Blood-Stained Testament

Huang Lie ran with all his might, his breath ragged, his feet stumbling over roots and rocks.

His mind screamed only one thought:

"I must survive—I cannot die! I don't want to die!"

Fear drove him forward, heedless of anything in his path.

Somewhere not far away, a boy lay hidden behind a bush, his small body covered in dirt and mud.

Lin Shu.

His hands tightly gripped his bow, an arrow nocked and ready.

The moment he heard the clash of swords, he had already begun preparing to flee.

Even the red-eyed wolf had run away in fear—how could he, a mere child, stay?

But then, through the trees, a figure emerged.

A man.

Running desperately, fleeing from the explosion.

Lin Shu's sharp eyes took in every detail.

A robe. Not something a commoner would wear.

No weapons.

A face twisted in terror. The look of someone who had seen death itself.

"Not a cultivator."

That meant…

"A merchant? A noble? Someone with enough wealth to be worth killing."

Then it struck him—

The man was running straight toward him.

And in his panicked grip, he clutched a bag.

"That bag… it might have silver."

Lin Shu didn't hesitate.

Not even for a second.

He stepped out of the bush, his bow raised, arrow already drawn.

Huang Lie barely had time to react—

His body jerked to a stop, eyes widening in shock.

A small figure, covered in filth, standing in the moonlight.

Then—

Thwack!

An arrow buried itself deep into his neck.

Huang Lie stumbled, his body wracked with a pain he had never known before.

His hands shot up to his neck, trying to stop the gushing blood, but it was useless.

He tried to scream—only gurgling sounds came out.

His legs trembled, struggling to keep him standing.

Lin Shu didn't hesitate.

Thwack!

His next arrow pierced Huang Lie's leg.

A sharp jolt of agony shot through him—his muscles gave out.

He collapsed to his knees.

His vision blurred. His strength faded faster than he could comprehend.

His mind was breaking.

He tried to think, to fight, to understand what was happening—

But his body was draining.

The blood loss made it impossible to resist.

Lin Shu didn't waste a single second.

He drew his knife, rushed forward—

And slashed the man's throat.

A fresh spray of hot blood splattered across Lin Shu's face.

But this wasn't his first time.

The man collapsed, his body twitching, blood pooling around him.

Tears glistened in his dying eyes.

But that wasn't enough.

Lin Shu stabbed him.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Only when he was certain the man was dead did he step back, breathing heavily.

His gaze fell on the bag.

He grabbed it—then froze.

His eyes caught something else.

A symbol on the man's robe.

"Huang Clan."

Lin Shu's blood ran cold.

A clan.

That meant this man belonged to a family of cultivators.

Or at the very least, worked for them.

This was bad.

This was worse than bad.

Lin Shu never wanted to mess with wealthy mortals—let alone cultivators.

He didn't even check what was inside the bag.

He just ran.

Ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

---

After a while, he reached a stream near the town.

He scrubbed his skin raw, washing away the blood.

Then, without stopping, he rushed back to his house.

There, he gathered everything he could carry.

And left.

He didn't care where.

Anywhere far from the town.

Far from the Huang Clan.

He ran until he couldn't anymore.

He stopped only when his body screamed in exhaustion.

His breath was ragged. His hands trembled.

But his mind was clear.

"It's not safe anymore."

"I can't stay there."

"I need to run."

Lin Shu gripped the stolen bag tighter.

A cold wind brushed against him.

He didn't look back.

He just kept moving forward.

After taking a short rest, Lin Shu picked up his things and kept moving.

He needed to find shelter for the night—a place to process everything that had happened.

After wandering for some time, he discovered a small cave, hidden deep beneath overgrown plants.

Cautiously, he checked for any signs of animals inside.

Once he was certain it was safe, he stepped in, placing his knife and bow beside him—ready to strike if anything, human or beast, tried to ambush him.

Without any hesitation, he opened the bag he had just killed for.

And what he saw made him smile.

Gold coins.

Actual gold coins.

His heart pounded with excitement.

He didn't know their exact number yet, but he didn't need to—gold was something he never even dreamed of owning.

One gold coin was worth a hundred silver coins.

One silver coin was worth a hundred copper coins.

By mortal standards, he was rich.

Of course, he had heard that cultivators used gold as carelessly as he used copper. Some clans even had thousands of gold coins.

But that didn't matter.

For someone like him, this was everything.

Aside from the gold, he also found letters, silver coins, and other things that seemed useless to him.

Still, he didn't throw anything away—he could always sell them later.

After counting the money, he found he had:

13 gold coins

20 silver coins

His smile widened.

"Maybe now… I can find out how someone becomes a cultivator."

Feeling satisfied with his newfound wealth, Lin Shu leaned back against the cave wall.

And then—

The cave floor suddenly crumbled beneath him.

His body lurched forward, nearly falling into the darkness.

"What the—?!"

His heart pounded as he steadied himself.

He carefully peeked inside—but saw nothing. The darkness was too deep.

Thinking quickly, he grabbed the fire he had made earlier and crafted a simple torch.

The dim flame illuminated a small passage—just wide enough for an adult to crawl through.

Lin Shu hesitated.

Should he go in?

Caution overrode curiosity. He picked up several rocks and threw them inside, waiting each time to see if anything moved.

Silence.

Again.

Silence.

After repeating the process several times, he finally steeled himself and entered.

The air was stale and heavy, and as he moved deeper, the dim light revealed something that made him pause.

A skeleton.

Bones long dried and brittle, lying lifelessly against the passage wall.

Beside it, a small diary and a bag.

Lin Shu's eyes flickered with interest.

He ignored the diary for now and instead reached for the bag.

Carefully, he opened it.

Immediately, a horrid stench struck his nose.

He grimaced.

Inside, he found pills, small jars filled with unknown substances, and decayed remnants of something long spoiled.

He didn't dare touch or open them—whatever they once were, they had rotted beyond recognition.

But one thing was certain…

Whoever this skeleton belonged to, they weren't an ordinary person.

After picking up the bag, Lin Shu immediately tossed it away to keep the stench from overwhelming him.

Taking a deep breath, he looked inside and noticed a small book.

The title read:

"Ivory Dominion."

He didn't open it yet.

His curiosity was focused elsewhere.

His gaze fell on the diary near the skeleton.

Stepping closer, he examined the remains.

The clothes were torn—whether from battle, time, or the environment, he couldn't say.

But he didn't care.

What mattered was the diary.

Without hesitation, he picked it up and started reading.

The diary read:

"My name is Jiang Jian. I am an elder of the Jiang Clan, known for our expertise in both medicine and, most of all, poison. The clan wielded poison as its greatest weapon, yet I never practiced the poison arts myself. I was merely a healer, just as my wife, Jiang Rui, was. Together, we spent our lives within that clan, never imagining it would one day become our cage.

Everything changed the day my son's talent was discovered. His aptitude was ranked at level five—something our clan had not seen in over a century. This should have been a joyous occasion, a cause for celebration, but to the elders and the clan patriarch, it was a threat.

The patriarch's own son had only a rank-three talent. That alone was enough for him to see my child as a danger to his rule and his children's future. The elders, ever loyal to their interests, shared his concerns. So while they smiled in front of us, they plotted behind the scenes.

They tried to kill my son, disguising their treachery as an assassination attempt by a rival clan. Not only that, but they spread word of his talent far and wide, hoping our enemies would do their dirty work for them.

We survived the first few attempts, but then—

They poisoned my wife and son.

It seems the patriarch grew impatient and took matters into his own hands. The poison they used was unlike anything I had ever seen. It burrowed into the bones, bringing pain beyond imagination. It didn't kill swiftly—it tortured. As if punishing us for daring to birth a child more gifted than theirs.

I fought desperately to slow its effects on my wife, but for my son... there was nothing I could do. The poison ravaged him mercilessly, attacking his organs before he even had a chance to fight back. In those moments, I created a martial art—one that might have cured them both. But before I could test it, before I could even hope—

My son died.

That day shattered me. But I didn't tell my wife. I couldn't. I knew she would take her own life if she learned the truth. She was all I had left, and I was too weak to let go.

I knew we couldn't stay. If we did, she would die next. But even in exile, we were hunted. I had expected assassination attempts, but the reality was worse—the clan practically invited outsiders to eliminate us. They let security slip, leaving us exposed, as if urging other clans to strike.

We fled.

And still, they found us.

My wife died in that escape. I barely survived, but they left me poisoned—dying as I write these words.

I have nothing left but the martial art I created and a low ranked cultivation technique since i had to abandon everything to escape. It is incomplete. I doubt it could cure any poison since i made it specifically for the one that killed my family, but it is all I have to offer.

To whoever finds this diary—whether you are a cultivator or not—

If you ever get the chance to kill even a single member of the Jiang Clan… do it.

Make them feel what they made my family feel. I have no way to force you, no way to bind us by a pact, but if you ever have the opportunity—

Do not let them go unpunished."

The writing ended there. The ink had faded, but the hatred in those words remained strong.