The nights in Chen City grew restless for Tian Zun. A week had passed since he'd stirred the ki within his frail body, and each evening found him by the broken fountain, its faint hum a siren call to his sharpened senses. He sat cross-legged, silver moonlight bathing the courtyard, his breath steady as he wove the trickle of internal energy through his meridians. The process was slow—agonizingly so for a being who'd once sundered stars with a flick of his wrist—but progress was undeniable. His ki, once a dim ember, now flickered like a candle flame, illuminating pathways long dormant in Lin Zun's body.
Hongmeng World's energy was wilder than he'd expected, a chaotic symphony of clashing currents that resisted taming. Yet Tian Zun thrived on chaos. He'd begun to shape his cultivation, drawing not just from the Martial Artist's ki but from fragments of intent he'd glimpsed in Liang Wei's meditation—a seed of will that could one day fuse the disparate paths of this realm. The Taoists' winds whispered in his ears, the Erudites' logic sharpened his thoughts, the Astrologers' stars tugged at his soul. He would forge something new, a foundation no Supreme had dared to dream.
But the fountain gnawed at him. Its hum had grown louder, a rhythmic pulse that synced with his breathing on the fifth night. On the seventh, as he pressed his palm to its cracked basin, a jolt shot through him—ki, raw and ancient, buried in the stone. The shadow he'd glimpsed before flickered again in the water's surface, sharper this time: a silhouette with eyes like dying embers, watching him. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving a chill in the air and a question burning in his mind. What lingers here?
By day, he played the servant, gathering scraps of knowledge from the manor's chatter. The household buzzed with preparations for the clan gathering, a triennial event where the City Lord's family showcased their strength to Jinshui Province's elite. Liang Wei, the third son, was no warrior—his brothers, Jian and Huo, carried that mantle—but his stewardship of the manor earned him quiet respect. The servants whispered of tensions, though. Jian, the eldest, had joined a Second Tier sect, the Crimson Blade Order, and returned with a cold edge. Huo, the second, ruled a border town with an iron fist. The daughter, Mei, remained a mystery, cloistered in the City Lord's main estate. And then there was Liang Wei's son, Tianyi, who'd taken to shadowing Tian Zun—or rather, Lin Zun—during chores.
"You're strange," Tianyi said one afternoon, perched on a crate as Tian Zun hauled firewood. The boy's wooden sword tapped a rhythm against his knee, his dark eyes bright with curiosity. "You don't talk like the others. And you stare at the fountain like it's gonna bite you."
Tian Zun paused, setting the wood down with deliberate care. "It's old," he said simply, his voice low. "Old things have stories."
Tianyi grinned. "Papa says it's cursed. Says it's been broken since the Shattered Epoch, when the sky fell. Meilin thinks it's just ugly." He hopped off the crate, twirling his sword. "Wanna spar? You look stronger than you let on."
A test, however childish, was a chance to measure his body's limits. Tian Zun nodded, taking a broom as a makeshift staff. The courtyard became their arena, Tianyi darting forward with surprising speed for a ten-year-old. His ki was unrefined but present, a spark nurtured by his father's gentle guidance. Tian Zun parried with minimal effort, letting the boy's strikes guide his own movements. The broom cracked against the sword, and for a moment, he let his ki flare—just enough to push Tianyi back a step.
The boy stumbled, eyes wide. "Whoa! You're good!" He laughed, undeterred, and charged again. But the spar ended abruptly as a shout rang out from the manor's gates.
"Lin Zun! To the front, now!" It was the steward, his gravelly voice laced with urgency. Tianyi pouted but waved him off. Tian Zun dropped the broom and strode toward the entrance, where a small crowd of servants had gathered. Liang Wei stood there, his kind face creased with concern, speaking to a dust-streaked messenger clad in the City Lord's colors—jade green trimmed with gold.
"Bandits," the messenger spat, catching his breath. "They hit the trade caravan from Lotus Vale, two hours west. Third Master, they're bold—too bold. Your father wants you to handle it."
Liang Wei's jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. "How many?"
"Thirty, maybe more. Armed with ki-blades. They've got a leader—tall, scarred, calls himself the Iron Fang."
The servants murmured, fear rippling through them. Tian Zun's eyes narrowed. Bandits were a mundane threat, but ki-blades—weapons infused with internal energy—suggested cultivators, however crude. An opportunity.
"I'll go," Liang Wei said, turning to the steward. "Ready my horse and five guards. We leave in ten minutes." His gaze swept the crowd, landing on Tian Zun. "Lin Zun, you're with us. You've got steady hands."
The steward balked. "Him? He's just a boy—"
"He's capable," Liang Wei cut in, his tone firm. "I've seen it."
Tian Zun inclined his head, concealing the spark of anticipation in his chest. A fight, however small, would test his fledgling cultivation. And perhaps the road west held answers—rumors tied the Lotus Vale to the Shattered Epoch, to ruins older than Chen City itself.
As the group mounted up, Tian Zun astride a spare horse, the fountain's hum echoed in his mind. The shadow's ember-eyes lingered, a silent promise. Hongmeng World was waking, and he would meet it head-on.