Night in Cloudcrest didn’t feel like night anymore.
It felt like a lid pressed over the world—quiet, heavy, and watchful. Lanterns burned along the clan’s corridors, throwing warm pools of light on stone paths, but the darkness between those pools seed sharper than usual. Even the wind carried a different taste now, thin and cold, as if Azure Snow had left frost behind in the air itself.
Lin Tian returned to his courtyard alone.
He had bowed, answered, fought, and endured the steady pressure of a sect elder’s gaze without flinching. People had watched him like he was a rumor made flesh. The Patriarch had spoken to him like he mattered. His grandfather had clapped him like he belonged on the path.
And yet none of that sat in his mind as strongly as one simple sensation:
A thin, foreign chill under his skin.
It wasn’t pain.
It wasn’t even obvious unless he stopped moving and listened with his cultivation senses the way he’d learned to do these past days. But once he noticed it, he couldn’t un-notice it.
It clung to his right wrist where Elder Shen had pressed the testing needle earlier. It wasn’t the needle itself—she’d taken it away. This was sothing else. A thread that didn’t feel like his qi, didn’t feel like the Lin clan’s environnt, and didn’t feel like Bai Xueya’s cold either.
It felt... placed.
Like soone had brushed a finger of frost across him and left it there on purpose.
Lin Tian shut the courtyard gate behind him and stood still beneath the peach tree. Petals had stopped falling for the season; branches were bare and dark. The tree looked like a silhouette cut from ink.
He rolled his shoulder once. Flexed his hand. Circulated his qi gently from dantian to ridian, up the arm, into the wrist, and back down.
The mont the flow reached his right wrist, the foreign chill responded.
Not by fighting him.
By settling.
Like it recognized the movent and adjusted itself to ride along.
Lin Tian’s eyes narrowed.
"So it’s not a wound," he murmured. "It’s... a hitch."
A leash didn’t have to pull hard to be a leash.
His chest tightened. The mory of Elder Shen’s calm voice returned as clearly as if she were standing in his courtyard.
You do not lie... but you do withhold.
He exhaled and forced himself to relax his fingers.
Panicking wouldn’t help. Being angry wouldn’t help. Not yet.
He looked up at the moonless sky, then lowered his gaze and spoke softly.
"System."
A familiar chi rang inside his skull, not loud—just present.
Light unfolded behind his eyes.
[ Harem Link Cultivation System — Active ]
The panel hovered, crisp and steady.
[ Status ]
Host: Lin Tian
Realm: Elentary Spirit Realm — Seventh Level
Talent: High Grade
Spirit Roots: High Grade
Physique: Pending
Bloodline: Locked
Linked Partner: Bai Xueya (1)
Harem Points: 505
Lin Tian’s gaze didn’t linger on the realm. He already knew what he was. The proof had been on the training field.
He focused instead on the faint line at the bottom that flickered when his attention sharpened.
[ External Signature Detected ]
His stomach tightened.
A second pane expanded on its own, like the system had been waiting for him to ask.
[ External Signature — Analysis ]
Type: Sect Mark (Observation Trace)
State: Dormant
Trigger Condition: Sudden Qi Spike / Forced Disruption
Risk: Alert to Mark Owner
Recomnded Action: Do NOT forcibly purge. Mask via controlled circulation.
Lin Tian stared at the words until his jaw ached.
"Observation trace," he whispered.
It wasn’t even hidden behind pretty language. It said exactly what it was.
He clenched his hand slowly, feeling the foreign chill tighten by a hair.
Dormant. Waiting.
If he tried to rip it out, it would scream.
If he ignored it and let his qi flare wildly, it would react.
He swallowed.
"So Elder Shen tagged ," he murmured. "Like I’m a wandering beast."
The system did not respond with comfort. It never did. It simply offered function.
A line appeared.
[ Suggestion: Practice Aura Compression ]
Goal: Reduce outward Qi signature variance.
Effect: Mark remains dormant, less responsive.
Bonus: Improves combat efficiency.
Lin Tian let out a breath through his nose. The anger didn’t vanish, but it sharpened into sothing useful.
"Fine," he said quietly. "Then let’s see what he going to do."
He closed the panel.
The light faded, leaving the courtyard dim again.
He went inside, changed into simpler training clothes, then returned to the stone tiles under the peach tree. He did not pick up a sword yet. He sat down cross-legged and placed both hands on his knees.
Then he breathed.
Not the frantic cultivation he had done in the beginning—when he’d been drowning in sudden power and trying to keep up with it. This was slower. asured. A practice of restraint.
He guided his qi in a circuit.
He let it flow to his wrist again, deliberately touching the foreign chill with calm circulation. He didn’t push. He didn’t yank. He simply wrapped his own qi around the trace the way water wrapped around a stone.
Mask it.
Hide it inside his natural rhythm.
At first, the trace stayed distinct. Cold against warm. Foreign against familiar.
By the fifth circuit, the edges blurred.
By the tenth, the trace felt... less sharp.
Still there, still cold, but no longer a needle under his skin.
Lin Tian opened his eyes slowly, sweat not from strain but from focus.
"Good," he murmured.
He rose, rolled his shoulders again, and went to the practice sword resting against his wall—the sa dull blade he had held in the past as a cripple, swinging it with perfect form and no qi.
Now the sword felt different in his hand.
More obedient.
Like his body finally belonged to him.
He stepped into stance one.
Feet grounded.
Breath steady.
He began the Lin clan’s foundational sword set.
His movents were not flashy. He kept his aura close, compressed, tight to his skin. Each step was quiet. Each cut of the blade produced only the faintest hiss in the air.
And with every motion, his wrist mark stayed calm.
By the ti he finished, his muscles burned and his lungs worked harder, but his qi had not surged out like a banner.
End of Chapter 37
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