The morning sun cast a soft amber glow across the sky as Xianlu walked alongside his uncle, Yuhen Koicha, toward the Riverscale Academy. Though the warmth of the sun was gentle, a chill lingered in Xianlu's chest—a quiet unease that came from knowing his place in the world.
The Riverscale Academy loomed ahead, an imposing structure of jade-green tiles and golden carvings that gleamed like the scales of a celestial dragon. It was the only institution of its kind in the Riverscale Clan, founded five centuries ago by an ancestor whose ambitions still echoed through the halls.
The Academy was a place where power was cultivated—where core disciples, the noble scions of the clan, thrived; inner disciples, the talented and fortunate, honed their skills; and outer disciples, those barely clinging to the hierarchy, scraped by with whatever scraps they were given.
Xianlu, however, wasn't even an outer disciple. His uncle, Yuhen, a scholar now crippled, had taken it upon himself to teach Xianlu.
Knowledge flowed from Yuhen's lessons and the countless books Xianlu read while cleaning the Academy's grand library—a privilege granted more out of pity than merit since he is still a scion of the Koicha Household.
Nonetheless , it gave Xianlu a better theoretical education than most outer disciples, though his inability to cultivate like the others marked him as an outsider.
"Keep your head down today, your cousins are here today," Uncle Yuhen murmured seriously as they neared the Academy gates.
"Yes, Uncle," Xianlu replied with a faint, humorless smile.
Uncle Yuhen sighed, his once-sharp eyes shadowed with quiet despair. He loathed bringing Xianlu here whenever his blood relatives are present, hated seeing the boy endure humiliation by the heirs of the main family, but Xianlu was determined to learn.
---
The day passed as expected. During recess, Xianlu left the bustling courtyard and made his way to the library after running an errand for his Uncle. He preferred the quiet, the musty scent of old scrolls, and the sense of purpose he felt among the shelves. But as he turned a corner, familiar, unwelcome voices stopped him - his cousins.
"Well, well. If it isn't Dead Veins Koicha," sneered Renji, a core disciple with a cocky grin and a glint of malice in his eyes, a scion from of the great families of the Koicha Household.
Behind him stood Tetsuo, his ever-loyal follower and cousin from a small Koicha family, arms crossed and expression smug. "Shouldn't you be cleaning toilets or something? Oh wait, you're a glorified librarian now, but weren't you the son of a hooligan before?"
Xianlu said nothing, keeping his gaze steady as he tried to step past them. Not even responding to their remarks on his father.
Renji blocked his path, his grin widening. "What's the hurry? Got a date with a dusty old scroll? Or maybe you're dreaming about what it's like to have parents beside you."
Tetsuo chuckled darkly. "You know, I've heard even outer disciples have complete parents than you. Maybe you should just give up being a librarian and search for them."
Before Xianlu could respond—not that he intended to—Renji shoved him against the wall. The impact jarred his shoulder, and a sharp ache spread through his ribs.
"Say something, Dead Veins," Renji growled, his voice low and mocking.
"Yeah, say something, Son of a Hooligan," Tetsuo added.
Xianlu remained silent, his eyes fixed on the ground reeling in pain.
Frustrated, Renji swung his fist, catching Xianlu on the cheek. A sharp sting spread across his face, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to react.
"You're pathetic, a disgrace of the Koicha Household," Tetsuo said, his voice dripping with disdain. He kicked Xianlu's leg out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground which made Renji chuckle.
The two laughed, their voices echoing down the corridor. Satisfied with their display of dominance, they turned and walked away, leaving Xianlu on the cold stone floor.
Renji and Tetsuo bully Xianlu because of his weak bloodline and his inability to cultivate at the same level as his cousins. Coming from the same Koicha Household within the Riverscale Clan, they are accustomed to their superiority, and Xianlu's mixed heritage and delayed cultivation progress are seen as weaknesses of the household.
However, on top of that, Xianlu's intellectual development surpasses theirs in theory, often embarrassing them in family discussions. This fuels their anger and desire to put him down, as they feel threatened by his growing knowledge and understanding.
Their bullying isn't solely about strength—it's also about maintaining their status in the rigid hierarchy of the Koicha Household .
They need to assert their dominance not just in practical cultivation, but in maintaining the illusion of their superiority over those they deem unworthy, especially Xianlu, whose theoretical prowess challenges the very foundation of their inflated pride.
The other students at the Riverscale Academy mostly avoid getting involved in the bullying, either out of fear or apathy. Core and inner disciples, like Renji and Tetsuo, hold significant influence, and challenging their actions could invite retaliation. The bullying acts as a form of dominance that reinforces their superiority, making them more respected—or at least feared—within the Academy.
The Academy Council, aware of the situation, turns a blind eye since its the Koicha Household's inner affairs, as long as no student is injured beyond superficial bruises. The pragmatic approach is to maintain order, even if it means allowing minor harassment, since the repercussions are deemed manageable compared to more serious disruptions. And besides, Xianlu isn't even enrolled, so they don't feel the need to meddle with the conflicts between children.
As Xianlu picked himself up, a soft voice broke the silence.
"Here, let me help you."
He looked up to see Miharu Renmizu, a quiet inner disciple with a bundle of medicinal herbs in her hand. She hesitated before kneeling beside him, her dark eyes full of concern.
"You don't have to," Xianlu said, brushing dirt from his sleeves.
"I want to," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She handed him a small vial of ointment. "This will help with the bruising."
Xianlu accepted it with a faint nod, though he could see the discomfort in her expression. Miharu was careful not to draw too much attention to herself—he understood why. As an inner disciple from a dependent clan, she couldn't afford to make enemies, especially among the core disciples.
"Thank you," Xianlu said quietly. Miharu was his only ally among the other students, and though their bond was fragile due to the rigid hierarchy, she still found ways to support him without drawing unwanted attention. Her small acts of kindness meant more to him than words could express, and for that, he was deeply grateful.
Miharu nodded and stood, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. "You should be more careful," she murmured before walking away, glancing nervously over her shoulder.
Xianlu watched her disappearing figure, sighing softly.
---
Later, in the library, Uncle Yuhen glanced at Xianlu's face and sighed heavily. "They got to you again, didn't they?"
"It's nothing," Xianlu replied softly, setting his bag down and reaching for a broom.
"It's not nothing," Uncle Yuhen muttered, his voice thick with frustration and helplessness. He knew he couldn't protect Xianlu, not against the Academy's Council, not against the power of the Koicha Household.
Yet, despite his limitations, Yuhen always found ways to encourage his nephew through riddles and quotes—small pieces of wisdom that helped Xianlu carry on.
"Remember this: 'A stone may be broken, but the river will still flow," Uncle Yuhen said quietly, his tone steady. "They may try to crush you, but your path will always move forward."
Uncle Yuhen sat quietly in the corner of the library, his once-noble figure slumped with weariness. The shadows deepened around him, as if the weight of the world pressed upon his shoulders. His expression hardened as his mind drifted to memories long buried, memories of his brother—Xianlu's father—whose name he barely spoke aloud.
"Brother… look what have you done..." Uncle Yuhen softly whispered.
It wasn't that Uncle Yuhen didn't have love for his brother. In fact, it was the opposite. His brother had been reckless, impulsive, driven by his desires without thought for consequence. But that recklessness had bled into their family's legacy. The debts piled high, and every decision he made seemed to worsen their standing.
Uncle Yuhen never liked to recall the story when his brother brought home Xianlu's mother—a slave girl from a slave market, her spirit shattered but her beauty unyielding. For a moment, it was as though his hooligan of a brother had found purpose. He fought fiercely for her freedom, his family's influence stretched thin to ransom her from a cruel fate leaving them with debts to pay. Although the day Xianlu arrived had still been a joyful moment, a new beginning for Daiten and Yuhen.
"Uncle…" Xianlu perked his ears when he heard his uncle whisper about his father.
"It's not something we speak of," Uncle Yuhen cut himself, shaking his head, as though shaking off the memories. "His name carries too much weight, and not the kind that lifts."
Xianlu said nothing after, just continued dusting the bookshelves with slow, deliberate movements. He didn't need to ask questions; he had long since pieced together the stories from fragments of conversations, hints of regret that bled through his uncle's voice when his brother was mentioned.
"Our family… what's left of it, survives on borrowed time," Uncle Yuhen continued, his voice lowering even more. "Your father's actions have put us in chains. Businesses crumbled, properties sold off—nothing of true substance left. Even our reputation is a tattered thing."
Xianlu kept silent, but his mind churned. He had never met his father even once, and that meeting had been a pipe dream ever since. His mother and father disappeared when he was still a baby—taken, as far as anyone knew, by forces unknown. Their absence created a void, and though Yuhen had tried to fill it, the weight of those missing years hung heavy.
"It's not just debts from his ventures," Yuhen went on, his voice soft, but edged with bitterness. "It's the shame that lingers—of lost honor, lost opportunities. He left nothing but a debt that binds us all.m, especially on you..."
Xianlu paused for a moment, placing a book back on the shelf. "What happened to my mother?" He asked a question that has been plaguing him ever since.
Yuhen's jaw tightened at the question, his fingers flexing against the desk as if holding onto his composure. "She's gone," he said simply, though the word felt hollow. "Taken along with your father. We searched, we even pleaded to the Patriarch to no avail, but we are aware that they were taken—sold away into the abyss. To this day, we don't know who or why." Uncle Yuhen confessed what he knew from the bits and pieces he learned from his father, Daiten, after making sure that the information would not affect Xianlu severely.
Xianlu absorbed the words quietly, his heart aching for answers he would likely never get. His mother—a figure shrouded in mystery, her memory preserved only in fragments. A slave once freed by love, then lost to the world.
"What remains is the debt," Uncle Yuhen said bitterly, standing to pour himself a cup of bitter tea. "We owe money to merchants, to factions, to the Household, even to the Academy itself. Every day we cling to survival by threads, and I—" He paused, as though physically unable to finish the thought.
"You're doing more than enough, uncle," Xianlu said softly, placing his hand over Uncle Yuhen's. "You don't have to carry it all."
Uncle Yuhen gave a short laugh as he looked at his nephew, but it was hollow. "It's not just my burden, nephew. You'll bear it too—whether you like it or not. In fact, you're carrying it now." He said upon seeing the bruise on Xianlu's face when up close.
Xianlu let the words sit, knowing the truth wasn't easy to hear. He had learned early on that the path ahead was paved with hardship, and the debts his family owed were more than financial—they were a curse that would shape every step of his life.
After a moment of silence, Uncle Yuhen's expression softened slightly. He reached out, tapping his fingers against the worn surface of the desk, deep in thought before offering a riddle. "A branch bends to the weight of the storm, but it does not break. It finds a way to rise above the wind, not by sheer strength, but by the resilience of its will. Tell me, Xianlu, how do we surpass our limits without shattering under the weight?"
Xianlu looked up, pondering the words. The riddle wasn't just about bending under pressure—it was about finding a way to stand tall, even in the face of overwhelming burdens. "By forging our own path, one step at a time," Xianlu said quietly, his voice steady.
Uncle Yuhen nodded slowly, his eyes reflecting a flicker of pride and clarity. "Indeed. You may carry the weight, but it doesn't define you. Only your will can do that."
Later that evening, as Xianlu, with a bandage on his face given to him by his uncle, sat beneath the stars with the clan quietly settling into darkness, he reflected on his place. He wasn't a warrior, nor was he destined for glory. His Qi-veins may have awakened late, but that didn't make him any less determined to fight for what little they had left.
"Dead Veins, son of a hooligan, or not," he murmured to himself, his voice resolute, "I'll make it through."
---
The next day, the Riverscale Academy buzzed with excitement as its students prepared to showcase their skills and achievements. The sun rose high over the vast campus, but Xianlu remained behind at the tea shop, where his days were spent far from the grand ceremonies of the academy.
His uncle had left early to join the event, but Xianlu had never been a recognized student of the prestigious institution. Instead, he had his own duties—to help manage the family tea shop with his grandfather during the event.
Xianlu had grown up under the care of his grandfather and uncle, learning the delicate art of brewing tea. For five years from the age of ten, he had spent countless hours refining his brewing skills. With each passing day, his grandfather often remarked that Xianlu was even more skilled than he was in crafting the perfect cup of tea.
Though humble about it, Xianlu knew his progress was a reflection of not just his effort, but the wisdom passed down by his family.
The art of tea wasn't just about steeping leaves in boiling water. It was a practice of precision and patience—a dance between herbs and ratios, confidence and calm. Each blend was a unique expression tailored to the drinker's personality, mood, and needs. Xianlu carefully measured each herb, his movements deliberate and steady. A perfect ratio could elevate a simple brew into a work of art. Too much bitterness or too little sweetness could ruin the harmony. The precision was almost meditative, and Xianlu embraced it.
"You see," Grandfather Daiten, Xianlu's grandfather, often said, "a proper tea is like a good deal—balanced, calculated, and precisely what the customer wants." His voice carried a deeper meaning with every word, a testament to his own wisdom accumulated over years of business.
Grandfather Daiten's presence in the shop was commanding—tall, broad-shouldered, with koi-like black scales shimmering with golden edges. His bloodline granted him strength, resilience, and an intimidating authority, yet his softer moments were reserved only for Xianlu.
"It's all about knowing the balance," Grandfather Daiten continued as Xianlu carefully blended a green tea with jasmine petals.
"In business, as in tea, ratios must be exact. Not too much or too little." He chuckled, smoothing his hand over the counter.
"Money, after all, is much the same—flowing and thriving in its rightful place, but stagnant and stifling when wasted."
Xianlu gave a faint smile, not needing his grandfather to remind him of such things. "You always seem to have a poem or riddle for everything related to money, Grandpa."
Grandfather Daiten laughed. "Ah, my boy, life's riddles are like tea leaves—always more than one interpretation. And money? It's the same. Some see it as power, some as security, some as a tool, and some as poison. But," he added, leaning in closer with a twinkle in his eye, "those who master it, they drink it like fine tea—smooth and full, not a drop wasted."
The tea shop wasn't just about brewing for strangers who entered; it was a place where history, family, and passion came together.
Grandfather Daiten had once been one of the most respected Vein-Weaver in the Riverscale Clan. During its peak 150 years ago, the Riverscale Clan thrived, and Grandfather Daiten's contributions had helped shape much of their prosperity. Vein-Weavers like Grandfather Daiten had the potential to live for over 200 years, depending on their cultivation level. His Black Tea Koi bloodline had provided him with exceptional strength in combat and the ability to dominate any opponent through sheer presence.
But life had shifted after the loss of his wife. With her passing, he retired from his life of combat and settled down, building a chain of successful businesses—until his older son, with his reckless decisions and greed, dismantled it all. Betrayed by blind ambition, Grandfather Daiten's empire crumbled piece by piece. His older son, Xianlu's father, disappeared with his wife, were taken by unknown forces, leaving Daiten, his youngest son, Yuhen, and his grandson to carry the weight of a shattered legacy.
Now, only the tea shop remained, a beacon of what once was—a place where resilience was steeped in every cup, and prosperity continued to flow, if only slowly.
"Ah, Xian-Xian," Grandfather Daiten said one evening, as he polished the glass jars holding jasmine petals. "I often wonder what could have been if my older son had learned the value of balance. But then, we would have missed this." He gestured to the shop, his voice turning reflective. "A place where legacy is not measured by land or titles, but by the art we create."
Xianlu stood silently for a moment, listening. He understood the weight of his family's past, but he also knew his grandfather's hopes rested on him now.
To put his mind at ease, Xianlu decided to check the storage.
From their shelves, there were only 14 jars of ingredients remain, leaving the shop with few types of tea to sell.
Storage:
Common------------------------------------
20x Jasmine Petals
Cost - 50 Silver coins per 100 petals
10x Chrysanthemum Petals
Cost - 20 Silver coins per 10 Petals
150x Black Tea Leaves
Cost - 10 Copper coins per 100 leaves
200x Green Tea Leaves
Cost - 10 Copper coins per 100 leaves
150x White tea leaves
Cost - 10 Copper coins per 100 leaves
60x Chamomile Blossoms
Cost - 20 Silver coins per 10 Petals
20x Lemongrass
Cost - 1 Silver coin pet 500 grass blades
10x Dried Elderberries
Cost - 20 Silver coins per 10 pieces
Uncommon---------------------------------
3x Ginseng Root
Cost - 50 Silver coins per root
4x Lotus Roots
Cost - 35 Silver coins per root
65x Earthly Lotus Petals
Cost - 10 Silver coins per 100 petals
25x Lavender Flowers
Cost - 10 Silver coins per 50 flowers
5x Velvet Rose Petals
Cost - 100 Silver coins per 10 petals
Rare-----------------------------------------
3x Jasmine Pearls
Cost - 250 Silver coins per 1 flower bud
5x Black Dragon Licorice Roots
Cost - 300 Silver coins per root
2x Silver Roots
Cost - 300 Silver coins per root
2x Moonlit Lavender Petals
Cost - 500 Silver coins per 10 petals
10ml Daisy Bee Honey
Cost - 50 Copper coins per 10ml
Xianlu then checked the ledger, he sighed at the remaining balance.
Remaining Balance:
45 Copper coins
150 Silver coins
5 Gold coins
1 Gold coin is equivalent to 100 silver coins. And 1 Silver coin is equivalent to 100 Copper coins.
"With the due monthly amortization of 4 Gold coins for the debt, 1 Gold coin for the monthly rent, and one month worth of daily necessities that costs at 50 Silver coins, we are left with 100 Silver coins, and 45 Copper coins..." Xianlu sighed.
Seeing the look on Xianlu's face as his grandchild checked on the shop ledger, Grandfather Daiten decided to lighten the mood with an exhibition of tea brewing that Xianlu often appreciates.
"Here, let me show you something you'll like, Xian-Xian," Grandfather Daiten said, reaching into one of the shelves lined with faux gemstones and dried herbs. He pulled out a jars containing the Chrysanthemum petals and Jasmine petals.
"This blend," he said with a grin, "was once used to secure a deal with a powerful people. You see, the right mixture opens the mind, fosters trust, and strengthens the heart."
Xianlu took the jar, inspecting its contents with a critical eye. "You think Chrysanthemum and Jasmine tea can really influence deals?"
"It's not just tea or the ingredients," Grandfather Daiten replied, his tone firm.
"It's the person making it. A strong will, Xian-Xian, and precision in every move. In life, as in business, one must know how to craft opportunity from nothing. Money is like a storm—it must be guided, not chased."
Xianlu nodded slowly, appreciating his grandfather's wisdom. Grandfather Daiten's lessons went beyond brewing—it was about mastering life itself. He had been learning under his tutelage for as long as he can remember, and each one of his brewing techniques were equally as effective as the other.
Soon, he saw his grandfather turned the petals into paste using the worn-out mortal and pestle. And suddenly, crimson aura appeared on his index finger as he used the energy to stir the paste, mincing then to make them thinner.
Xianlu widened his eyes when he saw this. All of the tea brewing techniques his grandfather taught him did not use Bloodline Qi. Of course, Xianlu can understand why his grandfather never taught him those techniques as he was unable to use those techniques with his abyssal aptitude in cultivation.
Thinking about it, Xianlu felt sad and happy at the same time, he knew how deeply his grandfather cared for his wellbeing. His grandfather was a great man that shouldered a lot of guilt for what his father did to the family.
Even with the tea shop as their only source of income, Grandfather Daiten rarely let his spirit falter. His ambition burned brighter than ever, and with Xianlu by his side, he saw a chance to rebuild—one cup at a time. Together, they faced the challenges ahead, knowing that through resilience and precise steps, they could weather any storm.
When Grandfather Daiten was satisfied, he steeped the mixture with Black Tea Leaves then added Acacia Bee Honey.
Soon, the tea has been brewed. Xianlu took a sip from the cup and widened his eyes at the familiar taste.
He remembered that the taste was the exact same honey tea his grandfather always give him when he cried when he was a child.
Thinking back then, his Grandfather managed to take care of him, even changing his diapers and feeding him with milk bottle formulas.
All of the sleepless nights he endured and the medicine his Grandfather had to fetch for him, Xianlu felt great love and respect for his Grandfather.
And so, in the quiet moments between the clinking of teacups and whispers of ancient herbs, they carried forward a legacy forged in hardship—a legacy that would never be stagnant, but always evolving.