With a yawn he barely bothered to hide, Lin Mo Chen watched the tedious ceremony. Leaning against a red wooden pillar, his half-lidded eyes gave him an air of monumental laziness, a stark contrast to the tension vibrating through the Lin Clan's training courtyard. Around him, youths his age stood with clenched fists and pale faces.
The ritual was simple. A middle-aged deacon, his expression as rigid as the stone stele beside him, called out a name. The chosen youth would step forward, place a hand on the black monolith, and channel their meager power into it. The stele would glow, revealing their cultivation level.
One month… Lin Mo Chen thought with a trace of irony. One month since he had opened his eyes in this body, in a world straight out of the novels he used to read. The initial euphoria of transmigrating into a cultivation world had faded as quickly as morning dew when faced with harsh reality.
He wasn't the son of a patriarch, nor the last survivor of a destroyed clan. He was Lin Mo Chen, an ordinary member of a side branch, with living parents and a life devoid of drama. To his misfortune, he was nothing more than a background character.
But that wasn't what troubled him most. Since arriving in this world, there was one thing he kept hearing over and over again.
Just as he was lost in thought, the middle-aged man's voice rang out:
"Lin Xuan!"
The atmosphere in the courtyard shifted. The louder noises were replaced by a wave of murmurs and stifled laughter. Some gazes were filled with disdain, others with condescending pity.
A young man in simple blue robes walked calmly toward the stele, either unaware of—or perhaps used to—the reactions he provoked. A faint, self-deprecating smile lingered on his face, as if he himself were the first to mock his own existence.
He stopped before the stele, raised a hand, and placed it against the cold surface. He closed his eyes for a moment. A nearly imperceptible glow ran through the monolith—so faint that some thought it had failed—before words slowly appeared upon its surface in a dim light.
The deacon looked at the result. His once indifferent face now showed clear disappointment, almost disdain. In a monotone voice, he announced it for all to hear:
"Lin Xuan, Ling Qi, Third Stage! Rank: Low."
The moment his voice faded, a wave of venomous whispers and poorly concealed laughter spread across the courtyard like a plague.
"What a disgrace! To bring shame upon the Lin family like this!" hissed a young disciple in plain robes.
"How laughable," another sneered, feigning astonishment. "To think that the once peerless genius of Yunshan City would fall so low in just two years!"
A third, with an air of false wisdom, added solemnly, "Perhaps his talent defied the heavens. It seems he has suffered heavenly retribution."
The poison in their words grew sharper.
"Bah," someone spat from the crowd, making no effort to hide his disdain. "If his father weren't the clan leader, this kind of trash would have been cast out long ago. How could he still have the face to remain here?"
The laughter and ridicule, once restrained, now rang out openly and cruelly, rising from every corner of the courtyard like a chorus of contempt aimed squarely at the young man in blue.
Lin Xuan slowly lifted his gaze from the ground. The self-deprecating smile he had worn moments ago had vanished, replaced by a deep bitterness that hardened his features. His eyes, unfocused and distant, seemed lost within an unspoken question—a silent, aching "why?" that no one else could hear.
From where he stood, Lin Mo Chen watched the entire spectacle with a trace of discomfort. Just moments ago, the atmosphere had been tense but ordinary. Now, without warning, everyone was behaving like arrogant fools in some third-rate drama.
"Must be the protagonist's aura kicking in," he thought to himself, a faint chill running down his spine.
And why would he think that? Simple. Because he knew the story behind the clan's laughingstock. That young man—Lin Xuan—was no nobody.
He had once been the most dazzling prodigy the Lin family had seen in generations. He began cultivating at the age of four. By nine, he had reached the ninth and final stage of the Ling Qi realm. And at twelve, he shattered all expectations, condensing his first spiritual ring and becoming the youngest Ling Zhe in the entire history of Yunshan City.
And now… now he was the butt of every joke, reduced to a shadow of his former self. The genius had become trash. It was the perfect setup for a Xianxia protagonist.
Amid the storm of mockery, Lin Xuan quietly returned to the edge of the group. His back remained straight, his solitary figure completely out of place in the noisy, hostile crowd—like a lone rock standing firm in the middle of a raging river.
No one stepped aside for him, yet no one dared block his path either. People simply shifted away, his presence creating an awkward void around him.
The middle-aged deacon's voice rang out once more, cutting through the final echoes of malicious laughter.
"Lin Yan!"
Like a lively little lark, a girl of no more than fourteen darted out from the crowd. The moment she stepped onto the platform, the entire courtyard fell silent.
In Lin Mo Chen's eyes, she wasn't the legendary "jade beauty" often described in tales, yet her charm was undeniable. Her small, youthful face still carried traces of baby fat, and the innocence shining in her large, bright eyes instantly drew everyone's attention.
With a determination that contrasted sharply with her delicate appearance, she placed her hand against the stone stele and shut her eyes tightly.
Unlike Lin Xuan's faint glow, the monolith erupted with a brilliant white radiance that illuminated the entire courtyard, forcing several onlookers to squint.
When it faded, the middle-aged man stared at the result with rare, genuine satisfaction. His usual indifference was gone. Clearing his throat, he announced in a loud, resounding voice filled with pride:
"Lin Yan, Ling Qi, Seventh Stage! Rank: High!"
A collective gasp swept through the crowd, immediately followed by an explosion of excited exclamations and praise from all directions.
"Incredible! Seventh Stage Ling Qi at her age!"
"Seventh Stage Ling Qi! I bet she'll become a Ling Zhe in no time!"
"She truly lives up to her reputation as one of the Lin Clan's promising young talents."
The atmosphere of disdain from moments before vanished completely, replaced by admiration and celebration.
Hearing the cascade of praise, little Lin Yan puffed out her nonexistent chest, unable to hide her childish pride. Vanity—such a simple temptation, yet one so many fall into without resistance...
As she stepped down from the platform and was quickly surrounded by other youths congratulating her, Lin Mo Chen—ever alert for drama—caught a subtle exchange. For just an instant, Lin Yan's gaze met Lin Xuan's.
It was brief, but unmistakable. A flicker of something complicated—traces of past affection mixed with present distance.
Almost immediately, she looked away, as if that small gesture alone drew a clear line between their worlds. Watching this, Lin Xuan released a nearly inaudible sigh, a quiet cloud of resignation that faded into the air.
Lin Mo Chen would have gladly savored more of this delicious protagonist-level drama, but the deacon's monotone voice cut in, shattering the moment.
"Lin Mo Chen!"
With visible reluctance, he stood and walked toward the stele. Just as expected, the crowd that had been buzzing with excitement moments ago now watched in silence.
Some even turned their backs entirely, resuming their conversations as if he didn't exist.
He already knew how this would go. His place as an insignificant member of a branch family couldn't have been clearer.
He placed his hand on the cold stone. A faint glow—slightly stronger than Lin Xuan's—flickered briefly before fading. The deacon announced without the slightest interest:
"Lin Mo Chen, Ling Qi, Fourth Stage. Rank: Medium."
A sigh slipped from Lin Mo Chen as he stepped down. This was the other source of his constant irritation. This damn body had utterly mediocre talent.
Grumbling inwardly, he didn't notice he had drifted slightly off his path.
When he looked up, he nearly collided with someone.
Right in front of him, Lin Xuan was speaking in a self-deprecating tone to a young girl who, this time, perfectly fit the description of a jade beauty.
Her skin was like snow, her eyes like autumn lakes, and her very presence radiated a gentle serenity that stood in stark contrast to Lin Xuan's bitterness. She spoke softly, offering him comfort with genuine warmth.
Sensing the sudden closeness, the girl lifted her gaze, her clear eyes meeting Lin Mo Chen's.
Frozen under their attention, Lin Mo Chen could only do one thing—offer a sincere, slightly awkward smile toward the "protagonist."
As surprise and curiosity flickered across Lin Xuan's face, a single thought rang loud and clear in Lin Mo Chen's mind:
"This… may become troublesome."