Morning arrived without ceremony.
Lin Xuan woke before his attendant came knocking, his body still sore but no longer fragile to the point of collapse. The night's rest had helped—not enough to call it recovery, but enough to function.
He sat up slowly, exhaled once, then rose.
By the time he finished washing his face and tidying himself, the attendant was already waiting outside, posture straight, expression attentive.
"I'll be going out," Lin Xuan said calmly. "Prepare something suitable."
The attendant blinked, surprised for only a fraction of a second before bowing. "Yes, Young Master. When should I expect your return?"
"By evening," he replied after a brief pause. "No need to prepare anything else."
Moments later, she returned with a set of clothes laid out neatly.
Black inner robes, trimmed with deep red along the cuffs and collar.
Not ostentatious. Not plain.
Appropriate.
Lin Xuan dressed himself.
When he finally stepped out of the room, his reflection lingered faintly in the polished wood of the doorframe. The clothes fit well—too well, perhaps. The previous owner had once favored brighter colors, attempting to draw attention that never came.
Red and black suits this body better, Lin Xuan thought.
He left the inner residence and began walking toward the main gate of the Lin Clan estate.
The estate was already active.
Servants moved with purpose, carrying supplies, delivering messages. Guards stood at their posts, spears grounded, eyes sharp.
And the clan's younger generation… trained.
Lin Xuan passed by several open courtyards.
Blades flashed.
Qi surged.
Shouts rang out, sharp and disciplined.
As he walked, eyes followed him.
Some indifferent.
Some curious.
Most… dismissive.
No one bowed.
A few guards inclined their heads just enough to acknowledge his status, but the respect was stiff—mechanical. Forced by title rather than sentiment.
So this is how they see me, Lin Xuan noted calmly.
The position of Young Master carried weight, but only on paper. In practice, it was already eroding.
From the memories, he pieced it together easily.
His elder cousin, Lin Qiming, had been circling this position for years.
Ambitious.
Jealous.
Politically sharp.
Where Lin Xuan had failed in cultivation, Lin Qiming had succeeded—steadily, visibly. Where Lin Xuan withdrew, Lin Qiming advanced, taking responsibility, building influence among elders and guards alike.
And behind him stood his father.
Elder Lin Rong.
Foundation Establishment Realm — Peak.
A conservative man. Calculating. Traditional.
To Lin Rong, Lin Xuan represented wasted resources and unnecessary risk. He had pushed—quietly but persistently—for reductions in Lin Xuan's allocation, for reassessment of succession, for "efficiency."
Efficiency, meaning his own son.
He wants me removed, Lin Xuan thought plainly. Not out of hatred. Out of convenience.
His own father had resisted.
For now.
But resistance had limits.
Lin Xuan's steps slowed slightly as he passed beneath an old stone archway.
From the memories, the timing became clear.
Lin Qiming had broken through to Foundation Establishment Realm (Early Stage) just days after the last monthly clan meeting.
The next one was approaching.
Three to four weeks.
That was how long his father could continue to block the pressure before being forced into concessions.
Three to four weeks, Lin Xuan repeated internally.
Not long.
But not nothing.
He reached the main gate.
The guards stepped aside automatically, opening the heavy doors.
And then—
He stepped out.
The city spread before him.
Wide stone streets, layered with foot traffic. Vendors shouting prices. Cultivators in loose robes passing mortals without a glance. Carriages bearing clan insignia rolling past food stalls and weapon shops alike.
Lin Xuan paused.
This was his first clear look at the city with his own eyes.
"Yunqing City," he murmured softly.
The capital of Yunqing Region, a fertile territory overseen by the Lin Clan for generations.
One region among many in the Outer Domains—lands dominated not by great sects, but by clans, kingdoms, and rising powers.
Beyond it lay the wider world:
The Central Plains, where sects ruled and geniuses clashed
The Forbidden Lands, sealed ruins and ancient calamities
The Demonic Territories, lawless zones where strength alone dictated survival
Lin Xuan inhaled.
So this is where I start.
He began walking.
As he moved through the streets, his gaze sharpened.
Activate… All-Seeing Insight.
The world subtly changed.
Information layered itself over reality—not overwhelming, not intrusive. Simply… present.
A passing guard:
Name: Chen Wu
Age: 28
Realm: Body Forging (Late)
Potential: White
Emotional State: Fatigued
Insight: Working double shifts to pay off gambling debt
A shopkeeper arranging herbs:
Name: Liu An
Age: 41
Realm: Mortal
Potential: Blue
Emotional State: Anxious
Insight: Son failed sect entrance exam; considering mercenary work
Lin Xuan walked on, quietly observing.
The city was full of stories—most unremarkable, some quietly tragic.
Potential ratings caught his attention.
Black.White.Blue.
Occasionally blue appeared among mortals and low cultivators—rare, but not unheard of.
Then—
His steps slowed slightly.
Two figures stood near a weapon stall at a crossroads ahead. Their auras were restrained, movements casual, but their bodies carried the unmistakable signs of long combat experience.
He let the skill linger.
Potential: Purple
Realm: Foundation Establishment (Mid)
Emotional State: Calm, Alert
Insight: Veteran mercenary; recently returned from border suppression
The second man beside him bore similar markings.
Another purple.
Lin Xuan's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
Strong mercenaries.
Not geniuses paraded by sects. Not chosen heirs of great clans.
But survivors—men who had clawed their way upward through danger and bloodshed.
So purple potential exists, Lin Xuan noted internally.But it's rare. And it doesn't announce itself.
He scanned the surrounding crowd once more.
No flashes beyond that.
Nothing higher.
No presence that made the air feel heavier or the crowd subtly shift around it.
That felt… right.
Lin Xuan frowned faintly.
Purple isn't the ceiling, he realized. It can't be.
The system wouldn't structure something so neatly if there wasn't another tier beyond it—one rarer, harder to notice, perhaps even impossible to identify without context.
Whatever lay above purple, it clearly wasn't something one stumbled across casually in a regional capital.
Lin Xuan exhaled quietly and continued walking.
As he did, a question surfaced.
"System," he asked inwardly, "what exactly does potential represent?"
The response came smoothly.
[Potential represents an individual's possible future growth ceiling, as well as their alignment with fortune, opportunity, and survival probability.]
"And the grades?" Lin Xuan pressed.
A brief pause—then clarity.
[Potential Grades Explained:]
Black: Fate damaged or collapsing; high mortality, limited future
White: Ordinary; may reach Qi Condensation or peak Foundation at best
Blue: Above average; Foundation to Core Formation possible with luck
Purple: Rare; Nascent Soul and above possible, high survivability
Red/Gold: Heaven-favored; immense fortune and catastrophic growth potential[Note: Red/Gold appearances are exceedingly rare.]
Lin Xuan absorbed the information in silence.
Good, he thought. Clear limits. Clear stakes.
He deactivated the skill.
Eventually, the streets widened.
A massive structure rose ahead.
Balanced architecture. Neither ostentatious nor plain. Stone and jade interwoven, with a sigil carved above the entrance.
A scale.
Perfectly level.
Heavenly Balance Trading Association.
Lin Xuan stopped before the doors.
No one looked at him twice.
No whispers.
No recognition.
Good.
Unknown is better than infamous.
He adjusted his sleeves once, expression calm.
Then stepped inside.
And the doors closed behind him.