The night Lin Yan was born, it rained.
Not the kind of rain that flooded streets or split the sky with thunder—just a steady, patient drizzle that darkened the earth and softened the sound of the world. The Linfamily courtyard was quiet, lanterns swaying gently under the eaves as servants moved with practiced restraint.
This was not a great clan.
Nor was it a declining one.
The Lin family was… adequate.
For three generations, they had survived on caution, discipline, and a single truth passed down with unwavering respect: do not reach beyond what your fate allows.
Their ancestral hall bore only one spirit tablet of note.
Lin Qingshan — Core Awakening Realm.
That was all.
In a country where sect elders walked upon clouds and sovereigns shaped mountains with a thought, a Core Awakening ancestor was nothing more than a footnote. Still, it was enough. Enough to keep wolves at bay. Enough to let the Lin family remain a middle-grade cultivation household, neither bullied nor admired.
Inside the eastern wing, Lin Yan's mother lay exhausted but calm, her breathing shallow, her face pale with the strain of childbirth. When the cry finally came—thin, brief, and strangely restrained—the midwife froze for half a breath before relaxing.
"It's a boy," she said softly.
The infant was clean, unblemished. His fists were clenched, his eyes shut tight, his breathing slow and steady. Nothing about him stood out. Nothing demanded attention.
And so, for a moment, the world continued as it always had.
Only when dawn crept in did the family elder arrive.
Elder Lin Wei was old enough to remember the ancestor in stories rather than memory. His cultivation had stalled at the peak of Body Tempering for decades, his hair long since turned white. He carried no arrogance—only habit and caution.
The awakening ritual was simple. No formations. No rare incense. Only a worn spirit stone and a shallow bowl of clear water.
The infant was placed at the center.
The stone glowed faintly.
Once.
Then again.
The water rippled.
Lin Wei's hand paused.
His expression did not change, but his breathing did.
"This…" he murmured.
The glow stabilized—clear, steady, neither violent nor erratic. The water did not boil. It did not freeze. It only trembled, as if responding to something deep and quiet.
A few heartbeats passed.
Lin Wei exhaled.
"Saint-grade core," he said.
The words were spoken plainly, without drama. Yet the room fell silent all the same.
Saint-grade.
In the entire country, such a core appeared only a handful of times per generation. Not legendary. Not mythical. But enough to alter a family's destiny.
Lin Yan's father stood frozen, his hands trembling slightly. His mother closed her eyes, tears slipping silently down her temples—not from exhaustion this time.
No one shouted.
No one knelt.
No one spoke of Heaven's favor.
But that night, the Lin family lit incense in the ancestral hall for the first time in years.
Plans were made quietly. Better tutors. Safer alliances. A future that extended further than survival.
As for the child himself, Lin Yan slept through it all.
His breathing remained even.
His fists slowly relaxed.
The rain outside did not stop.
And nothing in Heaven stirred.