Chapter 3 Ashes Of Reverence

Chapter 3

The Eastern Wing had never been this quiet.

Faint traces of incense still clung to the old wooden beams, relics of when disciples once lit them in Lin Feng's honor. Now, that same air tasted dry and abandoned. The corridors echoed not with the laughter of servants, but with the distant celebrations from the Awakening Courtyard. As though the life of Cloudveil Peak had shifted its heart-and left this place to rot.

Lin Feng stepped through the familiar halls. His footsteps no longer drew bows or hurried greetings. He passed a young servant girl who once fetched his tea every morning with a cheerful smile. She lowered her gaze as he approached.

Then turned her back to him.

Lin Feng's pace didn't falter, but something in his chest did. He entered his quarters, pushed open the wooden doors, and found emptiness waiting.

The incense stand had been removed. The armchair his mother once sat in while telling him bedtime stories was gone. Not a single servant remained.

Only silence.

His fingers trailed the edge of a table as he walked inside. Dust clung to his fingertips. The air felt heavier than usual-as if the mansion itself mourned something lost.

Then came a sound.

A soft knock, uncertain and hesitant. The door creaked open before Lin Feng could respond.

An old man stepped in, clothed in plain servant robes-patched at the hem, worn from long service. His name was Uncle Ming, one of the oldest attendants of the Lin Clan. A loyal servant who had served Lin Feng since he could walk.

"My young master..." Uncle Ming bowed deeply.

Lin Feng turned, surprised. "Uncle Ming. You're still here?"

The old man gave a pained smile, his back slightly hunched. "The others... they have been reassigned. Lord Fenglong took most to the Heaven Division. Even the new recruits now serve Lin Kun."

"I see." Lin Feng turned his gaze to the window, watching petals fall from a nearby peach blossom tree.

Uncle Ming hesitated, then took a step forward.

"I requested to stay," he said. "They told me I was wasting my years. That loyalty to a failed heir was... sentimental."

His voice cracked, faint with weariness. Lin Feng remained silent.

Uncle Ming looked at his young master, studying the tired eyes that tried to hide the storm within. He thought back to the child who once trained with wooden swords under moonlight, who smiled every time he broke through a small technique.

The old man sighed inwardly.

Heaven is unjust.

"All these years, I've seen the winds change," Uncle Ming continued. "But wind never lasts. Stone remains."

Lin Feng's lips curled ever so slightly. A flicker of warmth pierced his loneliness.

"Then... stay, Uncle Ming," he said. "Even if only dust gathers in these halls, you are welcome to walk them."

Across the clan's upper chambers, the air burned with the aroma of rare spirit incense. Deep within the Council Hall, Elder Jian sat in stillness, before him a scroll depicting the Soul Stone's lineage across generations.

Lin Tianhai stood by the open balcony, hands behind his back.

"You saw it then," the Clan Chief said.

"I did."

"Nothing."

"Yes." Elder Jian's tone was unreadable. "The stone showed no reaction to Lin Feng."

Lin Tianhai closed his eyes for a moment. A gust of wind passed between them. It smelled of pine and ash.

"He was once our brightest flame," Tianhai murmured. "Now even the wind forgets to bow to him."

Elder Jian's gaze did not waver. "Then perhaps it is the wind that is blind."

Tianhai smiled bitterly.

"You have always been fond of riddles."

"No riddle, just observation," said Jian. "I have seen those who awaken with dragons fall like leaves. And I have seen men with no soul uproot entire clans with nothing but their will."

The Chief turned to him. "Are you saying the stone is wrong?"

"I am saying... the heavens are not always fair."

Lin Tianhai said nothing. Then, in a voice almost too soft to be heard:

"Will without talent is nothing."

Elder Jian raised an eyebrow.

"Yet talent without will is dust."

Back in his chamber, Lin Feng unwrapped the old scroll his father gave him. The Iron Body Forging Technique.

The parchment was rough, its edges browned by time. The characters were old-older than the current dynasty, older even than the Lin Clan itself. As he read, he felt his breath slow, his blood stir.

This is not cultivation through soul, he realized. It is cultivation through self.

The scroll spoke of enduring mountain winds, of tempering the flesh through pain, of shaping the bones into steel. Every line bled hardship, but also strength earned without favor.

Lin Feng looked at his hands.

They were not glowing with spiritual light. But they trembled with a new resolve.

The sun outside dimmed, dipping behind the mountain's edge. Shadows lengthened across his walls. As night settled, so did his purpose.

He stood.

And began.