The sun rose behind a thick veil of gray mist, typical of the spring season on Black Silt Ridge. The rain had slowed to a persistent drizzle, turning the village paths into a slurry of dark, oily mud and decaying pine needles.
Despite the gloom, the village was alive with a frantic energy. Today was the day of the Opening Ceremony—the moment where the vessels would be measured.
In the outer branch dormitories, dozens of youths were already awake. Some were performing frantic breathing exercises they had heard might expand their spiritual chambers; others sat in fearful silence, clutching protective talismans that were, in reality, nothing more than useless paper.
Mo Jue stood among them. He had spent the night sitting by the window, not in meditation, but in observation. He was recalibrating his internal clock to the biological rhythms of a fifteen-year-old body.
"Mo Jue, are you still in a daze?"
The voice belonged to Mo Lin, a robust youth with a barrel chest and a loud, confident manner. He was the son of a minor village official and had spent the last year positioning himself as the leader of the outer branch disciples.
Mo Jue turned his head slowly. His eyes were neutral. "I am observing the rain."
Mo Lin snorted, crossing his arms. "The rain won't help you open your Reliquary. Everyone says you're a genius, that you can recite the scriptures backward. But in this world, if your capacity is low, your brain is just more meat for the Phantoms to eat."
"That is a sound logical deduction," Mo Jue replied.
Mo Lin's smile faltered. He had expected a retort, an angry defense, or even a boast. Mo Jue's flat agreement felt like striking a bag of sand—there was no impact, no vibration.
"Hmph. Just wait. My father spent three Soul Jades on a marrow cleansing soup for me. My capacity will surely be B-grade or higher. When I am a Grafter and you are a clerk in the logistics hall, don't come crying to me for help!"
Mo Lin turned away, leading his group of followers toward the Ancestral Pavilion.
Mo Jue watched them go. To him, Mo Lin was a low value asset with a high probability of early expiration. In the previous timeline, Mo Lin would indeed achieve B-grade talent, only to be devoured by his own Graft during the mid-stage of Rank 1 because he lacked the mental discipline to suppress the Phantom's hunger.
Mo Jue followed the crowd.
The Ancestral Pavilion was even more imposing in the daylight. Two massive stone statues stood at the entrance, depicting the founders of the Mo Clan. They were shown with chains wrapped around their arms, pulling screaming, distorted Phantoms into their chests.
Inside the hall, the atmosphere was stifling. The scent of incense was thick enough to irritate the throat. The Clan Head and the Elders sat on a raised dais, their eyes scanning the youths like merchants inspecting a new shipment of livestock.
In the center of the hall stood the Mapping Monolith. It was a jagged pillar of black stone, pulsing with a faint, rhythmic vibration.
"The evaluation begins!" the Head Elder barked. "When your name is called, step forward and place your hand upon the Monolith."
The process was surgical. One by one, the youths stepped forward.
"Mo Chen. D-grade. 22% Capacity. Next."
"Mo Yan. C-grade. 38% Capacity. Next."
The Elders' faces remained stony. D-grade and C-grade talents were the laborers of the clan. The foot soldiers who would handle the mundane tasks of containment until they were eventually eroded and discarded.
Then, Mo Lin stepped forward. He placed his hand on the stone with a flourish. The Monolith hummed, a pale green light illuminating the hall.
"Mo Lin! B-grade! 64% Capacity!"
The hall erupted in hushed whispers. The Elders nodded in approval. 64% was a respectable vessel. Mo Lin walked back to the crowd, his chest puffed out, casting a mocking glance at Mo Jue.
"Next," the Elder called, his voice sharpening. "Mo Jue."
The whispers died down instantly. Every eye in the room turned toward the orphan of the outer branch. The "genius" who had been the talk of the village for years had finally arrived at the scales. The expectations were high; some hoped for a miracle, while others secretly prayed for his downfall.
Mo Jue walked to the Monolith. His steps were even, his breathing shallow and controlled. He did not feel the pressure of the Elders' gazes. He had stood before gods and demons on the Sky Rending Peak; the scrutiny of a small town clan was a negligible variable.
He reached out and placed his palm on the cold, vibrating stone.
Immediately, a cold, invasive energy surged from the Monolith into his arm. It was the Mapping Probe, a thread of essence designed to measure the volume of the spiritual void within his soul.
In his first life, the result had been a mediocre C-grade that had forced him to claw his way up through the mud for centuries. But as the energy entered his soul, Mo Jue felt a sudden, sharp expansion. The 2000-year-old soul, tempered by the fires of the Aeon Erosion Seed, had seemingly altered the very structure of his vessel upon rebirth.
The Monolith flared. The light was not the pale green of Mo Lin's, but a steady, deep, cool blue that filled every corner of the Ancestral Pavilion.
The Elder's eyes widened. He leaned forward, checking the numerical runes at the base of the stone twice. He looked at the Clan Head, who had half-risen from his seat.
"Mo Jue... Peak B-grade. 74% Capacity."
The hall was silent for a breath, then a wave of conversation broke out, louder and more frantic than before. 74% was high—extraordinarily high. It was just shy of A-grade. It was a High Utility vessel, the kind that could become a clan's pillar for a hundred years.
The Clan Head leaned back, a look of satisfied calculation on his face. He wasn't just happy; he was relieved. A 74% talent meant the Mo Clan still had teeth.
"A 74% capacity," the Clan Head mused, his voice carrying through the hall. "Not quite the A-grade legend, but a very solid pillar. Mo Jue, you have done credit to your branch."
Mo Jue withdrew his hand. The result was sufficient. 74% was high enough to ensure he received the best Rank 1 resources and the attention of the Elders, but it was just below the A-grade threshold that would have made him a target for immediate assassination by the Zhao Clan.
In the world of the Shattered Dao, being the tallest tree often meant being the first to be struck by lightning.
As he walked back, he passed Mo Lin. The larger youth's face was in a rage. The gap between 64% and 74% was a chasm in the world of Grafters. Mo Lin's confidence had evaporated in a single heartbeat.
Mo Jue did not look at him. He was already calculating the next step.
The ceremony continued, but it was a blur of mediocre results. For the Elders, the day was already a success. They began to finalize the resource distribution. In the Mo Clan, as in all factions, resources were tiered. The B-grades would receive five pieces of Soul Jade per week.
"Mo Jue, Mo Lin, step forward once more," the Clan Head commanded as the sun reached its zenith.
The two youths approached the dais. Mo Lin was vibrating with nervous energy, his fists clenched at his sides. Mo Jue remained a sculpture of indifference.
"You two are the focus of this generation," the Clan Head said. "Tomorrow, you will go to the Phantom Stables to select your first Graft. To assist in your initial stabilization, take these."
He gestured to an attendant, who handed each of them a silk pouch. Inside were five shimmering shards of Soul Jade.
Mo Lin took his pouch with a deep, fawning bow. "Thank you, Clan Head! I will prove that my 64% is worth more than a hundred commoners!"
Mo Jue took his pouch with a simple, respectful nod. "The resources are noted. I shall utilize them effectively."
As the assembly began to disperse, the rain outside intensified, drumming against the tiled roof. Mo Jue walked out of the pavilion, his mind already drifting toward the Northern Kennels.
"Mo Jue! Stop!"
Mo Lin had caught up to him on the stone path. He was flanked by his lackeys, who looked significantly more nervous than they had that morning.
"You think you're better than me because of ten percent?" Mo Lin hissed, the rain matting his hair to his forehead. "You're still an orphan. My father can buy more Soul Jade than the clan will ever give you. Don't think for a second that this makes us equals."
Mo Jue stopped and turned. The rain cascaded down his face, but his eyes remained a void of emotion.
"Equality is a social delusion," Mo Jue said calmly. "The only metric that matters is the pressure of the Graft. Your father's wealth cannot stabilize your Dantian when the Phantom begins to scream. If you wish to survive, I suggest you stop speaking and start cultivating."
Mo Lin's face turned a deep shade of crimson. "In a week, I'll be a Rank 1 Master before you even find a Phantom that doesn't reject you!"
Mo Jue didn't respond. He simply turned and continued walking.
He found a secluded spot beneath an ancient, gnarled pine tree at the edge of the village. He sat down on the earth, ignoring the coldness seeping into his robes. He opened the silk pouch and took out a single shard of Soul Jade.
Integration: Step One.
He didn't use the Jade to cultivate his spirit. Instead, he used a forbidden technique from his previous life—the Soul Grinding Pulse.
He crushed the Jade and drew the essence into his lungs, forcing it directly into the walls of his Reliquary. He was tempering it, preparing the 74% capacity to handle the specific, violent frequencies of the Howling Shadow he intended to take tomorrow.
He spent the rest of the night in total silence. By the time the first light of dawn touched the horizon, Mo Jue had consumed all five shards. His Reliquary has become a pressurized chamber, humming with suppressed energy.