Lin Xuan stepped out of his room and into the softly lit corridor, the faint scent of cooked meat and medicinal herbs lingering in the air. Lanterns lined the walls, casting warm pools of light that guided him toward the dining hall—a place that, according to his inherited memories, he had visited countless times, yet felt subtly unfamiliar now.
His steps were steady, though slower than he would have liked.
The damage to his meridians made itself known with every movement—a dull, persistent ache beneath the surface, like cracks hidden beneath polished stone. Still, it was manageable. For now.
As he walked, Lin Xuan's mind remained sharp, quietly cataloging everything.
Dinner time… servants quiet. No disturbances. Clan inner residence—secure.
When he reached the entrance to the dining area, his gaze swept across the room instinctively.
Madam Yue Lan sat at the head of the table, posture elegant yet relaxed, dressed in flowing robes of pale jade and silver embroidery. Her expression, however, softened the moment she noticed him. The tension she had likely carried all day loosened, just a fraction.
To her right sat Lin Mei—his younger cousin sister.
She was already eating, movements refined and unhurried. Lin Mei was the sort who rarely spoke unless necessary. Her presence was calm, unobtrusive, like still water that reflected everything without revealing much in return.
Two seats were empty.
Lin Xuan noticed them immediately.
One belonged to his father.
The other—to Lin Qiming.
His gaze lingered on the vacant spots for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Father isn't here…
From the memories he'd inherited, this was hardly unusual. His father—Lin Zhengyuan—was a man who carried the weight of the clan on his shoulders. Clan affairs, disputes, negotiations, resource allocation, political maneuvering with other families… most nights, he remained in his study until well past midnight.
Busy with clan matters. Likely reviewing ledgers or correspondence.
Lin Xuan categorized it calmly.
Neutral. Expected.
Then his attention shifted to the other absence.
Lin Qiming.
His elder cousin.
Unlike his father, Lin Qiming was often present at dinner—just as often absent. The memories surrounding him were… less comfortable.
Ambitious.
Politically sharp.
Jealous beneath a veneer of civility.
Lin Qiming was deeply involved in clan logistics and external coordination, but unlike others who saw such roles as thankless necessity, he saw them as stepping stones. Influence, leverage, visibility—he cultivated them carefully.
And Lin Xuan?
In Lin Qiming's eyes, he was a stain.
A disgrace born into privilege, wasting resources that could have gone to "worthy" heirs. Worse still, someone who might—given the right circumstances—suddenly improve.
That possibility alone made Lin Qiming dangerous.
Not here tonight…
Lin Xuan felt no disappointment.
If anything, he felt a quiet sense of relief.
Good. Fewer eyes. Fewer calculations.
Still, he marked it clearly in his mind.
Opposition. Watch closely in the future.
With that assessment complete, Lin Xuan stepped forward.
Madam Yue Lan noticed him instantly.
"Xuan'er," she said, her voice carrying a warmth that didn't bother hiding its relief. "Come. Sit. Eat while it's still warm."
She rose slightly from her seat, already reaching for his bowl before he had even pulled out the chair. With practiced ease, she adjusted its position, then added an extra portion of meat—thick slices cut from a beast whose faint spiritual aura still lingered.
Stage 1 Foundation Realm beast meat.
Nutritious. Restorative. Expensive.
Lin Xuan paused for the briefest moment.
In his previous life, such gestures would have felt… foreign. Concern had always been measured there, wrapped in expectation or obligation. This kind of unguarded care—so immediate, so instinctive—caught him off balance.
…So this is what a mother's worry feels like.
It stirred something unfamiliar in him. Not discomfort exactly—but awkwardness.
Yet he didn't resist.
Didn't step back.
Didn't deflect.
He simply took his seat.
Madam Yue Lan watched him closely as he settled down, her eyes scanning his face, his posture, the steadiness of his breathing.
"You fainted earlier," she said softly. "You should have rested longer. I could have had dinner sent to your room."
Her tone wasn't scolding.
It was worried.
Lin Xuan felt a faint tightness in his chest.
"I'm fine," he replied calmly. "Better than before."
He picked up his chopsticks, movements measured. "I wanted to eat with you."
The words were simple, but they made Madam Yue Lan's fingers still for a moment.
She smiled faintly and placed another piece of meat into his bowl.
"Eat properly," she said. "You're too thin."
Lin Xuan almost smiled.
Internally, he noted the meat with professional detachment.
High-quality nourishment. Will aid recovery. Add to plan.
But beneath that calculation, there was something else—an unfamiliar warmth he chose not to reject.
Lin Mei glanced up briefly at the exchange.
Her gaze lingered for half a second longer than usual before she returned to her food. When Lin Xuan met her eyes, she nodded lightly in acknowledgment.
"Cousin," she said.
"Lin Mei," he replied.
That was the extent of it.
She returned to eating, already mentally preparing to retire early, her interest fading just as quickly as it had surfaced.
The atmosphere at the table was quiet—but not uncomfortable.
Madam Yue Lan watched Lin Xuan eat for a while before speaking again.
"Does anything still hurt?" she asked. "Your meridians… are you sure you're alright?"
"I can manage," Lin Xuan said truthfully. "It will take time."
She frowned slightly at that, clearly dissatisfied with the vagueness, but didn't press further.
Instead, she reached into her sleeve.
Lin Xuan noticed the movement instantly.
From the inherited memories, he recognized it well.
She's about to give money.
True enough, Madam Yue Lan produced a small pouch and placed it gently on the table.
"Take this," she said. "One hundred gold coins. If you need more medicine, better food—"
Lin Xuan raised his hand.
The motion was small, but deliberate.
"I don't need money," he said.
The pouch stopped mid-slide.
Madam Yue Lan blinked.
Lin Mei paused her chewing and glanced up, a trace of surprise flickering across her usually placid expression.
Madam Yue Lan studied her son carefully, as if trying to determine whether she had misheard.
"…Then what is it?" she asked cautiously.
Lin Xuan met her gaze.
"I want to try alchemy."
Silence.
For a brief moment, the only sound in the room was the soft crackle of lantern flames.
Madam Yue Lan's expression shifted—surprise first, then hesitation, then a thoughtful frown.
Alchemy.
Her mind immediately recalled memories she would rather forget.
The time he had declared he would become a scholar after failing in cultivation.
The resources spent.
The quiet disappointment.
Is this another whim? she wondered.
Lin Mei tilted her head slightly, curiosity sparked—but it faded just as quickly.
At least it's something to occupy him, she thought. Better than despair.
Madam Yue Lan exhaled softly.
She didn't dismiss him.
Didn't scold him.
Instead, she turned her head slightly and spoke.
"Steward Han."
A moment later, an older man in formal robes stepped forward from the shadows near the doorway. His back was straight, his presence calm and authoritative—the bearing of someone who had served the Lin Clan for decades.
"Yes, Madam."
"Arrange whatever Xuan'er needs," she said. "A furnace. Ingredients. Nothing excessive."
She paused, then added, "Quality, but reasonable."
Steward Han bowed. "As you wish."
Lin Xuan inclined his head slightly. "Thank you, Mother."
She studied his face again, as if searching for doubt—or determination.
What she found was calm.
That, more than anything, made her nod.
Dinner continued without further interruption.
Lin Xuan ate slowly, carefully. The beast meat warmed his body, its subtle energy spreading gently through his damaged meridians. Pain flared faintly, then settled.
Effective. Very effective.
He committed the sensation to memory.
By the time the meal ended, Madam Yue Lan looked noticeably more at ease.
"Don't overexert yourself," she said as he rose. "If it hurts, stop."
"I will," Lin Xuan replied.
She hesitated, then reached out and lightly adjusted his collar—an almost unconscious gesture.
He stiffened internally.
Then relaxed.
"I'll rest after," he said.
She smiled.
Lin Mei stood as well, offering a small nod before departing toward her quarters, already lost in her own thoughts.
Lin Xuan returned to his room not long after.
Waiting inside was a low-grade alchemy furnace—simple, functional, its surface etched with basic formation lines. Beside it lay neatly arranged bundles of herbs.
Ten batches' worth.
More than enough.
Lin Xuan sat down, cross-legged, and closed his eyes.
Before touching the furnace, he began circulating his qi—slowly, carefully—allowing the familiar pain to wash over him as he acclimated.
Reduce failure rate. Adapt first.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
Only when his breathing steadied did he open his eyes and reach for the first batch of ingredients.
The path ahead was clear.
And tonight—
It began.