Morning arrived quietly in the Ji Clan.
The kind of morning that made the world look peaceful enough to fool ordinary people—mist drifting over rooftops, dew clinging to the leaves in the courtyards, the faint smell of incense rising from the ancestral hall.
But cultivators didn't believe in peace.
Not in a clan where power decided everything.
Ji Wuyuan woke before sunrise, as he always did.
He sat upright on the bed, breathing evenly, letting the last traces of sleep fade from his mind. For a brief moment, he stared at his palms in the dim light. The skin looked the same as yesterday, the fingers still slender, still belonging to a child.
Yet beneath the skin, something had changed.
His bones were heavier now.
His blood ran hotter.
His muscles carried a quiet strength that no servant would notice and no careless opponent would expect.
Body Tempering Sixth Layer.
In a normal family, it would be considered outstanding. In a cultivation clan, it was still only the first step.
But Ji Wuyuan wasn't chasing praise.
He was chasing survival.
He slid out of bed and walked to the courtyard, bare feet touching cold stone. The air was sharp, clean, and filled with faint spiritual energy. He inhaled slowly, letting it settle into his lungs.
Then he began.
A simple stance.
Feet shoulder-width apart.
Spine straight.
Shoulders relaxed.
Fists clenched lightly, not tight enough to waste strength.
The Nine Tribulation Ironbone Art wasn't a flashy technique. It didn't require grand gestures or loud chants. It was a method that forged the body through repeated refinement, forcing bones and marrow to become denser, harder, more enduring.
It was the kind of foundation that didn't look impressive…
until the moment it crushed someone's throat.
Ji Wuyuan moved through the first sequence slowly, letting each motion stretch his muscles and press his joints into alignment. Sweat formed on his forehead, not from exhaustion but from the controlled pressure of the technique.
Behind him, the shadows in the corner of the courtyard remained still.
Wei Yan stood there, silent as ever.
He didn't interfere.
He didn't speak.
He only watched.
A blade watching its master sharpen himself.
After half an hour, Ji Wuyuan stopped.
He exhaled.
A faint mist left his lips.
He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, then walked calmly to the stone table in the center of the courtyard. A servant had already placed breakfast there—warm porridge, steamed buns, and a small plate of spirit fruit.
Ji Wuyuan ate without hurry.
He ate like someone who had nothing to fear.
But his mind was already turning.
Yesterday, the Second Elder's eyes had been on him in the hall. That gaze hadn't been hatred, not openly.
It was worse than hatred.
It was assessment.
A butcher deciding whether a pig was fat enough to slaughter.
And now, Ji Wuyuan was certain of one thing—
Ji Mingxiu would not stop.
He had already tested him once with Spirit Beast Mountain. He would test him again, and again, until he found a crack.
But cracks were for the weak.
Ji Wuyuan finished his meal and rose.
"Prepare my robe," he said gently to the servant.
"Yes, Young Master."
As the servant hurried away, Ji Wuyuan turned slightly toward the shadows.
"We'll be leaving today," he said calmly.
Wei Yan's voice came like a whisper.
"Where to?"
Ji Wuyuan's eyes were calm.
"The outer training grounds."
Wei Yan's presence sharpened slightly.
"The Second Elder's territory."
Ji Wuyuan smiled faintly.
"That's why."
The outer training grounds were alive with noise by mid-morning.
Steel clashed against steel, wooden staffs cracked against stone, and shouts echoed across the open courtyard. Clan disciples moved in groups, some sparring, some practicing techniques, others simply watching from the sidelines with arms crossed.
It was a familiar scene.
A place where talent was measured not by words but by bruises.
Ji Wuyuan stepped into the grounds dressed in simple white robes, his hair tied neatly, his face calm.
At first, no one noticed him.
Then whispers began.
"Is that… Young Master Wuyuan?"
"He's here?"
"I heard he went to Spirit Beast Mountain and killed a wolf with one strike…"
"That's nonsense."
"No, it's true. My cousin was on that expedition."
"An eight-year-old? Killing a Ninth Layer beast? Stop joking."
The whispers spread quickly, like fire in dry grass.
Ji Wuyuan walked as if he didn't hear them.
He didn't hurry.
He didn't slow down.
He simply moved forward, letting his presence sink into the crowd naturally.
A boy stepped into his path.
He was about twelve, tall for his age, with sharp eyebrows and a proud chin. His robe was slightly more expensive than most outer disciples, and the jade pendant at his waist marked him as someone with backing.
Ji Wuyuan recognized him.
Ji Rong.
A branch family child, favored by the Second Elder.
In his previous life, Ji Rong had been one of the loudest voices mocking Ji Wuyuan when his family fell. He had laughed while watching the Ji Clan's main bloodline collapse, and he had begged the protagonist for scraps afterward.
A dog.
Not even a wolf.
Ji Rong looked Ji Wuyuan up and down, then smirked.
"Young Master," he said with exaggerated politeness, "why are you here? This place is for training. It's not a playground."
The disciples around them went quiet.
Not completely silent.
But quiet enough that the tension became obvious.
Ji Wuyuan tilted his head slightly, his expression gentle.
"I came to watch."
Ji Rong laughed.
"Watch? You mean you're too weak to train?"
A few disciples snickered.
Others looked uncomfortable.
No one dared to openly defend Ji Wuyuan, not because they disliked him, but because they understood something important—
If Ji Rong dared to speak like this, he must have someone behind him.
Ji Wuyuan's eyes remained calm.
He smiled faintly.
"You're right," he said softly. "I am young. I might get hurt."
Ji Rong blinked, surprised by the easy agreement.
He had expected arrogance.
Or anger.
Or tears.
Instead, he got… calm acceptance.
That calmness irritated him.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"But I heard you killed an Ironfang Wolf."
His smirk widened.
"Was it really you? Or did your guards do it for you and you stole the credit?"
The crowd stirred.
Now people were truly listening.
Ji Wuyuan's smile didn't change.
He looked at Ji Rong like a kind older brother looking at a childish tantrum.
"I don't know," Ji Wuyuan said gently. "Maybe the wolf was sick."
A few disciples choked back laughter.
Ji Rong's face darkened.
"You're mocking me."
Ji Wuyuan blinked innocently.
"I'm not."
Ji Rong's pride snapped.
"Fine," he said loudly, turning so everyone could hear. "If you're so talented, spar with me."
The crowd's eyes widened.
A spar?
Ji Rong was Body Tempering Eighth Layer.
Ji Wuyuan was… what?
Third Layer? Fourth?
No one knew.
But no one believed he was higher than that.
Ji Rong was basically challenging a child to be humiliated publicly.
Ji Wuyuan's eyes flickered briefly.
Not fear.
Calculation.
This was the pit.
The Second Elder's pit.
If he refused, he would look weak.
If he accepted and lost, he would be crushed socially, and the clan's confidence in him would weaken.
If he accepted and won…
he would shine.
And shining meant being watched more closely.
Ji Wuyuan sighed softly, as if reluctant.
"Do we have to?"
Ji Rong's grin widened.
"What, scared?"
Ji Wuyuan looked down.
His shoulders drooped slightly.
It was the posture of a child being forced into something he didn't want.
Then he nodded.
"Okay."
The crowd erupted into whispers again.
"He accepted!"
"He's crazy!"
"He's going to get beaten!"
"Unless the rumors are true…"
Ji Rong stepped into the sparring ring, rolling his shoulders.
His confidence was obvious.
He wasn't worried.
He was excited.
Because humiliating the Clan Lord's son in front of everyone would make him famous.
Ji Wuyuan stepped into the ring too, his movements light.
He stood still, hands at his sides.
Ji Rong laughed.
"You don't even know how to take a stance?"
Ji Wuyuan smiled faintly.
"I do."
Then he raised his hands slowly, forming a simple guard position.
It wasn't fancy.
But it was balanced.
Centered.
Stable.
Ji Rong's eyes narrowed slightly.
For a moment, something felt wrong.
But his pride didn't allow hesitation.
He rushed forward, fists flying.
His punch was fast and heavy, aimed directly at Ji Wuyuan's chest.
A strike meant to knock the air out of him and send him flying.
The crowd held their breath.
Ji Wuyuan moved.
Not backward.
Not sideways.
Forward.
He stepped into the punch, slipping inside Ji Rong's range. His small hand rose, palm open, and struck Ji Rong's wrist with a sharp snapping motion.
Crack!
Ji Rong's arm went numb instantly.
His punch collapsed.
Before he could react, Ji Wuyuan's other hand struck his ribs.
Not hard.
Not enough to kill.
Just enough to make him gasp.
Ji Rong staggered back, eyes wide.
"What—"
Ji Wuyuan didn't let him finish.
He stepped forward again, his movements smooth and controlled, and delivered a short elbow strike into Ji Rong's shoulder.
Bang!
Ji Rong's body twisted sideways.
Pain exploded through him.
He tried to regain balance—
But Ji Wuyuan's foot swept his ankle.
Ji Rong's legs flew out from under him.
He slammed onto the ground.
The ring went silent.
Not the silence of shock alone.
The silence of disbelief.
Ji Rong lay there, stunned, face pale, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
He had lost.
In three moves.
Ji Wuyuan stood above him, expression gentle.
Then he bent down slightly and offered a hand.
"Are you okay?"
Ji Rong stared at him like he was staring at a demon.
He didn't take the hand.
He slapped it away and scrambled to his feet, humiliation burning in his eyes.
"You cheated!" he shouted.
Ji Wuyuan blinked innocently.
"How did I cheat?"
Ji Rong's face twisted.
"You… you're hiding your cultivation!"
The crowd stirred again.
Now everyone's eyes were on Ji Wuyuan.
He looked small.
Too small.
But his movements had been too clean.
Too practiced.
Too ruthless.
Ji Wuyuan lowered his gaze modestly.
"I didn't hide anything," he said softly. "Maybe you were tired."
A few disciples couldn't hold back laughter now.
Ji Rong's face turned red.
He wanted to attack again.
But his wrist was still numb, his ribs still aching, and the fear in his heart had already formed.
Ji Wuyuan didn't care.
He turned and walked out of the ring calmly.
As if nothing had happened.
As if defeating Ji Rong was as insignificant as stepping over a puddle.
But inside, his mind was cold.
One step.
He had stepped into the pit…
and turned it into his stage.
His vision flickered.
The War Archive appeared.
A cold line of text formed.
[Merit gained: 1][Reason: Crushing a fate-linked opponent][Nightveil Token progress: 7/9]
Ji Wuyuan's eyes narrowed slightly.
So Ji Rong was fate-linked.
Not a protagonist.
But connected to one.
Good.
That meant there were more like him.
And more like him meant more merit.
He walked calmly toward the edge of the training grounds, where the disciples' weapons rack stood.
His gaze swept over the crowd.
He saw envy.
He saw fear.
He saw admiration.
He saw hatred.
All of it was useful.
A voice suddenly called out.
"Wuyuan."
Ji Wuyuan turned.
The Second Elder stood at the entrance, smiling warmly, hands behind his back.
Ji Mingxiu's smile looked kind.
But his eyes were cold.
"I heard you were here," he said gently. "So I came to see for myself."
Ji Wuyuan bowed respectfully.
"Second Elder."
Ji Mingxiu stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over the sparring ring, then over Ji Rong's pale face.
His smile remained, but something inside it cracked.
Not visibly.
Not enough for ordinary disciples to notice.
But Ji Wuyuan noticed.
Because he had seen that smile in his previous life.
Right before it turned into a knife.
Ji Mingxiu spoke softly.
"You've improved quickly."
Ji Wuyuan smiled innocently.
"I train every day."
Ji Mingxiu nodded.
"That's good."
Then his voice lowered, becoming almost affectionate.
"But you should remember… talent attracts jealousy."
Ji Wuyuan blinked.
"Yes, Second Elder."
Ji Mingxiu's eyes narrowed slightly.
He leaned closer.
"Be careful."
Ji Wuyuan's smile remained gentle.
"I will."
Ji Mingxiu straightened, still smiling, then turned and walked away.
The disciples watched him go, breathing out quietly.
But Ji Wuyuan's eyes followed the Second Elder's back.
And his smile remained.
Because he understood something now.
Ji Mingxiu wasn't warning him out of kindness.
He was telling him—
This was only the beginning.
Ji Wuyuan's fingers relaxed slightly.
His heart was calm.
He had lived through worse.
He had died once already.
Jealousy?
Schemes?
Poisoned smiles?
He could handle all of it.
What mattered was power.
And power was cultivated step by step.
Ji Wuyuan looked up at the sky.
The sun was bright.
Too bright.
Like the protagonist's righteous aura in his last life.
He narrowed his eyes.
Then he turned away, walking back toward his courtyard with the same calm pace as always.
In the shadows behind him, unseen by anyone else, Wei Yan moved like a silent ghost.
Protecting.
Watching.
Waiting.
And somewhere deep inside Ji Wuyuan's mind, the War Archive remained open, cold and patient.
Three more merit.
Then the first slot would unlock.
Then the army would begin.
And then—
The Ji Clan would no longer be a clan that waited for fate.
It would become a clan that hunted it.