stone. Nothing happened. He stepped back with slumped shoulders.
The next—dim sparks flickered briefly, earning polite nods from the elders but little more.
And so it continued, hope rising and falling with each attempt. For most, the stone remained as cold and silent as any common rock.
Then came Yan Luo.
Even before he stepped forward, whispers followed him. He was tall for his age, handsome, his robe spotless despite the dusty road. Pride shone in his eyes like polished steel.
When his hand touched the stone, golden light flared. The surface of the monolith glowed warmly, as though the sun itself had risen inside it. The villagers gasped in awe. Even the stern elder's expression softened.
"A true seed," murmured one.
"Heaven's favored," sighed another.
Yan Luo drew his hand back with practiced humility, bowing slightly, though the corners of his lips curved upward. His gaze slid sideways, finding the lazy youth still leaning at the back. His eyes hardened with disdain.
The elder cleared his throat. "Next."
At last, it was Mo Ren's turn.
He strolled forward as though heading to a wine shop, scratching idly at his ear. The elder's frown deepened.
"Show respect."
Mo Ren grinned and bowed with exaggerated slowness. "Respect, respect. I respect that the stone has been bored to death by now. Allow me to amuse it."
A ripple of outrage passed through the crowd. Yan Luo's eyes narrowed.
Mo Ren slapped his palm onto the stone.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then—
BOOM.
The stone convulsed as if struck by lightning. Cracks raced across its surface, silver light bursting forth in jagged streams. A low hum erupted into a roar, shaking the ground. Birds screamed from the trees, dogs howled, infants wailed.
The villagers screamed and backed away. Dust filled the air.
"This is impossible!"
"He's cursed it!"
"Monster!"
Yan Luo stepped forward sharply. "Elders, look! His resonance is chaotic and violent. Clearly stolen from some forbidden source!"
The elder's face twisted with shock. He slammed his staff, steadying the trembling ground. "Enough!"
Mo Ren blinked innocently, then chuckled. "Steal resonance? If Heaven keeps ledgers, perhaps this is just interest Heaven owed me. Collectors do receive interest, do they not?"
Gasps of horror answered him.
The elder's knuckles whitened on his staff. "You… you dare to mock even Heaven?"
Mo Ren bowed again, smile never faltering. Inside, though, his thoughts spun. That surge—he hadn't caused it. Something in the earth had stirred when he touched the stone, something old and vast. Debt… The word had pulsed faintly in his mind, like an echo from beneath the mountain.
The elder's voice cut through his reverie. "Yan Luo shall enter as an inner disciple. As for this Mo Ren…" His tone turned cold. "Provisionally. He shall be watched."
Whispers spread like fire.
"Provisionally?"
"Marked already. He'll bring misfortune."
Mo Ren clasped his hands together and bowed low. "To be provisional under Heaven's gate is still better than permanent under Heaven's heel."
Zhou Tong, a fat youth trembling at the back, hissed nervously, "Brother Ren, can't you just stay quiet? I'll choke on my own heart at this rate."
Mo Ren winked. "Quiet men are forgotten, Zhou Tong. And I already owe Heaven too many memories."
The elder barked an order, ending the murmurs. "Enough delays. The chosen depart now."
The flying boat's talismans flared, lowering a gangplank. The selected youths were herded aboard.
The villagers knelt as one, tears spilling, some for pride, some for grief.
At the foot of the gangplank, Mo Ren paused. His gaze swept over the village—the crooked huts, the muddy fields, the smoke curling from chimneys. His eyes lingered on one figure: a girl in plain dress, standing apart.
Mei Lian. Her fists were clenched, lips pressed tight, but her eyes shone with quiet defiance. She did not look away.
Mo Ren raised two fingers in a lazy salute, his grin softer this time. Mei Lian lowered her head quickly, hiding a blush.
Then he turned, stepping aboard.
The boat rose, mist swirling in its wake. Azure Ninefold Peak loomed ahead, its ridges like knives against the sky.
Mo Ren leaned against the railing, ignoring Yan Luo's cold glare. His heart still thudded with unease. Beneath the hum of talismans, beneath the rush of air, he heard it again—
A whisper.
"Debt… debt… debt…"
His grin returned, though his knuckles whitened on the railing.
"So Heaven really does keep its accounts," he murmured. "Then let's see if I can balance the books."
Behind him, Huan Village shrank to a speck. Ahead, the mountain waited.