The ripples this incident sent out, however, far exceeded anything Lin Mu had anticipated.
When the three days of celebration finally drew to a close, news of the A-grade genius's emergence seemed to sprout wings. It spread at a terrifying speed beyond the walls of Black Blood Stockade, sweeping rapidly across the mountains for hundreds of li in every direction.
A-grade aptitude — in the great sects that spanned the five regions, it might not have seemed particularly rare, perhaps even commonplace. But in the resource-starved backwaters of the Southern Border, it was nothing short of a treasure beyond price.
Lin Xingyuan's appearance not only stirred the undercurrents within Black Blood Stockade — it plunged the surrounding regional balance into a state of anxiety and disorder.
For the past several centuries, the neighboring stockade powers had maintained a mutual check on one another, rising and falling in turn, sustained by a rough equilibrium of high-level combat strength — a delicate ecological balance.
But now, Black Blood Stockade already had Patriarch Lin Cang, a freshly broken-through Rank 4 cultivator, holding the fort. And on top of that, an A-grade genius had appeared out of nowhere.
Left unchecked, Black Blood Stockade would inevitably form a unipolar structure where the strong only grew stronger.
For White Bone Stockade, which bore the brunt of this threat, and for the smaller, more remote clans scattered around the region, this was already a substantive danger.
Far from both Black Blood and White Bone Stockades, in an extremely secluded and long-abandoned mountain manor —
Several Patriarchs from neighboring stockades, each at Rank 3 peak stage, sat with deeply furrowed brows. The atmosphere inside the hall was so oppressive it felt as though the air itself could be wrung out.
Seated in the position of honor was none other than the Patriarch of White Bone Stockade — Li Mang — who had suffered a significant loss at Black Blood Stockade not long ago.
"Gentlemen, I trust I need not explain the principle of the lips and the teeth."
Li Mang's deeply sunken eyes swept across the room. His voice was hoarse and piercing, like the cry of a night owl.
"After that old dog Lin Cang broke through to Rank 4, he was already bearing down on us with overwhelming force. My White Bone Stockade has been holding on by the skin of our teeth — enduring, barely maintaining — all to keep that scoundrel's ambitions from spilling over onto you, my brothers."
"But now... Black Blood Stockade has an A-grade genius on top of everything else!"
Li Mang slammed his palm onto the table and raised his voice sharply.
"We are all Gu Masters here — do we need to be told how terrifying A-grade aptitude is?! Within a few years, Black Blood Stockade will produce another Rank 4 Gu Master. Perhaps even Rank 5. And when that day comes, I fear Lin Cang's appetite will not be satisfied with swallowing just my White Bone Stockade alone!"
Those words landed like a heavy hammer, driving straight into the hearts of every man present.
In this world where individual might could transcend the collective, allowing Black Blood Stockade to develop in peace was not going to lead to any harmonious, mutually prosperous outcome. Everyone understood that.
But understanding was one thing. When it came to actually bleeding for it — to taking action — these Patriarchs, each a seasoned schemer in his own right, immediately revealed their true nature.
"Old Brother Li is right. We must strike first. While that boy hasn't grown into his strength yet, we combine our forces and attack directly!" One hot-tempered Patriarch slapped the table and rose to his feet.
"Attack? Actually march on Black Blood Stockade?"
Another Patriarch — sharp-faced and narrow-eyed — responded with cold mockery.
"Lin Cang is Rank 4. Who leads the charge? You? The moment we march our best fighters out the front gate, someone will be sneaking in through the back to raid our own bases!"
A wave of unease rippled through the room. Guarded glances were exchanged all around.
There was no basic trust between any of them. No one was willing to be the one who bled their own foundation dry as cannon fodder. The gathering ground to an exceedingly awkward stalemate.
Watching the bickering, self-serving crowd below him, Li Mang — seated in the position of honor — felt a flash of deep, barely concealed venom and irritation pass through his eyes.
If he had not been driven to the edge of desperation, why would he have stooped to allying with these worthless rabble?
He had believed that holding the "spine" relic of the Black Bone King Inheritance would be enough to guarantee his victory — to send him soaring above all others.
What he had not anticipated was that the inheritance's trials were deranged beyond all reason.
After completing the first two layers of tasks, the third and fourth trials had proven to be virtually insurmountable — completely beyond the limits of his current ability.
The inheritance had stalled. Lin Cang's threat was drawing closer by the day. It was only under that pressure that he had been forced to rope in these cannon fodder to muddy the waters.
"Enough!"
Li Mang reined in his thoughts. His expression darkened.
The bone scepter in his hand — pale as a corpse — struck the bluestone floor with a heavy crack.
Thud.
The resonant shockwave of Primeval Essence rolled through the hall, and the room fell instantly silent.
Once the noise had died down, Li Mang swept his gaze across the assembly. A venomous gleam flickered in the depths of his eyes, like a serpent coiled in shadow.
"There is no need to panic, gentlemen. I still have a plan..."
The storm unleashed by the A-grade youth's emergence did not only rage beyond the stockade's walls. It struck just as fiercely within Black Blood Stockade itself — beneath all its outward celebration and festivity.
In barely more than a month, Lin Xingyuan's life had been turned completely upside down.
He had been taken under the full protection of the clan's upper echelons, housed in the core district where spiritual energy was most concentrated. Gu worms, vast quantities of Primeval Stones, and the finest cultivation insights available — virtually everything was tilted in his direction.
He had become, without question, the most prized and celebrated focus of the entire stockade's cultivation efforts.
The crucial point was that no one could compete with him. There was not even a need to compete.
The human calculus of the Gu world had always been this cold, this pragmatic.
And in stark contrast to Lin Xingyuan's blinding radiance — Lin Feng's situation had become utterly desolate.
There had been a time when Lin Feng's courtyard saw a constant stream of visitors. Disciples and deacons had jostled for position, desperate to curry favor with the son of the Grand Elder.
Now, that once-grand gate stood in near-total silence. Even the sweeping servants could not be bothered to spare it a second glance.
Those Gu Masters who had always gravitated toward power — like flies with the keenest sense of smell — had taken one look at Lin Xingyuan: extraordinary aptitude, humble origins, none of the arrogance of a pampered clan heir.
They had changed allegiances without hesitation and gone to fawn over the new rising star instead.
In the past, Lin Feng had been able to bully his fellow disciples and throw his weight around as he pleased, backed by his family's wealth and influence. Everyone had tolerated it, even played along, because the resources he could offer made it worth their while.
But times had changed.
Lin Feng's Rank 2 middle stage cultivation was respectable enough — but measured against A-grade potential, it was a level Lin Xingyuan would effortlessly surpass within a year or two.
Everyone knew it. The future of Black Blood Stockade bore the name Lin Xingyuan.
As one star rose and the other fell, Lin Feng's residence had somehow become even more bleak and desolate than the courtyard of Lin Mu — a man holding nothing but an idle administrative post.
As the observer who had watched all of this unfold, Lin Mu felt nothing but quiet satisfaction.
The murkier the waters in Black Blood Stockade, the better it suited him — lurking in the shadows, accumulating wealth without a sound.
Besides, his future was never going to be confined to this small stockade.
As his cultivation continued its steady advance, one evening Lin Mu concluded his daily breathing exercises, changed into a plain and inconspicuous grey robe, and slipped quietly out of the courtyard. He was heading to the Grey Street Market to discuss matters concerning new Gu worms with Old Ma.
However — as Lin Mu cut through the dense forest, crossed over the hills, and was about to step into the Grey Street Market's entrance — that sunless passage that never saw daylight — his razor-sharp senses made him stop dead in his tracks.
At the entrance to the Grey Street Market, he had caught sight of a figure moving furtively, carrying an air of both desperation and agitation.
In the dim, pallid light, he fixed his gaze and looked carefully.
When he made out the face, even Lin Mu could not entirely suppress the flash of sharp surprise that crossed his eyes.
That figure — bloodshot eyes, dressed in a plain grey cotton robe, expression as dark and malevolent as a vengeful ghost —
Was none other than the man who had once stood above all others, hailed as Black Blood Stockade's foremost prodigy.
Lin Feng.