Shen Yuan did not run.
Running drew attention.
Instead, he walked—slowly, carefully—matching the pace of the crowd dispersing beneath the mountain. Guards shouted orders, cultivators argued in low voices, and rumors multiplied faster than facts.
Judgment ruin.
Genius destroyed.
Ancient inheritance awakened early.
Truth fractured into convenient versions.
That was good.
Shen Yuan kept his head bowed, shoulders slightly hunched, cultivating the image of someone still shaken—someone small.
A pair of Iron Current Sect disciples blocked his path.
"You," one said sharply. "Name and background."
Shen Yuan clasped his fists. "Shen Yuan. Orphan. Lives in the eastern quarter."
The words were practiced.
Orphans were common. Unimportant. Easy to forget.
The disciple frowned, spiritual sense brushing over him like a dull blade.
Second stage Body Tempering.
Pathetic.
"Why are you alive?" the disciple asked.
The question was blunt.
Shen Yuan swallowed, allowing just enough tremor into his voice. "I… I stayed at the back. I didn't touch anything. I followed Senior Zhou's orders."
A partial truth.
The most convincing kind.
The disciple snorted. "Lucky trash."
He waved Shen Yuan away.
Shen Yuan bowed and moved on, pulse steady.
Behind him, Zhou Kai screamed.
The sound was sudden, raw, tearing through the air like a blade.
"No—don't touch me—who are you—?"
Shen Yuan did not turn around.
He had already learned something inside the ruin:
Witnessing downfall bound you to it.
He returned to Blackwater County by midday.
The streets were louder than usual. Messengers ran between compounds. Sect banners unfurled atop buildings that had never flown them before. Independent cultivators arrived in droves, eyes burning with greed and fear.
The mountain had turned Blackwater into a crossroads.
Which meant blood would follow.
Shen Yuan slipped into his courtyard and barred the door.
Only then did he allow his breath to hitch.
He sat on the straw mat, back against the wall, and closed his eyes.
The shard was warm.
Not warning.
Not urging.
Waiting.
He took it out and held it in his palm.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then—slowly—a new fragment surfaced.
Not a vision.
A rule.
Those who remain undefined are hardest to record.
Shen Yuan's fingers tightened.
So that was it.
The ruin had not ignored him.
It had failed to classify him.
Which meant—
A knock struck the door.
Once.
Measured.
Shen Yuan slid the shard away and rose, posture shrinking again before he opened it.
An unfamiliar cultivator stood outside, robes marked with a neutral sigil—no sect affiliation, but the cut and quality spoke of resources.
"Shen Yuan," the man said pleasantly. "You returned from the mountain."
It was not a question.
Shen Yuan bowed. "By luck."
The man smiled. "Luck is a form of talent."
Behind him, two more figures waited, faces unreadable.
"We represent parties interested in survivors," the man continued. "We would like to ask you a few questions."
Shen Yuan hesitated—just enough.
"Of course."
The man's gaze sharpened.
"Inside the ruin," he said softly, "did you receive anything?"
Shen Yuan's heart skipped once.
Then he shook his head.
"No."
A lie.
Clean. Simple. Absolute.
The man studied him.
Seconds stretched.
Finally, he nodded. "Unfortunate."
He turned to leave, then paused. "If your memories change… report it. Some inheritances awaken later."
Shen Yuan bowed again.
When the door closed, he slid down against it, legs weak.
That had been close.
Too close.
Outside, Blackwater County buzzed like a nest disturbed by fire.
Inside, Shen Yuan stared at the loose stone hiding the shard.
He understood now.
Strength was not the first thing he needed.
Neither was opportunity.
What he needed—
Was definition control.
To be too weak to matter.
Too ordinary to track.
Too insignificant to fear.
At least until he was ready.
Far away, beneath roots older than mountains, something carved Shen Yuan's outline deeper into stone—
Still unfinished.
Still watching.