The Cracked Cauldron

The sun hung low over the Iron Wind Pavilion as golden light filtered through the peaks. In his small, simple room, Chen Yu sat cross-legged, breathing slowly. The qi around him stirred faintly, drawn into his pores as the aftereffects of his breakthrough to the Bones Stage settled deep into his frame.

His fists clenched and relaxed slowly. The power now coursing through his limbs felt heavier—solid, grounded—like stone forged under pressure. Bones no longer felt like just support structures. They thrummed with force.

Still, something gnawed at him.

He had four spirit stones now. Not much in the eyes of true cultivators, but to him, it was wealth hard-earned. He couldn't let it sit idle. He needed every edge he could find.

After washing up and strapping his token to his belt, he left his room and headed for the outer market once again.

The bazaar was busier than before, filled with low-tier disciples hawking basic pills, rusted weapons, scraps of talisman paper, and bone-dry manuals. The scent of burnt incense and roasting meat swirled through the air. Bargaining echoed from every direction.

Chen Yu weaved between the stalls, scanning with care. Most items were overpriced junk—especially to someone with the True Martial Body etched into his bones.

But then he saw it.

At the far edge of the market, an impatient-looking disciple sat cross-legged behind a frayed cloth, on which rested a battered, three-legged cauldron. Its surface was cracked and mottled with burn marks, but strange symbols still shimmered faintly beneath the grime. Unlike most treasures, this one felt… dormant. Waiting.

The disciple noticed his gaze. "Yeah, it's broken. Useless. I was cleaning my uncle's warehouse and found it. Make me an offer—four spirit stones and it's yours."

Chen Yu frowned, squatting in front of it. He ran a finger over the edge.

The material was unlike any ordinary metal—it pulsed faintly beneath his touch, warm for a second, then cold.

Something stirred in his core. A whisper of intuition.

This was no ordinary cauldron.

"Two stones," Chen Yu said firmly.

The disciple scoffed. "Three. Bare minimum."

Chen Yu met his eyes without blinking. "You don't even know what it is. Two."

A pause.

"Fine!" the disciple grumbled, snatching the stones and shoving the cauldron toward him. "Take the cursed thing. Waste of space anyway."

Chen Yu hefted it into his arms. It was heavier than it looked. But in his bones, he felt something shift—like the cauldron was responding to him.

He said nothing, simply turned and walked away with the cracked vessel in hand.

Back in his room, he placed it in the corner and sat before it. The light caught the ancient carvings once more, and for a brief moment, a phantom glow pulsed beneath the cracks.

Chen Yu smiled faintly.

He didn't know what it was yet.

But he knew it mattered.