Three years ago, at fifteen, he reached Foundation Establishment. He was a once-in-a-century genius in Qingyun City. An elder of the Xuanming Sect had personally poured him wine and promised him direct entry into the inner sect. If not for that strange beast tide, if not for saving the girl who fell off the cliff...
He staggered to his feet and pulled a broken sword from the pool of blood. The crowd parted as if avoiding a plague. Their eyes held pity and mockery, but more than anything, glee. Watching a genius they once looked up to sink into the mire was the kind of thing that most satisfied the audience’s darkest instincts.
Rain began to fall, washing the blood from the martial arts arena but doing nothing to dispel the cruelty hanging in the air.
Lin Feng dragged himself toward the mass grave outside the city. Three years ago, he had crawled back from the abyss with his cultivation utterly crippled. The Lin family fell into decline soon after, and his parents died in sorrow. Now he could barely afford to stay in the dilapidated temple outside the city. The temple keeper had given him a final warning that morning: if he didn’t pay the incense money, his few shabby belongings would be thrown out tomorrow.
