From Lin Mo Chen's point of view, the situation was catastrophic.
If it were up to him, he would have spent his entire second life without exchanging a single word with Lin Xuan.
Because any transmigrator with even the slightest bit of common sense knew that getting involved with the protagonist was a terrible idea, whether by helping him, offending him, or even lingering near him for too long. The safest way to survive was simple: stay completely out of his story.
And yet, here he was, standing less than half a step away from him, a stupid smile frozen on his face while the jade beauty stared at him as though he had just interrupted a sacred moment.
He could not simply ignore him and turn around. That would be rude. And there was nothing, absolutely nothing worse in a cultivation world than ending up on a protagonist's blacklist. Those people had the memory of a vengeful elephant and the luck of the Celestial Emperor.
With that thought pounding against his skull, Lin Mo Chen did the only sensible thing. He nodded calmly or, at the very least, managed to make it look perfectly natural. It was a casual greeting, the kind one would offer any fellow clan member, not the center of the world standing before him.
"Sorry, I almost bumped into you," he said in a natural and relaxed voice, as though he did not care in the slightest.
Upon hearing him, Lin Xuan's eyes widened slightly. Surprise crossed his face for an instant, replacing the bitterness. After a pause that seemed eternal to Lin Mo Chen, he answered.
"…It's fine," Lin Xuan said in a low but steady voice.
As he listened to the response, Lin Mo Chen felt cold sweat beginning to gather along his back. And it was not because of the young protagonist, but because of the girl standing beside him.
The jade beauty had not spoken a single word, but her gaze was piercing. It was not the curious gaze of a fourteen-year-old girl. With instinctive certainty, Lin Mo Chen felt that the one observing him was not a young girl, but a predator.
However, that sensation lasted only a second. After confirming that his attitude toward Lin Xuan had been kind and sincere, the pressure within her gaze dispersed like mist beneath the sun. The girl simply turned her attention back toward Lin Xuan with the same gentleness as before.
Letting out an internal sigh that nearly emptied his lungs, Lin Mo Chen casually bid farewell to both of them.
"See you around."
With his palms drenched in sweat and his heart pounding against his chest like a war drum, he turned around and walked away. He had not taken even three steps when he heard the young woman's sweet voice behind him.
"Who was that, Brother Xuan? Do you know him?"
Lin Xuan's response came in a low voice, carrying a trace of confusion.
"No. He seems to belong to one of the secondary branch families."
Lin Mo Chen did not turn around. He continued walking until he reached his red wooden pillar and leaned against it once again. Only this time, none of his former laziness remained.
That went better than I expected, he thought, trying to convince himself that the matter had ended there.
Time passed without any further incidents. Lin Mo Chen recovered some of his laziness and focused on watching the procession of disciples continue. One after another, they climbed onto the platform, the stele glowed with mediocre intensity, and the deacon announced results that the crowd immediately forgot.
Until a certain name was called.
"Lin Yao'er!"
Lin Mo Chen narrowed his eyes. The reason was obvious. He watched as the young woman who had been standing beside Lin Xuan separated from him and slowly approached the stele.
The moment her name was announced, the crowd fell into absolute silence. Every gaze turned toward her.
She wore a simple white dress that fell like a cascade of silk, without a single unnecessary ornament. And once again, Lin Mo Chen knew, with the certainty of an experienced reader, that this young woman unquestionably deserved the title of a jade beauty capable of toppling nations in the future.
With innate elegance, she placed her hand against the stele and closed her eyes.
The reaction was immediate and violent. The stele did not merely glow: it erupted with pure white light, nearly blinding and far more intense than Lin Yan's. When the radiance weakened, the words engraved upon the monument were clearly revealed before everyone:
"Ling Qi, ninth level. Rank: High."
The square sank into profound silence. A silence of absolute astonishment.
"…She really reached the ninth level. How terrifying! Without a doubt, Young Miss Yao'er has become the youngest among the clan's highest-ranked disciples!"
After those words, all restraint disappeared. Several teenagers could not help but whistle, others applauded enthusiastically, and every gaze filled with respect and admiration bordering on reverence.
There was only one person in the entire courtyard who was not surprised. Lin Mo Chen frowned.
He had no proof, only a hunch. But he was certain that this was not the true cultivation level of the young woman named Lin Yao'er.
He watched as the girl thanked the deacon with a slight bow and clearly practiced modesty. The man had congratulated her with a broad smile, something he had not done for anyone else.
"Excellent, Yao'er! At this rate, you'll become a Ling Zhe before you turn fourteen! You'll be the second-youngest person to achieve it in the entire history of Yunshan City!"
Lin Mo Chen knew perfectly well who had been the first to accomplish it. He did not need to look toward the corner where the young man in blue robes stood to know.
Accepting the praise with a calm smile, the young woman descended from the platform and, without hesitation, walked directly toward the blue-clad youth.
Lin Mo Chen, for his part, deliberately turned his gaze away and fixed it upon a shapeless cloud in the sky.
Although he would have liked to continue watching, he knew from experience, both from his previous life and this one, that excessive curiosity was nearly as dangerous as natural stupidity. And getting too close to those two was equivalent to tempting fate.
After everything that had happened, the ceremony came to an end without anything else worth mentioning. The sun was already beginning to disappear behind the curved rooftops of the Lin Clan, dyeing the courtyard in a lazy shade of orange.
Lin Mo Chen walked leisurely with his hands hidden inside his sleeves, following the stone path that led away from the main residence. His home was not located within the central courtyards where the elders and members of the main family lived, but in one of the outermost areas near the eastern wall.
He belonged to a secondary branch, but his father had at least managed to accomplish something respectable a few years earlier.
His father had reached the ninth level of Yī Huán · Ling Zhe. That alone had been enough to pleasantly surprise the main family. A Ling Zhe at the peak of the First Ring was valuable enough for them to allow his small family to move within the walls of the main residence.
As he thought about it, his boots softly striking the cold stone slabs, the memory of his arrival in this world resurfaced within his mind with irritating clarity.
He was on the Huan Ling Continent, and the first thing that had caught his attention, beyond the strange clothing and the headache caused by another person's memories, was that everything in this world revolved around Spiritual Rings.
Nor was it some obscure path reserved for a handful of chosen individuals. After countless generations devoted to perfecting and exploring it, the cultivation of Spiritual Rings had become practically universal. From the greatest sects to the smallest villages, everyone understood their importance.
Over time, what had once been a mystery became something fundamental, woven into everyday life itself. On the Huan Ling Continent, few things mattered more than the birth of a Spiritual Ring.
As the number of rings a cultivator could condense increased, so too did the methods used to train and develop them. Some were superior to others, and the difference between them could determine a person's fate.
After countless years of study and comparison, the cultivation techniques of the Huan Ling Continent were eventually classified into four levels: Fan Ji, Ling Ji, Xuan Ji, and Zhen Ji.
Each of those levels was further divided into three grades: low, middle, and high.
Under normal circumstances, a higher-level technique allowed its user to absorb and refine Huan Qi more efficiently, while also using it to nourish their Spiritual Rings at a speed that an inferior technique could scarcely match. For that reason, someone practicing a low-grade Ling Ji technique would usually possess a stronger foundation than someone using a high-grade Fan Ji technique.
However, the rank of a technique was not the only thing that mattered.
Spiritual Rings were not merely containers for Huan Qi. Each possessed a different nature, and any technique used to cultivate them needed to resonate with it. A powerful technique that was incompatible with its user's rings could become cumbersome, unstable, or even inferior to a lower-level technique that suited them perfectly.
Because of that, determining a cultivator's true strength was not as simple as counting their rings or knowing the rank of the technique they practiced.
The number of rings established the foundation of a cultivator's power, while the quality of their technique determined how much of that power they could utilize. Finally, the resonance between the two decided whether they could unleash their full potential.
Under equal conditions, the person with more rings would possess an obvious advantage. Against an opponent at the same level, whoever cultivated the superior technique would normally emerge victorious.
But nothing on the Huan Ling Continent was absolute.
Someone with fewer rings could still defeat an opponent above their level if they possessed a sufficiently powerful technique or a much deeper resonance. The greater the difference in cultivation, however, the more difficult it became to overcome it through those advantages alone.
Obtaining a powerful technique was an entirely different matter.
Among ordinary cultivators, Fan Ji techniques were the norm. They could be found at auctions, minor academies, and even within families of little influence. Although their effects were limited, they were sufficient for those who merely aspired to take their first steps upon the path of cultivation.
Reaching the Ling Ji level already required considerable fortune or powerful backing. Techniques of that rank were normally controlled by established clans and passed down only to their descendants or to members who had demonstrated sufficient talent and loyalty. For someone without a notable background or connections, obtaining one could completely change their fate.
Although the Lin Family possessed several Ling Ji techniques, none of them were intended for ordinary members of a secondary branch like him. With his current position, merely approaching the pavilion where they were stored would probably be enough for some elder to kick him out.
Above them were Xuan Ji techniques, treasures that rarely left the vaults of great sects or academies. Even within those organizations, only outstanding disciples, elders, or figures who had accumulated sufficient merit possessed the right to practice them. The appearance of such a technique outside a sect would be enough to provoke conflicts between entire clans.
As for obtaining one by chance, Lin Mo Chen was not so optimistic. If the heavens truly intended to give him something, they had already had an entire month to activate his system.
As for Zhen Ji techniques, their existence belonged more to legends than to the world of men.
For generations, stories had circulated about cultivators capable of reaching unimaginable heights because of them, but no one could say how many of those stories were true. For most people, finding a Zhen Ji technique was no different from waiting for a treasure to descend directly from the heavens.
Even so, the rank of a technique could not be said to completely determine the future of the person practicing it.
From time to time, individuals were born with talent so extraordinary that the ordinary rules seemed not to apply to them. Thanks to an innate understanding of Huan Qi and an abnormal degree of resonance, they could draw results from a technique far beyond what its level suggested, or even walk paths that no master had ever taught them.
Such cases were almost nonexistent.
Only the oldest legends spoke of cultivators capable of rising without a powerful inheritance behind them, relying solely upon talent that defied all logic.
For an ordinary person, hoping to become one of them was not ambition.
It was simply a particularly elegant way of deceiving oneself.
I hope nothing strange happens. I just want to live and cultivate peacefully, Lin Mo Chen thought as he kicked a small stone along the path.
As he advanced down the side path leading toward his courtyard, a very faint sound emerged from the surrounding forest.
At first, he was startled. The sound had appeared so suddenly amid the chirping of crickets that he nearly ran back toward the main courtyard. However, he stopped. After listening more carefully, he realized that it was not a growl. It sounded more like quiet humming, a broken melody devoid of rhythm.
Confused and, unfortunately for him, far too curious, Lin Mo Chen glanced toward both ends of the empty path before entering the trees with as much caution as he could gather, pushing the branches aside with his sleeve to avoid making any noise.
After walking for a while and following the sound, he finally distinguished something in the distance.
A young man dressed in blue rested lazily upon the grass, his back leaning against the thick trunk of a tree. One knee was raised, and his head was tilted slightly downward.
Lin Mo Chen could see him murmuring something to himself as he gazed at a silver ring resting in his palm with a trace of nostalgia. He spun it between his fingers again and again, as though searching for some kind of answer.
To Lin Mo Chen's surprise or, rather, to his complete lack of surprise, the young man was Lin Xuan.
Instinctively, he crouched behind a bush. He barely managed to catch a fragment of Lin Xuan's murmuring, something related to "…a promise…" and "…two years…," before Lin Xuan suddenly raised his head, as though he had sensed a subtle change in the air.
"Is someone there?" he called out. His voice was no longer the same low, defeated voice he had used during the ceremony; this time, it sounded firm and alert.
Believing that he had been discovered, Lin Mo Chen remained completely still. He pressed himself as closely as possible against the damp earth and held his breath, while his heart pounded against his ribs so violently that he was certain it could be heard from beneath the tree.
Several seconds passed, although to him they felt like hours. Lin Xuan narrowed his eyes and swept his gaze through the darkness between the trees.
"Perhaps it was only my imagination," he finally murmured to himself as he lowered his gaze back toward the silver ring, revealing the same bitter expression as before.
That was all the signal Lin Mo Chen needed. He did not wait another second. He crawled backward, inch by inch, moving with as much silence and slowness as he could manage. He did not dare rise to his feet until the trees had completely concealed him and the humming had once again become a distant echo.
Once he was safely out of range, he sprang to his feet and ran toward his home without looking back, cold sweat soaking his back.
"I definitely… need to stay away from him," Lin Mo Chen swore as he quickened his pace.