The morning air was crisp, and the sunlight gently streamed through the towering trees surrounding the Yan Clan's grounds. Yan Zi had been strolling in an attempt to clear his mind after the emotional revelations from the night before. His thoughts swirled, shifting between his mother's heartbreaking story and his own newfound resolve to change his fate. But all these thoughts froze the moment he saw a crowd of disciples gathered near the library.
A sense of unease settled in his chest as he approached the scene. His steps were hesitant, yet his curiosity propelled him forward. The buzz of the crowd grew louder, filled with gasps and murmurs. As Yan Zi finally reached the edge of the circle, he froze.
There, lying lifeless on the ground, was the librarian. His once arrogant and calculative face was now pale and void of any expression. The crowd surrounding the body exchanged glances of confusion and speculation, their voices rising as they tried to piece together what had happened.
One disciple, shaking his head, sighed deeply. "How did he die? He seemed perfectly fine yesterday."
Another disciple, sneering, crossed his arms. "Hah, it's probably karma. That old man was always greedy, overcharging us for everything. No one liked him anyway!"
"Greedy, yes," chimed in another. "But to die so suddenly? It's strange, don't you think?"
Yan Zi stood still, his fists clenched tightly. What's going on? he thought, his heartbeat quickening. It was just yesterday that I dealt with him. He seemed... alive. Healthy. How could he die overnight?
Suddenly, the commotion of the disciples was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. The crowd instinctively parted as several elders arrived, their robes flowing and their expressions stern. Elder Guang, with his sharp gaze, stepped forward and surveyed the scene.
"What's going on here?" Elder Guang's voice was deep and commanding, silencing the murmurs.
One of the disciples hesitantly stepped forward, bowing respectfully. "Elder Guang, we—we found the librarian dead here this morning. We don't know what happened."
The other elders exchanged glances, their faces a mixture of confusion and concern. "Strange," Elder Gong muttered under his breath. "The librarian may have been unpleasant, but he wasn't sick or frail. For him to die so suddenly is… unusual."
Elder Guang nodded grimly and gestured to one of the other elders. "Take the body to the main hall. We'll investigate further."
As one of the elders bent down to lift the body, a sudden glimmer caught Yan Zi's attention. Something fell from the librarian's pocket, landing with a faint thud near Yan Zi's feet. His eyes widened as he recognized the object.
It was the black pendant.
The pendant! Yan Zi's heart raced. That's the same pendant he took from me yesterday. But why… why was it still with him?
Yan Zi instinctively bent down and picked it up, his fingers trembling slightly as he held it. A strange, almost imperceptible warmth pulsed from the dark crystal, sending a shiver up his spine. His mind raced with questions. Was this pendant… connected to his death?
As the crowd began to disperse under the elders' orders, Yan Zi quickly slipped the pendant back around his neck, hiding it beneath his clothes. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, not when he didn't understand the pendant's origin or significance.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, but his thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion. I don't know where this pendant came from, but it was with me my whole life. Could it be dangerous? Or… is it more than just an heirloom?
With one last glance at the scene, Yan Zi turned and began walking away. His steps were hurried, his mind clouded with unease. The crowd of disciples continued to chatter behind him, their words laced with speculation and intrigue.
"Do you think it was poison?" one disciple whispered.
"Maybe he offended someone powerful," another replied. "Everyone knows he was greedy enough to make enemies."
Yan Zi heard snippets of their conversation as he walked away, but he ignored them. His focus was on the pendant now, its weight against his chest heavier than ever. As he reached his home, he sat down on his bed, the events of the day replaying in his mind like a fragmented puzzle.
He pulled the pendant out from under his clothes and held it up to the light. The dark crystal seemed to shimmer faintly, as though it held a life of its own. Yan Zi's brows furrowed as he examined it, his mind filled with questions.
Who am I? he wondered. What is this pendant? And… why do I feel like everything around me is starting to change?
The unsettling memory of the librarian's lifeless body flashed in his mind, but he shook his head, trying to push it away. "I'll figure this out," he murmured to himself. "I'll figure it all out.
Yan Zi sat alone in his room, the pendant resting heavily against his chest. The events of the past few days weighed on his mind, swirling like an uncontrollable storm. The librarian's lifeless body, the mysterious pendant, the haunting voice from his dreams—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle he couldn't yet solve.
He rubbed his temples, sighing deeply as he leaned against the wall. "What is happening to me?" he muttered to himself. "Everything… the death of the librarian, the pendant, that strange voice… none of it makes sense."
He fell silent for a moment, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he sank deeper into thought. The unanswered questions were gnawing at him, refusing to let him rest. But then, as if shaking off an invisible weight, he exhaled sharply and sat up straight.
"Ahh, leave all this for now," Yan Zi said aloud, running a hand through his spiky black hair. "What's the point of worrying about things I don't understand? The most important thing right now is to focus on my cure. That's all that matters."
His gaze shifted to the thick book sitting on the corner of his desk, its leather cover still pristine despite the days it had spent unopened. "The advanced alchemy book…" he murmured. "It's time I stopped delaying."
With renewed determination, Yan Zi pulled the book closer, its weight reassuring in his hands. He ran his fingers over the intricate designs etched into its cover before flipping it open. The pages were dense with text and diagrams, the sheer volume of knowledge overwhelming. Yet, his expression was one of unwavering focus.
The faint scent of aged paper filled the room as Yan Zi began to read, his eyes scanning the words with speed and precision. "So, this is how medicinal herbs can be combined for higher-tier elixirs…" he whispered to himself. He was quickly absorbed, flipping through page after page, his curiosity growing with each revelation.
Hours turned into days as Yan Zi immersed himself in the study of alchemy. He rarely left his room, barely pausing to eat or rest. Every detail in the book fascinated him, from the properties of rare herbs to the intricate techniques required to refine pills.
Despite having no physical practice, Yan Zi's understanding of alchemy grew at an astonishing pace. Concepts that took most practitioners years to grasp became clear to him within days. His sharp mind worked tirelessly, dissecting and absorbing every piece of knowledge like a sponge.
Months passed in this relentless pursuit of understanding. By the third month, Yan Zi had made remarkable progress. He had moved far beyond the basics, delving deep into the advanced principles of alchemy. His notes filled several scrolls, each page meticulously detailed.
But despite his rapid growth in knowledge, the one thing he sought most—the solution to curing his broken cultivation core—remained elusive. He often paused during his studies, staring at the pages with a furrowed brow, frustration creeping into his heart.
One evening, after a particularly long day of reading, Yan Zi sat back in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes. The flickering flame of the oil lamp cast shadows across the room, its warm glow softening the hard lines of his face.
A soft knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. "Zi'er," his mother's gentle voice called from the other side. "I brought you some soup. You've been working too hard again."
Yan Zi opened the door, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he took the bowl from her hands. "Thank you, Mother," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of weariness.
She placed a hand on his shoulder, her gaze filled with concern. "You must take care of yourself, Zi'er. Knowledge is important, but so is your health. Don't push yourself too hard."
"I'll be fine, Mother," he replied, giving her a reassuring nod.
After she left, Yan Zi sat by the window, sipping the soup slowly. The warmth spread through his body, easing the tension in his muscles. As he set the empty bowl aside, he glanced out at the darkening sky, his thoughts drifting once more.
"It's been six months since Yan Ling and the others left for their training," he murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wonder how they're doing… how much they've progressed."
His gaze grew distant, a shadow of sadness crossing his features. "She was already so distant from me before," he continued, his tone heavy with bitterness. "Now, with her advancing further, she'll probably forget I even exist. Why would someone like her care about a failure like me?"
Yan Zi closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. The memories of past humiliations flooded his mind unbidden. He saw the scornful faces of the disciples who mocked him, heard the cruel words that cut deep into his soul.
"Trash."
"Worthless."
"A disgrace to the Yan Clan."
The words echoed in his mind, each one a painful reminder of his struggles. His fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to push the memories away. But they refused to leave, replaying over and over like a cruel cycle.
And then, suddenly, the images vanished.
Tears welled up in Yan Zi's eyes, spilling over and trailing down his cheeks. The warm drops landed softly against his skin, a silent testimony to the weight he carried.
Why am I crying? he wondered. But the answer was already clear to him. It wasn't just the humiliation, the rejection, or the sense of failure. It was the loneliness, the aching void left by those who had once been close to him but now seemed so far away.
As sleep finally claimed him, Yan Zi's tears dried on his cheeks. The room grew silent, the flickering flame of the oil lamp casting a faint glow over the stacks of books and scrolls surrounding him.
Somewhere deep within him, beneath the pain and uncertainty, a fire still burned—a fire of determination and resolve. Though his dreams were filled with shadows and echoes, his heart clung to the hope that one day, he would rise above it all.