At the break of dawn, the sky still painted in hues of deep lavender and pale rose, Song stood before the grand, moss-laced gates of the Forbidden Garden. Cold dew clung to his robe, soaking the hems as he waited in silence. The silence was thick, broken only by the occasional chirp of morning birds hidden in the dense mist curling around the garden walls. A faint breeze carried the earthy scent of crushed leaves and distant spirit herbs.
Wind arrived not long after, his usual sleepy grin in place, his robes rumpled as though he'd barely gotten out of bed. Still, his eyes held a sharp glint.
"I've thought it over," Wind said, stretching lazily. "You should focus on low-rank herbs for now. Your spiritual perception is unusually sharp it'd be a waste not to use it."
Song nodded, grateful. After the incident with Long Feng and Sin Feng, his nerves were still frayed. The quiet work of herb gathering seemed like a welcome reprieve from the suffocating presence of noble cultivators and their whims.
They ventured deeper into the Forbidden Garden over the next few days, combing through mossy glades, rocky crevices, and overgrown thickets. Song's talent quickly proved itself. While others struggled for hours to find a single healing herb, he could kneel for a moment, close his eyes, and sense the faint pulse of spiritual essence hidden beneath the soil. Sometimes he found rare strains others ignored slumbering under stones, tucked under roots, or disguised among weeds.
By the end of the first week, he'd gathered enough to earn a staggering 736 merit points an amount that, for most servants, would take months to accumulate. It was just enough to cancel the disciplinary order that had threatened to expel him.
Wind began calling him "big brother," half teasing, half reverent. Song tried to wave it off, but part of him felt proud he'd clawed his way out of disgrace. Still, something darker loomed in his thoughts.
No matter how much he worked, one problem remained: the Fire Immortal Technique. His progress had stalled at the third Overlord stage. Every attempt to circulate his energy deeper into his meridians was like pushing fire through stone. It wasn't exhaustion it was a wall. A dead end.
He finally confessed the issue to Wind, during a break under a twisted spirit pine.
"You've probably hit a cultivation block," Wind said, chewing on a dried fruit. "You need more internal accumulation to push through. That's where development stones come in. They're refined energy cores. One stone can carry you over a stage, maybe two if you're talented."
Song looked up. "How much do they cost?"
"For low-tier ones? About 200 merit points." Wind shrugged. "I'm picking one up today. Want me to grab one for you?"
Song hesitated. He didn't mention he was already at third Overlord. The speed of his advancement had always been unnatural. Admitting it felt like revealing something sacred, or dangerous. Instead, he simply nodded.
"Can I come with you?"
Wind grinned. "Sure. You'll like the market it's huge."
They left that afternoon for Dark Star City. The path curved through terraces and jade-arched bridges, flanked by waterfalls and mist-veiled cliffs. But as they neared the third district, Song's steps slowed.
The third slave market loomed ahead fenced squares filled with chained men, women, and children. Memories surged: the taste of blood, the weight of shackles, the auctioneer's voice barking prices like they were numbers carved into meat. Though he wore a servant's robe now, the chains still lingered in his mind.
He clenched his fists, jaw tightening.
"Let it go," Wind said quietly, sensing his shift. "One day, maybe. But not today."
They took a longer route, circling past the magistrate's tower. At last, the market unfolded before them.
It was enormous a layered expanse of pagoda-like buildings, each painted in distinct colors to mark their wares: crimson for weapons, sapphire for cultivation resources, gold for food and rare materials, emerald for artifacts. The development resources pagoda was dark silver, its entrance guarded by twin lion statues etched with runes.
Inside, the air was cool and filled with a faint hum of contained spiritual energy. Behind the counters stood elders in gray robes, their eyes glowing faintly as they monitored transactions.
The prices stunned Song. High-grade development stones sat in crystal cases, priced at 100,000 merit points a fortune for anyone below noble rank. Mid-grade stones were 10,000. Even the low-tier ones, visibly cracked and duller, were 100 points each.
Wind picked two low-tier stones, handing one to Song.
Song stared at the small, grayish crystal in his palm. It pulsed faintly, warm to the touch, like holding an ember. He bowed in thanks.
They spent another hour wandering. Song admired weapons forged from erund steel a rare alloy native to the White Cloud Continent, said to be light as a feather yet harder than obsidian. A dagger suitable for Overlord cultivators cost 3,000 points. Artifact shops sparkled like dreamscapes: a fan that could summon typhoons, a harp whose music unhinged the mind, seals that released a single Manifestation-tier strike.
Most items were well beyond reach, but Song didn't feel jealous. He was building his foundation stone by stone. He would get there.
They visited the magistrate's courtyard last. Rill was in the garden, tending to a plum blossom tree. She smiled when she saw them.
"I got you something," Song said, handing her a modest necklace a simple polished stone set in wood. "It's just a small gift. I'll get you something better later."
Rill blushed faintly, then scowled. "Fool. You should spend on gear, not trinkets."
But she kept the necklace anyway, fingers brushing the pendant as they spoke.
After bidding farewell, Song made his way home, clutching the development stone like it was a treasure. Night had fallen, but excitement kept him awake. He needed to break through.
Back in his small room, he lit a single incense stick, the scent grounding him. He sat cross-legged, the stone in his palm.
Wind's words echoed in his mind. "Let it guide you. Don't rush. Feel it unwind."
He focused.
At first, nothing.
Then heat. A tight knot of energy coiled at the stone's core. Slowly, deliberately, Song pulled at it. A single thread emerged, then another. Each one shimmered like a sunbeam, thick with vitality. He kept going—three threads, then five, then more. As the stone dimmed, a sharp pain struck his chest, familiar but gentler than before. His breath caught.
Then release.
Lightness flooded his limbs, washing away the stagnant weight. When he opened his eyes, he looked down.
A fourth stripe had appeared on the tattoo at the back of his hand. The mark of a fourth-stage Overlord.
He exhaled.
The barrier was gone.
For now.
Song had taken another step. The power flowing through his veins felt endless, like fire chasing wind. But far above, in the marble halls of the Moon Phoenix Clan, others watched. Sin Feng's gaze lingered. Long Feng's pride brooded.Song had climbed one rung higherBut in doing so, had he risen into their sights?