Chapter 1 — The Fallen Genius of Qingshi Town

CHAPTER 1

The Fallen Genius of Qingshi Town

The ladle passed over the third bowl and went back into the pot. Shi Feng stood at the kitchen counter with his tray and watched it go.

Zhao Fu, the old clan cook, kept his eyes on the pot. He put a cracked bowl behind him before Shi Feng could take it. The allowance was cut; the chipped dishes were his own decision.

“The allowance has changed,” Zhao Fu muttered.

“For both households, or only ours?” Shi Feng asked.

“Yours,” Zhao Fu said. Then he added, “The Second Elder gave the order this morning.”

Behind the steaming pots, the kitchen servants stopped chopping and began to whisper.

“Two bowls! Last month it was four.”

“Eighteen months ago this kitchen sent ginseng soup to the eastern courtyard every day.”

“Eighteen months ago he had two hundred and thirty-seven meridians.”

“…”

Shi Feng glanced at the slate on the wall. Yesterday’s allocation was still written there in chalk. He lifted the tray.

“Two bowls are enough,” Shi Feng said calmly. “Thank you, Uncle Zhao.”

Zhao Fu’s ears reddened. He scraped the bottom of the pot and knocked the stuck rice into Shi Feng’s bowl. Behind him, the servants stopped whispering. None wanted to be the next person Shi Feng thanked.

Eating less at noon would leave Shi Feng hungry during his evening exercises.

He didn’t want to fight an old cook over rice. The cook wasn’t the one who cut it anyway.

Shi Hong was waiting in the passage with four cousins behind him.

He wore a blue training robe with silver cuffs. The spotless cuffs showed how rarely he trained.

“One hundred and seventy-six!” Shi Hong announced. “Meridians, cousin. I opened the last one last night.”

The cousins took up the cue at once.

“The most in our generation!”

“Second Elder laughed out loud at the testing stone!”

“They say the White Crane Pavilion is already asking about him!”

One hundred and twenty meridians counted as the completion of Meridian Opening. Most cultivators stopped there and broke through to Qi Condensation. One hundred and seventy-six was far beyond that. In Qingshi Town, it was already the number of a genius.

“Congratulations,” Shi Feng said.

He meant it. He still remembered teaching this cousin to keep his shoulders loose during his very first breathing exercise.

Shi Hong’s face darkened. “That’s all?” Shi Hong shouted.

“What else would you like me to say?” Shi Feng asked.

One of the cousins lowered his head and studied the floor.

“You still think you’re better than us!” Shi Hong yelled. “A cripple living on two bowls of charity, and you still look at me like I’m nine years old!”

Shi Feng didn’t want to argue while holding hot food. He walked toward the courtyard. A hand seized the edge of his tray.

Rice slid. Shi Feng steadied the bowls, and even that small movement stabbed a cold ache beneath his breastbone. He waited for the pain to pass before he spoke.

“Please let go,” Shi Feng said.

“Or what?” Shi Hong said, grinning now.

The passage fell silent.

Shi Feng looked at his cousin’s wrist. The grip was loose. The elbow was raised. The weight sat too far forward. Three ways to break the hold appeared in his mind at once.

His body couldn’t do any of them.

Shi Feng sighed in his heart. Eighteen months ago, Shi Hong couldn’t have touched his sleeve. Today Shi Feng couldn’t even take back his own breakfast.

“Your elbow is still too high,” Shi Feng said calmly. “I told you that when you were nine.”

Someone behind Shi Hong snorted and swallowed the laugh. Shi Hong’s face turned red to the ears. His fingers tightened until the bowls rattled against each other.

“Brat! That breakfast is charged to my household!” Shi Yulan snapped from the end of the passage. “If you spill it, the cost goes on yours!”

Shi Yulan stood there with a medicine basket over one arm. She was Shi Feng’s aunt, his late father’s younger sister, and she managed what remained of their household’s property. The elders of the Shi Clan forgot many things. But Shi Yulan never forgot a debt!

Shi Hong’s expression changed at once.

“Aunt, we were only talking,” Shi Hong said, letting go of the tray.

“Then go and talk somewhere else.” Shi Yulan said. She did not move until the cousins were gone.

In the eastern courtyard, Shi Yulan took a bowl from the tray before Shi Feng could set it down.

“The physician’s letter came from the capital,” Shi Yulan said.

“And?” Shi Feng asked.

“I didn’t open it.” Shi Yulan said, picking up her chopsticks. “I’m not your servant, brat. Read your own letters.”

Shi Feng dried his hands and slit the envelope.

No rupture. No poison. No trace of demonic interference. No detectable meridian network under repeated examination. Recommend long-term restorative treatment. Avoid strenuous exertion.

He read it twice. The second reading changed nothing.

No detectable meridian network. Shi Feng knew exactly what that meant. To the best physicians in the capital, he was a cripple. A man without meridians couldn’t draw in qi. He couldn’t condense it. He would never take another step on the path of cultivation.

“They found the same thing,” Shi Feng said, folding the letter.

“What did you expect?” Shi Yulan asked.

“I didn’t know,” Shi Feng said.

Shi Feng was eighteen now. Eighteen months ago, Qingshi Town’s testing stone showed that he’d opened two hundred and thirty-seven meridians. The whole town was stunned. A genius might reach one hundred and eighty. Only once in a generation did someone pass two hundred. The county governor sent him a jade cup, and three sects sent invitations.

Nobody knew about the stone chamber beneath this courtyard. Nobody knew about the old meridian diagram his father brought home from the border.

The diagram showed three hundred and sixty paths. Every manual in the kingdom called three hundred and sixty the absolute limit. In secret, within that stone chamber, Shi Feng had reached all three hundred and sixty. Only beyond that private count did the diagram draw five more curves.

Shi Feng tried to open them.

The first wave of pain nearly tore him apart. The second was worse. After the fifth, there was nothing.

He woke three days later with dried blood in his hair. When he reached for his meridians, his body answered with emptiness. Since that day, no physician could find a single meridian in him.

Still, every morning, Shi Feng performed the breathing exercise. In his heart, he didn’t believe those five curves were a lie.

“The bracelet covered the physician’s deposit,” Shi Yulan said, scraping the bottom of her bowl. “I’ve added it to your debt.”

Shi Feng looked at her bare wrist. His father gave her that bracelet long ago. It was green stone. The merchant sold it as jade, and his father never admitted the mistake.

“At the pawn value,” Shi Feng said.

“At the replacement value!” Shi Yulan said.

“The stone is still in the pawnshop,” Shi Feng pointed out. “Nothing has been replaced.”

“You brat, you always notice the wrong things!” Shi Yulan snapped, and she turned her face away.

Shi Feng understood her perfectly. She pawned her dead brother’s last gift for him. She called it a debt so that he would not feel he owed her anything. Aunt, he thought, you’re terrible at keeping accounts. You can’t hide that you care.

Outside, the guest bell rang three times.

Servants rushed past the gate. One of them grabbed a flowerpot that had stood crooked for six months and set it straight.

Through the gate, Shi Feng saw a carriage with white cranes stitched on its silver curtains. The gossip arrived before the dust settled.

“White cranes! That’s the White Crane Pavilion’s crest!”

“The Lu family carriage is right behind it!”

“Today? The same morning his rice was cut?”

“You think the kitchen decides these things by chance?”

A young woman stepped down in pale blue robes. A white-jade pin shone in her hair. Shi Feng glanced at the visitor, then put down his chopsticks.

He recognised that pin. He bought it back when the two families still enjoyed mentioning their engagement. Now the carriage brought a steward instead of gifts. The purpose of this visit wasn’t hard to guess.

Lu Qingxue looked toward the eastern courtyard. An older man in a grey steward’s robe murmured something at her shoulder. She turned away.

Shi Yulan’s complexion went pale. “That’s not a social call,” Shi Yulan said quietly. “Nobody brings a Pavilion steward to drink tea.”

So that is why the rice was cut this morning, Shi Feng thought. The Second Elder wanted the guests to see how low the eastern courtyard has fallen.

He finished his rice before standing.

“Aunt, I’ll go hear their conditions,” Shi Feng said.

“Don’t let that old steward bully you,” Shi Yulan replied.

Shi Feng wiped his hands and walked towards the hall.