The outer treasury of the Lin Clan was a grey stone pavilion at the edge of the estate’s main ring.
Modest compared to the lavish inner family palaces.
But heavily guarded.
Two high-tier mortal guards stood at the entrance.
Eyes sharp — watching every low-ranking disciple and servant who passed.
Ye Chen walked up the stone steps with a calm, unhurried stride.
The leather pouch of spirit stones jingled softly against his belt.
As he approached the iron-reinforced doors, the two guards stepped forward.
Crossed their long spears to bar his path.
“Halt.” One guard’s eyes raked over Ye Chen’s frayed outer disciple uniform with immediate disdain.
“The treasury is off-limits to trash with broken roots without a direct order from a supervisor. State your business.”
Ye Chen didn’t look offended.
He simply unclipped the pouch from his belt and held it up.
“Steward Lin Bao was… unfortunately indisposed this morning. I am here to deliver the daily spirit stones directly to Young Master Lin Hao.”
The guards exchanged a brief, surprised glance.
Lin Bao was notorious for keeping his pockets lined with minor cuts from these deliveries.
He never let anyone else touch the treasury bags.
However — the seal on the pouch belonged to the outer estate.
And the name Lin Hao was not one a mortal servant would dare utter lightly.
“Enter.” The guard pulled his spear back.
“But do not linger. If you touch anything you aren’t supposed to, the law of the clan will have your hands severed.”
Ye Chen walked through the threshold.
The doors clicked shut behind him.
The interior smelled of dry wood, old iron, and the faint, sweet aroma of low-grade herbs.
Rows of wooden shelves lined the walls — iron weapons, basic martial manuals, small jade boxes.
At the far end of the hall, sitting comfortably in a high-backed mahogany chair, was a young man in his late teens.
Fine, dark-blue robe embroidered with silver threads — the signature attire of the Lin Clan’s inner youth.
Lin Hao.
A minor genius of the family.
Recently broke through to the Third Layer of the Qi Condensation realm.
Next to his hand, resting on a velvet cloth upon the desk, was a small, translucent jade box.
Through the glass — a pale green leaf with crystalline veins.
Pulsing with a faint, refreshing energy.
The Spirit-Cleansing Herb.
Ye Chen’s eyes narrowed slightly.
His gaze locked onto the plant.
A low-grade mortal herb.
Completely useless to a Sovereign.
But absolute gold for a broken foundation.
“You are late, Lin Bao,” Lin Hao said without looking up from the manual he was reading.
“If the spirit stones aren’t pure enough today, I will have your supervisor position revoked.”
“Steward Lin Bao will not be coming today, Cousin Hao.”
Ye Chen stepped into the light of the desk.
Lin Hao’s head snapped up.
When he recognized the fragile, pale face of the clan’s famous ‘broken-root waste’ — his expression instantly darkened.
Annoyance.
Pure disgust.
“Ye Chen? How did a piece of garbage like you get past the guards? And where is Lin Bao?”
“Steward Lin is currently resting in the dirt of the outer courtyard.”
Ye Chen’s tone was conversational.
He placed the leather pouch on the desk with a soft thud.
“Here are your spirit stones. Exactly fifty low-grade pieces. Untouched.”
Lin Hao didn’t even look at the bag.
He leaned forward.
His aura flared slightly — sending a wave of oppressive pressure toward Ye Chen.
To a normal mortal, the spiritual weight of a Third Layer Qi Condensation cultivator would make them fall to their knees.
Gasping for breath.
But Ye Chen stood like an ancient mountain.
Completely unaffected.
The invisible wave of Qi washed over his skin — and simply dissolved.
Unable to find purchase against a soul that had once commanded the heavens.
Lin Hao’s eyebrows twitched in surprise.
Why isn’t he kneeling?
“You’ve grown arrogant, trash.” Lin Hao sneered.
His hand slowly moved toward the hilt of the sword resting against his chair.
“You dare speak to me with such disrespect? Do you think because your father was once an elder, I won’t cripple you right here?”
“My father’s absence doesn’t change the law of the bloodline, Lin Hao.”
Ye Chen’s eyes shifted toward the jade box containing the herb.
“But I am not here to argue with a child. I am here to make a transaction.”
“A transaction? You?”
Lin Hao let out a loud, mocking bark of laughter.
“What could a rootless beggar possibly offer an inner disciple?”
“Your life,” Ye Chen said softly.
The laughter cut off instantly.
The air in the treasury turned freezing cold.
Lin Hao rose from his seat.
His hand drew his steel sword with a sharp, lethal ring.
“You are looking for death!”
“Your current cultivation technique — the Raging Wave Art — is fundamentally flawed.”
Ye Chen’s voice was perfectly calm.
Ignoring the blade pointed at his throat.
“Every time you circulate your Qi past the third hour of midnight, your lower dantian experiences a sharp, burning needle-like pain. Your meridians are narrowing, not expanding. Within three months, if you continue, your core will implode. And you will become a permanent cripple.”
Lin Hao froze.
The tip of his sword trembled.
His face turned from arrogant flushed red — to a pale, ghostly white.
How…
how does he know that?
Lin Hao’s mind screamed in terror.
The burning pain during midnight cultivation was a secret he hadn’t even told his own parents.
He feared the clan would cut off his resources if they found out his technique was failing.
“You… you are spouting nonsense!” Lin Hao stammered.
But the fear in his eyes betrayed the truth.
“I can give you the correct chant to bypass the meridian block.”
Ye Chen took a step closer.
His eyes reflected a terrifying ancient wisdom.
“In exchange — I take the Spirit-Cleansing Herb. A fair trade. Your future as a cultivator, for a weed you don’t even need.”
Lin Hao stared at the sixteen-year-old boy before him.
For the first time in his life, he didn’t see a helpless cousin.
He saw a monster who could read his very soul.