The interior of the Academy Store was dimly lit by a few flickering lamps, their glow casting long shadows across the wooden floor. Behind the counter, a gaut man in his twenties was wiping down the surface, clearly preparing to close up for the night. He wore the simple robes of a rank one Gu Master, his sleeves rolled up as he worked with practiced boredom.
When the door creaked open and Ren Zu stepped inside, the clerk's head snapped up in surprise. For a brief second, his brows rose—who would be shopping at this hour?—but the shock faded quickly, replaced by a bright, professional smile.
"Junior Brother," he greeted, his voice amiable. "Good evening. How can this Senior Brother help you?"
Ren Zu returned the greeting with a polite nod, his expression calm.
"Hello, senior brother. I've come to bother you slightly."
The clerk waved a dismissive hand, his smile widening.
"Not at all, not at all! Always happy to serve a fellow clan member. Perhaps Junior Brother needs some last-minute supplies? Ink running low? Or maybe," he leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering his voice, "did Junior Brother come here to buy a Grass Puppet Gu for target practice?"
He gestured towards a corner where a single, man-sized figure woven from green grass stood slumped against the wall.
"Excellent for honing skills, very durable. Just three primeval stones! These things sell like hotcakes. This is the very last one in stock right now. If you wait until tomorrow morning, I guarantee it'll be gone. Can't keep them on the shelves!"
Ren Zu's expression remained unchanged. He gave a small shake of his head.
"Thank you for the offer, Senior Brother, but that is not what I require today."
Hmm, a picky customer.
The clerk mentally scanned his memory. He recognized the junior – seen him around the Academy grounds occasionally. The face was familiar, but he couldn't quite place a name to it. That meant this junior hadn't purchased anything expensive since the new academy year started—three months ago now. Still, that just meant he was overdue. It was never too late to strike a deal.
But before the clerk could try another pitch, Ren Zu reached into his robes and pulled out a small, bulging sack. The soft clink of stone against stone was unmistakable as he set it down on the counter.
The clerk's eyes widened slightly, his smile faltering for a breath.
That weight… it couldn't be—
"Here are one hundred and fifty primeval stones," Ren Zu said calmly. "Give me a Dragonpill Cricket Gu."
The words hit harder than the sack did. The clerk stared, lips parting just a little as his brain scrambled to catch up. He glanced down at the pouch, then back up into Ren Zu's eyes, which were still as calm and unreadable as before.
He hesitated, then spoke more carefully.
"Junior... buying a Gu even though all students receive two for free by the end of the year... Don't tell me you're planning to leave the clan alongside the merchant caravan?"
His voice dropped a little. The implication was serious.
Many Gu Yue clansmen did choose to leave with the caravan—but such people were rarely welcomed back.
Oh, he's quite perceptive
Ren Zu thought, but he let out a sigh instead—low, drawn out, the kind that carried quiet resignation.
"Senior brother can see right through me," he said with a small, self-deprecating smile. "Indeed, I wish to try my luck in the wider world. I'm merely a D-grade talent. Staying would only waste the clan's resources. A free Gu would be wasted on me…"
And this is the last chance to leave the mountain before the beast tide, he added silently.
The clerk's expression softened. He nodded slowly, a flicker of pity flashing in his eyes. "I understand. I really do. Then… I wish you heartfelt luck on your journey, junior brother."
His tone was genuine, but his mind quietly turned over the mystery. A D-grade talent with that many primeval stones? Where the hells did he get them? Could he be extorting his fellows like that Fang Yuan youngster? Either way though, it wasn't his problem. Business was business.
.
.
.
Ten minutes later, Ren Zu stepped out of the Academy Store with a small, emerald-green grasshopper perched in his palm. It shimmered faintly under the starlight.
He didn't linger. Without fanfare, he turned and began the walk home, toward his dwelling near the outer edge of the village.
Ren Zu arrived home quietly. The simple house, with its bamboo walls and modest courtyard, had been his since the day he was born. Fifteen years of wind, rain, and silence had passed through it, and though the structure wasn't large, it held a certain charm.
He stepped into the courtyard, the night breeze rustling the bamboo slightly. In the center stood a flat slab of stone, worn smooth by use. Ren Zu sat cross-legged upon it.
He closed his eyes.
A few deep breaths later, his thoughts settled into stillness.
Then, in the quiet of his mind, his primeval aperture revealed itself.
Though it existed somewhere within his body, its nature defied logic—limitlessly vast, yet impossibly small. A paradox.
The outer edge of the aperture glowed faintly. A thin shell of white light wrapped around it, appearing delicate, almost frail… but it held firm.
Within the aperture lay a small sea of primeval essence.
The seawater shimmered with the distinct green-copper hue of a Rank One initial stage Gu Master. Its surface was smooth like polished jade, undisturbed by wind or wave. The water level rested at a quarter the aperture's height.
Exactly 25% of the volume was occupied by primeval essence. Not a single more drop would fit inside. This was the limitation of his talent.
Suspended in this small and tranquil sea, bobbing gently like a dumpling, was a small, brown, hairy beetle.
It was Ren Zu's Yellow Horse Beetle Gu.
It was the first Gu he had chosen—while the other youths clamored for the elegant and powerful Moonlight Gu, he had quietly picked this unimpressive thing. It didn't shoot light or manipulate shadows. It didn't cut, burn, or heal.
All it did was boost physical endurance. A dull, practical effect.
But for someone with D-grade talent, it was the least awful option available due to its low consumption of primeval essence.
As his mind withdrew from the primeval sea, Ren Zu opened his eyes and took out the Dragonpill Gu.
It sat still in his palm, quiet for now—an emerald cricket, small and glossy.
With a thought, the primeval sea inside his aperture stirred. A thin stream of essence surged upward, slipped out of his body, and flowed directly into the Gu.
The cricket pulsed.
Green light burst from its body as it began to tremble in his palm. It didn't want to yield.
Gu were tools, but they were also more than that. They were the condensed essence of heaven and earth, living creatures born from the laws of nature itself. Each had its own instinct, its own will—and to refine one was to erase that will. To claim the Gu for himself, Ren Zu had to overwrite its resistance with his own essence.
It wasn't easy, not at all.
Within minutes, Ren Zu's face had turned pale. Primeval essence flowed from him like a bleeding artery. The weakness came fast, spreading through his limbs, gnawing at his chest.
1%.
2%.
3%...
8%.
9%...
10%.
Ten minutes later, Ren Zu's primeval sea lay dry—every last drop of essence spent.
The Dragonpill Gu's resistance was no joke. But Ren Zu had expected that. He didn't curse or frown. He just sighed and pulled a small sack from his robes.
From it, he took out three dozen primeval stones and immediately began drawing the essence from them, one by one.
He didn't even blink at the cost. Without these stones, refining the Gu would have been impossible. His current stage couldn't handle it. Rank 1 Middle stage was still months away, maybe longer. And he didn't have that kind of time.
Besides, he couldn't take primeval stones with him once he left the mountain with the merchant caravan in a week or so. Without the clan's protection, flashing wealth was the same as painting a target on his back. He'd be gutted before nightfall.
So, better to spend it now.
Better to pour everything into this one Gu.
.
.
.
—Three hours later—
The Dragonpill Cricket Gu finally stopped resisting. Its body pulsed with a faint green light as it floated obediently in his palm.
Ren Zu let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and flicked the Gu into his aperture.
Plop.
It dropped into the primeval sea, now replenished, and began swimming lazily next to the Yellow Horse Beetle.
Ren Zu allowed a genuine smile to surface—his mask of indifference cracking and falling away like flaking paint.
He let himself fall backward from his cross-legged position, sprawling out across the stone slab. Eyes wide, he grinned up madly at the star-scattered night sky.
"Hahaha… After three months of stagnation, I've finally made a step forward. Isn't this proof enough? However tightly bound, my fate is still mine to shape."
Ever since he could move, he had taken up a knife—swinging it, again and again, day after day. Trying to get a head start on comprehending a path. What path was more accessible to a powerless child than the sword?
He began training his body the moment he could walk at six months old. By the time he reached five years of age, he was already fighting livestock—pigs, goats, sheep. By seven, he was hunting in the forest, cutting down wild beasts for meat… and nearly dying when a Rank 1 monster chased him through the underbrush, leaving half-healed scars along his back and ribs.
And he kept on training.
Day after day, week after week.
Weeks turned into months and months into years.
He swung until his hands bled.
And then he kept on swinging.
But above all else, for eight long years, he hunted the inheritance of the Flower Wine Monk. He spent dozens of primeval stones on expensive green bamboo wine, again and again, trying to draw out the liquor worm.
After all, his existence was something foreign to this world. He didn't feel any shame in trying to increase his strength even if it meant stealing from Fang Yuan himself.
And yet...he never found the inheritance. The liquor worm never appeared, no matter how much he searched for it. The inheritance location also remained a mystery despite him knowing the woods surrounding the village like the back of his hand.
It was... beyond improbable.
So when, three months ago, right after the awakening ceremony, he watched Fang Yuan begin buying the same green bamboo wine he bought for so long—and continue buying it weekly, it could only mean one thing.
He'd found the Liquor Worm. Of course he had.
Which meant I could have found it too.
I wasn't unable.
I was NOT ALLOWED.
I've made so many plans. For so many different paths, different outcomes.
If I'd had A or B-grade talent, I would've tried to kill Fang Yuan and steal his place as Heaven's chosen. After all, even a pawn on the board lives a better fate than someone not even allowed to play.
If that failed, I would've allied with one of the clan's inner factions—let them use me, so I could siphon enough resources to reach Rank 3.
If I'd been born with C-grade talent, I would've used the primeval stones I stockpiled to win some of the academy competitions—grabbing whatever scraps of clan support I could along the way.
But when the day came to step into the underground river… to awaken my aperture… to measure my so-called worth…
I only made it twelve steps.
Twelve.
How pitiful.
He closed his eyes and exhaled.
The soft shing of blades unsheathing broke the stillness. In the dim courtyard, Ren Zu began his practice. Twin swords arced through the air—measured, methodical, relentless. His feet slid across the stone with precision, shoulders low, posture coiled like a spring.
His mind was calm.
Despite knowing what was coming. Despite seeing deeper into this world's truth than anyone who wasn't a Venerable. Despite the blow his D-grade talent dealt to his chances of survival.
His mind was calm as his swords sang through the night.
Because what was there to fear?
What reason was there to despair?
Because of a fate he couldn't change?
Ren Zu was pitiful, yes.
But more pitiful is the man who weeps beneath the storm instead of building a roof.
I might not be loved by the heavens, he thought, adjusting his stance mid-flow, but where there's will, there's a way. Even if I have to crawl on my knees for decades, so what? I'm not old. I'm not dying. And even with Heaven watching, even with fate snarling at my heels... I will find a way to leverage what I know.
Even if everything else went wrong—if he could just survive long enough to join the Great Love Alliance once Fang Yuan founded it—that alone could be a ticket to rank six. And if Fang Yuan really did reach rank ten, if he truly won the great chess game that was this world, then for Ren Zu even the road to rank nine wouldn't be beyond reach. Not with enough grit. Not with enough time.
Leaving the clan with the merchant caravan was only the first step in a long, winding plan for survival.
Of course, all this was just theory. Some might even call it a coping mechanism.
Ren Zu didn't care.
He was a firm believer that dying while trying was better than living while doing nothing.
And try he would.
But first, he had to get used to his new Dragonpill Cricket Gu.
He jumped. His body shot five meters into the air—sharp, clean, like an arrow loosed from a bow.
Instantly, 5% of his primeval essence vanished.
The Dragonpill Cricket Gu granted its user the ability to mimic the movement of a dragon pill cricket—enhanced leaps, greater agility, and fluid evasion. It drastically improved a Gu Master's dodging ability and overall movement speed.
Combined with the Yellow Horse Longhorn Beetle Gu, his trained swordsmanship, and hardened physique, Ren Zu's combat strength approached or even surpassed that of a rank one upper stage Gu Master—despite only being at the initial stage.
The courtyard came alive with noise, the sharp swish of blades slicing through air growing louder and faster. The one wielding them had become a blur, bounding left and right like a grasshopper—sometimes without even using the Gu. Then suddenly, a burst—his form launched skyward in a sweeping arc, spinning mid-air like a dart loosed from nature itself.
His speed was striking. But his primeval essence was vanishing.
Five jumps. That's all it took.
Only 1% of his primeval essence remained.
I wonder if it can only be activated with a full 5% essence… or if smaller percentages would allow partial activation.
The second option would be far more favorable. With his current cultivation level and limited primeval essence, conserving every drop mattered.
So, without hesitation, he poured the last 1% into the Dragonpill Gu and prepared to leap once more.
But the moment his feet left the ground, a strange sensation overtook him—weightlessness, as if the world beneath had vanished.
Then—darkness.
It wasn't the kind of darkness that came with closing one's eyes or being buried beneath shadows.
It was absolute. Silent. Eternal.
And in the courtyard where Ren Zu had been just moments ago, there was nothing left—only footprints.
Even if a Venerable were to pass by, with eyes that pierced space and unraveled fate, they would see only an empty yard.
It was as if Ren Zu had vanished.
Not fled, not hidden...
Simply ceased to exist in this world.