Lin Ye woke up without opening his eyes.
It wasn't a conscious decision. It was a defense. His body—or perhaps something deeper—understood that looking at the world in that moment could be dangerous. Pain arrived in slow, orderly waves, as if someone had carefully rationed it so he wouldn't pass out again.
Breathing was possible.
Moving was not.
Every part of his body felt like it was where it should be… but badly connected. As if the links between muscle, bone, and will had been loosened and hastily tied back together.
I'm still… he thought. That alone is suspicious.
The Fragmented Threshold Sutra appeared faintly in his awareness. Not as a clear system, but as a tired murmur—a series of warnings that couldn't be bothered to sound urgent.
"Status: partial collapse.""Operational margin: exhausted.""Recommendation: absolute immobility."
Lin Ye smiled inwardly.
Of course, he thought. Because immobility has always been my specialty.
He tried to move a finger.
The world answered with a white-hot stab that shot through his chest and stole the air from his lungs. The inner smile vanished instantly.
"Alright," he gave in. "Message received."
He heard footsteps.
Not close. Not hurried. They were steady, unhurried steps—like those of someone who knew exactly where they were going and wasn't afraid of arriving late. Lin Ye suppressed the instinct to activate the Eye of the Threshold. There was no margin left. Forcing it now would be the same as signing his own sentence.
A shadow crossed the dim light filtering in from somewhere above.
"Don't try to move," a calm voice said. "You're not properly defined yet."
Lin Ye cracked one eye open, just a slit.
The room was small, made of smooth stone and dark wood. There were no visible seals, but the air carried a strange quality, as if the walls themselves had borne witness for a long time—a place where events were not easily forgotten.
The person in front of him was an older man, thin, with gray hair tied back simply. He didn't radiate oppressive pressure. In fact, his presence was almost… discreet. Too discreet for someone Lin Ye didn't remember ever meeting.
"Who…?" Lin Ye tried to say.
His voice came out broken.
The man stepped a little closer, studying him with genuine attention, not clinical detachment.
"Someone who saw what shouldn't have been seen," he replied, "and decided not to ignore it."
Lin Ye blinked slowly.
"That… sounds like the beginning of a lot of trouble."
The man smiled.
"It is."
He sat down on a nearby stool and rested his hands on his knees.
"My name is Yan Mo," he said. "I don't work for the Council. Nor for the private archives. Let's say I'm… an independent observer."
Lin Ye felt a faint chill.
"That's not usually reassuring either."
"I'm not trying to reassure you," Yan Mo replied. "I'm trying to understand you."
He fell silent for a few seconds, studying him.
"The blow you took," he continued, "should have killed you. Not because of brute force, but because of coherence. Your body wasn't in a state capable of enduring it."
Lin Ye breathed carefully.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm starting to notice a pattern."
Yan Mo shook his head slowly.
"No. What happened wasn't a pattern. It was an interruption."
Lin Ye narrowed his eye.
"Explain."
"For an instant," Yan Mo said, "your existence stopped responding solely to your techniques. There was something else… something that rejected the ending."
The silence thickened.
Lin Ye remembered that suspended second. The halted strike. The sensation that space itself had hesitated.
"It wasn't a technique," he admitted. "I don't even know what it was."
"Exactly," Yan Mo replied. "And that's what's worrying."
He leaned forward.
"Because it wasn't external intervention. No one protected you. No archive acted. No entity descended."
"Then…" Lin Ye swallowed. "What was it?"
Yan Mo held his gaze.
"Your blood."
Lin Ye's heart gave a slow, heavy lurch.
"My… bloodline," he murmured.
Yan Mo nodded.
"Dormant. Reactive. But real. It didn't give you power. It gave you permission."
Lin Ye closed the eye he had open.
Great, he thought. Turns out I'm not just an administrative problem. I'm also a strange clause.
"Don't try to force it," Yan Mo added, as if he'd read his thoughts. "If it awakens too early… it will break you from the inside."
"Believe me," Lin Ye replied weakly, "I'm in no hurry."
Yan Mo stood up.
"Good," he said. "Because for a while, you won't have a choice."
He walked to a side table and picked up a small tablet, different from ordinary registration ones. This one bore natural cracks, as if it had been used and reused too many times.
"Your current condition," he continued, "is delicate. Two months, at minimum, without serious combat. Perhaps more."
Lin Ye snapped his eye open.
"Two months?" he repeated. "That's… a long time for someone to kill me."
Yan Mo smiled calmly.
"That's why you won't be alone."
Before Lin Ye could ask what that meant, a new presence manifested in the room. It didn't enter through the door. It simply… was there.
A soft, electric pressure, like the air before a distant storm.
Lin Ye felt the Eye of the Threshold react strangely—not with rejection, but with caution.
"So this is him," a young, clear voice said. "The one who made space hesitate."
Lin Ye turned his eye toward the source of the voice.
A young woman was leaning against the opposite wall. Dark hair tied back messily, a curious expression, eyes bright with an intensity she didn't bother to hide. Her aura was stable, contained… but powerful.
Mid-stage Spiritual Dominion.
And something else.
"And you are…?" Lin Ye asked, tired but alert.
The young woman tilted her head slightly.
"Mu Qian," she said. "And let's say I'm interested in seeing how far your margin can stretch… before it really breaks."
The air trembled.
Lin Ye felt a dangerous mix of exhaustion and clarity.
Two observers.A broken body.A bloodline that had begun to respond.
And somewhere in the city, Qin Jue—and others like him—were already adjusting their plans.
Lin Ye closed his eye again, exhaling carefully.
"Perfect," he murmured. "Just when I needed rest… I start becoming interesting."