Morning came to the Zhi Family estate without warmth.
Feng Zhi woke before the sun, not because he wished to, but because pain had trained him better than any alarm. His back throbbed where a whip had torn skin the night before. The wound had not been treated. In the Zhi Family, medicine was reserved for those with value.
He sat up slowly on the wooden plank that served as his bed. The room was small, damp, and windowless—a storage shed repurposed for someone no one wanted to acknowledge. Straw covered the floor. A single bowl lay upside down in the corner.
For a moment, the thought returned, as it did every morning.
If I stop breathing today, it will all end.
The thought lingered—quiet, tempting.
Then he heard coughing.
Feng Zhi's body moved before his mind did.
He pushed open the door and stepped into the cold courtyard. Frost clung to the stone tiles despite the season. Across the narrow passage, a thin girl sat hunched on a low stool, wrapped in a faded cloak several sizes too large.
"Brother…"
Qin Zhi's voice was weak, barely louder than the wind.
Feng Zhi crossed the distance in three steps and knelt in front of her. Her face was pale, lips tinged faintly blue. Sweat clung to her temples, frozen halfway.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
She nodded.
The Nine Yin Qi Disruption was acting up again. It always worsened near dawn. Cold gathered in her meridians like a living thing, gnawing from the inside. Feng Zhi could do nothing—no herbs, no pills, no techniques.
He could only hold her hands.
Her fingers were icy.
"I'll get more firewood today," he said softly. "And… I heard a caravan is hiring guards. I'll try."
Qin Zhi looked at him, eyes trembling. "Brother, you didn't eat yesterday."
"I'm not hungry."
That was a lie. Hunger had become a constant companion, dull and aching. But it was easier to bear than her pain.
A sharp laugh echoed across the courtyard.
"Well, isn't this touching?"
Feng Zhi stiffened.
Bao Zhi's eldest son stepped forward, flanked by two servants. He wore fine robes, his hair bound with jade. At sixteen, he was already at Mid Qi Condensation —a genius by the clan's standards.
"Still playing caretaker?" the boy sneered. "Your sister won't live another year. You should stop wasting resources."
Feng Zhi said nothing.
Silence had become his shield.
The boy's smile faded. "What? No reply? Have you forgotten your place?"
He kicked over the firewood pile beside Qin Zhi. Logs scattered across the stone. Qin Zhi gasped as the sudden movement sent a spike of pain through her body.
That was when Feng Zhi looked up.
Just once.
There was no hatred in his eyes.
Only something empty.
The boy frowned, discomfort flickering across his face for reasons he didn't understand. He scoffed and turned away. "Clean it up. Patriarch Bao wants you at the stables afterward. The spirit horses are filthy."
They left, laughter trailing behind them.
Feng Zhi stood and began picking up the firewood piece by piece. His hands bled where splinters dug into old wounds. He did not notice.
Inside his chest, deep beneath layers of sealed existence, something ancient and immeasurable **remained perfectly still**.
---
Later that day, as Feng Zhi walked out of the estate gates toward the outer markets to look for work, a single thought surfaced in his mind—quiet, unfamiliar.
Yang Qi Ginseng…
He didn't know why the name came to him.
But for the first time in years, the world ahead of him felt… slightly less dark.
And far above the Zhi Family estate, unseen and unacknowledged, the laws of the world hesitated—just for an instant—as if something had taken note.
---
End of Chapter 1