The season stood at the edge of spring and summer — a fleeting, delicate balance before the world ignited in heat.
The fragrance of countless blossoms mingled in the air, while distant mountains loomed like slumbering beasts wrapped in emerald light.
Rays of sun pierced the clouds, no longer gentle, but carrying the faint burn of coming fervor.
Beneath that boundless sky of azure and drifting clouds, Fang Yuan sat in seclusion inside his room.
Within his aperture, tides of black-green primeval essence surged endlessly, crashing against translucent crystal walls that shimmered like glass about to shatter.
Fine cracks traced across the surface — silent scars from relentless impact.
For over two months, Fang Yuan had confined himself in solitary cultivation. No rest. No hesitation.
Today, however, he deliberately slowed the roaring tides, letting each wave strike with methodical precision.
His hands moved subtly, drawing essence from primeval stones — his control absolute.
The green copper primeval sea had receded from its former limit, ebbing to a mere quarter.
The tension within the aperture coiled tighter and tighter — until, at last, the crystal wall reached its breaking point.
Crack. Crack.
The once-sturdy barrier splintered, collapsing into shards that rained down into the roiling sea below.
Ripples spread, devouring the remnants, until the fragments dissolved into motes of white light — gone without a trace.
As the old barrier gave way, a new wall of light emerged in its place. Its surface was flawless and bright, shining with a steady white glow that felt sharper and more refined than before.
Though similar in appearance, its energy was unmistakably stronger — the mark of a Rank Two light wall.
Below it, the primeval sea churned with renewed vigor.
Thin strands of red primeval essence began to rise from the depths, weaving through the black-green currents and tinting the sea with a faint metallic hue.
The transformation was gradual but undeniable. This was the birth of Rank Two Red Steel primeval essence.
Fang Yuan's eyes opened, clear and focused. A faint gleam passed through his gaze, lighting up the dim room as if it, too, sensed the shift in his cultivation.
The corners of his lips lifted slightly, not in joy, but in acknowledgment.
"Finally," he murmured under his breath, his voice calm and even. "Rank Two."
The moment lingered, but it didn't last.
A sudden wave of nausea hit him without warning, twisting in his stomach like a blade and his body tensed.
He pressed a hand against the table beside him, his breathing steady but strained.
The discomfort faded slowly, leaving behind a faint dizziness and the dull ache of fatigue.
Fang Yuan straightened his back, his expression unchanged, as if nothing had happened.
"I've spent six weeks cultivating without rest," Fang Yuan said with a faint, bitter laugh.
"Only eating enough to stay alive, sleeping just enough to function, and using the rest of my time to feed the Gu worms."
For six weeks, he hadn't been disturbed once. That alone said a lot. His mother hadn't come to check on him, hadn't questioned anything.
It seemed she had finally chosen to trust him — or at least to stop interfering.
"That means all the precautions I set up to kill her if she intruded… were unnecessary after all," he sighed softly.
He had prepared several contingencies — traps, excuses, consumable Gu Worms — in case she had tried to force her way in or inspect his aperture.
Now that he'd advanced to Rank Two Initial Stage, such worries felt almost pointless.
His mother, still stuck at Rank One Upper Stage, was no longer someone who could pose a real threat.
But Fang Yuan didn't stop there. His gaze turned toward the small Red Steel Relic Gu resting on the table.
He reached out and held it in his palm, ready to begin the refinement process. Then, just as he was about to start, he caught sight of the sunlight spilling through the window and paused.
"It took nearly a full day to refine each Green Copper Relic Gu," he murmured to himself.
"Refining the Red Steel Relic Gu will take at least three days, maybe more."
His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked outside. "And the caravan should arrive tomorrow… since it's early May."
He had instructed the maids who brought him meals to inform him of any news about the caravan, and yesterday, word had come — the caravan was already nearing the border.
With that in mind, Fang Yuan placed the Relic Gu back into his Stone Bag Gu and stood up.
"I should prepare," he thought calmly, turning toward the bathroom.
The sound of running water soon filled the quiet room as he stepped in for a quick shower. The faint scent of steam rose, curling toward the open window.
Outside, sunlight spilled through drifting clouds — warm and bright, carrying the hum of cicadas that had just begun to awaken for summer.
...
Inside the quiet house, Jiaying sat alone at the dining table, slowly eating her lunch.
The food had long turned cold, but she barely noticed. The rice had hardened slightly, clumping together; when her chopsticks touched it, it broke apart with a soft, dry sound.
The air was still. Even the faint creak of the bamboo beams seemed distant, swallowed by the heavy silence pressing against her ears.
She lifted a bite to her mouth, chewed once, and stopped halfway — the taste was faintly bitter, like something that had lost its warmth too long ago.
Her thoughts drifted endlessly as the afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, casting fractured gold across the table.
The beams caught on the porcelain bowl, gleaming for a heartbeat before fading as a passing cloud dimmed the room.
Her eldest son, Fang Yuan, had been shut inside his room for over two months now, claiming he was cultivating. He hadn't stepped out once.
Her youngest, Fang Zheng, was still managing the tavern and collecting rent from the bamboo buildings, doing his part without complaint. Yet, the more Jiaying thought about her two sons, the heavier her heart grew.
A month ago, she and Fang Zheng had quarreled — over a servant girl.
The argument had spiraled until, in a moment of anger, she slapped him.
From that day onward, Fang Zheng had stopped speaking to her altogether.
He buried himself in the tavern, drinking every night, shutting her out completely.
Every time she saw him like that, her chest tightened.
She knew who Fang Zheng loved — Shen Cui, the servant girl working under her husband's cousin, Dong Tu.
Jiaying knew that girl's type all too well. Shen Cui's sweetness, her coy glances, her soft words — all of it was an act.
That girl wasn't in love with Fang Zheng. She was simply using him, hoping his affection could lift her out of her servant's life.
Jiaying sighed quietly and put down her chopsticks. The faint clink of porcelain echoed through the empty room, sharp in the silence.
The sunlight on the table flickered as clouds passed overhead, and for a brief moment, the whole room dimmed — matching the shadow in her eyes.