Red Inkstone, Clues of Rank 5 Inheritance!
It took him three tries to pry it open. Inside, two small pale stones, dull white with the size of a thumb, sat nestled like pebbles on the ground. He clutched them a moment, reluctant, before holding them out.
As they exchanged, he winced as if parting with the stones tore at more than just his pocket.
But when the vendor shoved two fresh fish into a straw basket and tossed it at him without a word, the man's expression broke. A fragile, flickering smile formed.
He backed away from the crowd, his step quickened, almost a skip, his sandals scraping the dust. And as he saw his children nearby, his pace kicked up dust as he hold the basket of two fishes like a priceless treasure.
Seeing the scene unfold, Yin San retracted his gaze and let out a hollow sigh. Without another glance, he strolled toward a nearby stall with indifference.
"How much for this inkstone?" He asked, pausing before a modest display. The stall was cramped and weathered, like its owner, an old man with snow-white hair and creases that looked carved by time.
At the sound of Yin San's youthful voice, the old man looked up, eyes narrowing with a flicker of surprise.
His eyes flutter for a moment, as though not expecting the person in front of him to be a customer.
Then, in a hoarse voice, he replied, "Three inkstones for one dust stone."
A faint, unreadable expression passed over his face. "It's rare these days... young folk showing interest in art and literature." His voice softened. "Wait here."
He stooped slowly, reaching beneath the counter. From a hidden crevice, he retrieved a red-colored inkstone, oddly vibrant despite its age. As it thudded softly onto the counter, a cloud of dust rise.
Yin San's eyes gleamed, just for an instance, but his face remained as placid as still water.
"Inkstones are meant to be black," the old man continued, patting the red stone with dry fingers as he wear an exaggerated smile, "but this one... it's a color of good fortune. The merchant I bought it from said it contain auspicious signs. For two dust stones, I'll throw this in with the others. Deal?"
Yin San stared at the stone, face tightening in thought. His fingers hovered near his pouch, then pulled back, then returned again in hesitant rhythm.
His hesitation was clearly displayed, and there was a sense of reluctant in his action as he fiddle with the pouch at his waist.
Inwardly, he sneered.
Good fortune? In the world of mysticism, red is a symbol for calamity and disaster! Auspicious signs? If this is good fortune, then why wasn't my advancement ritual successful?!
The old man squinted, noticing his reluctance. "Ah, forget it! I can just give this inkstone to you for free, considered it a gift from this old man!" He said.
"Deal," Yin San said sharply, his hand already in motion. He produced a small, pale dust stone,barely the size of a fingernail, and set it on the counter in a flick of motion too fast to track.
The old man blinked, "W-Wait—what...?"
But Yin San had already swiped the inkstones and stuffed it in his pouch, turned on his feet, and strode off without another word.
Behind him, the stall keeper shook his head, chuckling bitterly. "Hmph. Young folks nowaday... Still, good riddance. Ever since I picked up that cursed red thing, my shop's gone to hell. Now maybe my luck will change."
Yin San didn't waste time loitering street and returned to the inn.
His only purpose on this trip was precisely for this strange red looking inkstone. He didn't buy any materials for the three-body ritual because it would arouse some suspicion, and he couldn't afford the cost either.
Although most of the material were considered common goods. An ordinary person buying them is normal. But if someone of his infamous status were to buy them during this sensitive time of the coming of age rites, at least one or two question would be raised.
Not to mention, a few of the material he needed was 'rare' in the context of the Yin's clan mountain, so he would have to wait for an opportunity to find them.
"I need to avoid any attention unless necessary…" He murmured, his lips curl into a smile as he stare at the red looking inkstone.
For Yin San to buy inkstones, this was normal.
Over the years, this young master was considered eccentric for his hobby of painting. His action aligns with the current people understanding of him.
"In my past life, I only heard the rumours regarding this inheritance long after I escaped from the Yin clan… The inheritance of a rank 5 Dustborn!", His eyes flickered with a hint of anticipating rarely seen in his long life.
This is an inheritance which the contains the wealth of a Rank 5 dustborn!
Not to mention, the history regarding this inheritance was quite illusive, this famed figure once rempaged in the Everwood Mountain, where the three clans reside, including the Yin clan.
Even the second ancestor of the Yin Clan, once regarded as unmatched within the Everwood Mountain died to his might.
"This inkstone is my clue… If I can obtain that inheritance, then forget the Yin Clan, even the surrounding Ding and Bai clans would be nothing!"
The cycle of day and night is strange on this land. When the golden tree pulse with light, it is 'day', and when it dimmed, it is 'night'. When night arrives, the lantern would be lit.
Down the street, these small spark of light resembled firefly as it peered through gaping window.
Finally, on this particular night, Mo Wei entered the rundown Inn.
The moment his boots touched the wooden floor, a hush seemed to fall over the room. The old innkeeper's gaze flicked to the silver-blue badge gleaming at Mo Wei's waist. It shimmered under the lantern light, a stark contrast to the dull bronze one Yin San wore.
The innkeeper bowed hastily, his voice low and brittle. "Greetings, esteemed master." He didn't dare meet Mo Wei's eyes. Instead, his gaze locked onto the man's boots.
Mo Wei didn't acknowledge him. His eyes had already lifted to a particular door on the second floor. "I heard Yin San is staying here?"
"Yes… Young Master Yin San is upstairs," the innkeeper murmured, each word careful.
"Good. Tell him to come down. Now." Mo Wei's tone was sharp, dismissive. As if summoning a servant, not a fellow clan member.
But a calm voice drifted from the stairs. "No need."
Yin San descended slowly, his hand resting loosely on the rail. His posture was relaxed, too relaxed. His expression unreadable.
"In what regard does Uncle Wei visit me at this hour?" He asked, voice mild, even curious.
He already knew what the reason was, but this question allow him to take the initiative.
Seeing Yin San calm attitude and demeanor, he was a little startled, but that didn't last long as he sneered coldly," The coming of age rites is five days from now. The Clan's head requires you to attend, you have no choice in this matter." He said as a matter of fact, leaving Yin San no room to speak.
Silence filled the room.
In response, Yin San chuckle lightly," And what if I wish to withdraw from the ceremony altogether?"
The question landed like a dropped blade.
Withdraw? Mo Wei blinked once. Just once. His mind reeled for a second, pondering the implication.
In that instant, Mo Wei remembered Yin San's behavior over the last few months.
Was it for this moment?
Although Mo Wei was an elder tasked with informing the involved parties regarding the coming of age rites, he had his own goal.
This was to coerse Yin San into giving up the rites altogether. But now that he heard Yin San's intention of not participating all the sudden, he can't help but hold a trace of suspicion.
His eyes narrowed at the young man standing in front of him, then, only after a moment of time did he speak.
"I assume you understand what it means to withdraw…", His gaze sharpened, voice low.
"I do," Yin San said. No hesitation.
Mo Wei's loosened for a moment, but in his mind, this trace of suspicion continues to grow.
Withdraw? Is it as easy as simply saying so? Just because he said he wanted to withdraw, he is considered withdrawn?
From beneath his thick robes, he retrieved a folded parchment and laid it deliberately on the counter. He didn't look at Yin San but glance at the innkeeper instead.
"Quill," He ordered.
The old innkeeper scrambled beneath the counter, his hands shaking as he produced an ink quill and set it beside the parchment. Mo Wei didn't thank him. He simply unrolled the hide with slow, deliberate care.
"Sign this, and you'll be considered withdrawn," He said flatly.
Yin San finally descended the stair, each step echoing in the heavy silence of the room. He looked at the document, then back at Mo Wei.
"No," he said softly, without sparing it another glance.
Mo Wei's hand froze above the animal hide. "What?"