The Fallen Dragon Mountains rose behind the clan like some ancient beast turned to stone, stretching far into a sky that never seemed close enough to touch. Snow clung stubbornly to the cliffs even though summer had already warmed the valley, and the wind carried that faint metallic scent of spirit beasts lurking somewhere deep in the wilderness. Cold always lasted longer up here.
It was a place that didn't let go easily.
Below the peaks, Ascending Dragon City spread like a painting. There were curved rooftops layered atop one another, glowing formations carved into the stone, walls engraved with history older than the four clans that ruled it.
Four clans that shaped everything in this region.
Four clans that had shaped every terrible decision Aiden had ever written.
On the Dugu Clan's training grounds, disciples moved with practiced precision, qi pulsing from their bodies in waves he couldn't see but somehow felt pressing faintly against his lungs. Their energy stirred the air around them, effortless and intimidating.
Aiden stood at the edge with a broom in hand, pretending to sweep while trying to get a grip on the reality he'd been thrown into. His servant robes—plain, gray, and dull—hung a little loose on his frame.
He barely had time to settle into the monotony before voices cut through the noise of training.
"Hey, trash Chen!"
His head turned towards the voice. Three inner disciples walked toward him in their deep blue robes, the unmistakable color of higher status. He recognized them instantly from Long Chen's memories—Liu Feng with the sneer he probably practiced in the mirror, and the two lackeys who followed him everywhere as if that granted them authority.
Liu Feng had made Long Chen his favorite pastime ever since the failed awakening ceremony. Apparently, nothing entertained him quite like torment.
Aiden felt the ghost of Long Chen's fear coil in his stomach, but he kept his expression steady.
"I'm just sweeping, senior brothers," he said, polite even though the words scratched his throat.
"Look at him," Liu Feng said loudly, stepping closer with that mocking grin. "Acting like a servant when he should've been tossed out months ago. Tell me, Long Chen, how does it feel knowing you'll never be anything in this clan?"
The laughter that followed was sharp. A few disciples nearby slowed their training, curiosity sparking.
"You're taking up space," Liu Feng continued. "Even the clan's spirit dogs are more valuable. At least they can guard something."
"Pathetic orphan," one of the others added.
Liu Feng leaned in, his voice turning cold and soft at the same time. "If the Clan Master had any sense, you would've been thrown out the day Elder Wei died. But I guess even trash earns pity sometimes."
They laughed again as they walked off, the sound of it echoing all over the place.
Aiden's jaw tightened. His fingers trembled around the broom until it slipped and clattered softly against the ground. He bent down, picked it up, and forced himself to keep sweeping. To be quiet, focused and contained until he could figure out what the hell he was going to do about the situation he'd found himself in.
He was so wrapped in keeping his anger from spilling over that he didn't notice the shadow approaching until it settled across the ground in front of him.
His brows furrowed as he looked up.
A young man, maybe fifteen or sixteen, stood there with robes of deep crimson and gold—colors reserved for the direct bloodline. His features were sharp, almost too perfect, and his eyes had the quiet, calculating gleam to it.
Long Chen's memories whispered his name instantly. He is was Dugu Feng and the second young master.
"You're Long Chen," Dugu Feng said, his tone calm, not questioning.
Aiden bowed. "Second Young Master."
Dugu Feng looked him over, expression unreadable. "I heard about what happened earlier. Liu Feng and his dogs."
Aiden said nothing, not sure whether a response would help or ruin him.
"I'm only observing," Dugu Feng said, already turning away. "Continue with your duties."
And he left just as quickly, leaving Aiden standing there with thoughts that scrambled in his head.
—
By the time Aiden returned to his tiny servant shack, his mind felt like it was pulling itself apart.
"Great," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "Seven days to reach Body Refining Stage Eight. And I can't even sense qi. Fucking great."
He paced the cramped space, the center of his head pulsing with a mild headache. Cultivation novels always threw lucky encounters at the protagonist—hidden legacies, ancient treasures, divine herbs growing in impossible places. If this world existed the way those novels described, then something out there had to give him a chance.
But he had no map, no guide, nothing but fragments of Long Chen's memories. He didn't know where to find anything valuable or how to avoid dying in the process.
Still… staying here was worse.
He spent the next few hours gathering what he could. A few packets of dry food swiped from the servant kitchens. A rusted dagger that would probably bend before it cut anything stronger than grass, a water pouch barely holding together.
Leaving at night was safer. It was less attention and a smaller chance of being dragged back.
Everything could go wrong, very easily. But doing nothing promised only one outcome, and it wasn't one he planned on accepting.
When the sky shifted into shades of orange and purple, Aiden slipped out quietly, staying close to the shadows, steps light and his breath controlled.
He didn't see the figure perched on a rooftop, watching him with cold patience. Or the second shadow that detached itself from a courtyard wall and followed as soon as he passed through the eastern gate.
—
Far across the compound, in a courtyard brimming with dense spiritual energy, Dugu Shenlie meditated beneath the illusion of a massive red tiger. Its silent roar rippled through the air like a warning.
A figure cloaked in shadow knelt nearby. "Third Young Master, Long Chen has left the clan."
Shenlie opened his eyes, the calm in them more dangerous than anger. "Tonight?"
"Yes, Third Young Master."
Shenlie rose smoothly. "Follow him. Make sure he doesn't return."
"And if spirit beasts find him?"
Shenlie's lips curved slightly. "Then let them. It saves us the effort. One less distraction before the clan gathering ceremony."
The figure bowed and vanished into the darkness.
Shenlie's gaze drifted toward the mountains, voice low and confident. "Soon, the clan will be mine."
—
Aiden moved deeper into the night, fingers tight around the old dagger. The distant howl of something far too large made his heart skip, but he kept walking.
Behind him, danger moved with silent steps.
And ahead of him… he wasn't sure if he was chasing salvation or running straight into the kind of trouble he used to write about.
Either way, there was no turning back.