Rumors spread fast in the Jin Clan.
Especially when things didn't make sense.
It started with Jin Shu.
A capable, sharp-tongued enforcer, now seen walking the outer sect grounds with dark bags under his eyes, mumbling to himself. He flinched at shadows. Jumped at random sounds. One disciple swore they saw him burst into tears after seeing an old cleaning woman sweeping the courtyard.
"He's broken," someone whispered behind their sleeves.
"They say he tried to sneak up on someone. Failed. Got hit with a nightmare curse."
"Who? Who hit him with that?"
No one knew.
And Jin Shu wasn't talking.
Every time someone asked, he just muttered about sagging skin and crooked fingers and then shut down completely.
But that was just the first wave.
What followed was even stranger.
Elder Ling.
One of the outer sect supervisors, a man known for being stern and petty—especially toward young female disciples—suddenly became the focus of a much more disturbing kind of gossip.
At first, it was just odd behavior.
"He's been staring at teacups."
"I'm serious. Just… staring. For hours."
Then it got worse.
"I walked past his quarters late at night," a disciple said in a low voice. "I heard heavy breathing. Thought someone was sparring. But when I peeked in…"
"Yeah?"
"He was naked. Just standing there. In front of a table full of tea cups."
"...What the fuck?"
"Swear on my cultivation. And he was... you know... hard."
Everyone went silent after that.
And that wasn't the only report. Several outer disciples, both male and female, claimed they'd heard strange noises from Elder Ling's quarters during the night. One unlucky disciple even caught a glimpse of him licking the rim of a porcelain cup like it was some sort of lover.
By the end of the day, the jokes had already started.
"Careful pouring tea around Elder Ling," they'd say. "You might give him a hard time."
"I guess he's into porcelain now."
Some laughed. Others looked uncomfortable. A few were just scared.
Because Elder Ling had been normal—arrogant, yes, but normal—just a week ago. Now he seemed unhinged. His lectures were disjointed. He snapped at disciples for no reason. Once, during an alchemy discussion, he stopped mid-sentence, picked up a clay cup, and just stared at it for a full five minutes while everyone watched in dead silence.
Even the other elders noticed something was wrong. But no one said anything officially.
Meanwhile for the past few days, Elder Jin Rou watched Jin Wu-Ren carefully. Waited. Investigated. And the more she found… the more it didn't make sense.
There was no evidence of a backer behind Jin Wu-ren.
No elder. No secret master. No hidden technique library. No powerful clan branch sheltering him in the shadows.
Nothing.
He was alone. Just a brat from the lowest part of the Jin clan. His parents were both dead. His mother, Jin Meng, was a nobody who'd died during a trash escort mission. His father? Jin Yao? Dead before the boy was even born.
Wu-ren had no lineage, no backing, no cultivation resources.
And his recorded cultivation was pitiful—third stage of Body Tempering Realm.
She'd looked into it herself. Had his aura tested during the selection process. Her own senses told her the same: weak. Average. Nothing worth more than a passing glance.
But then…
Jin Shu.
A Core Formation expert. A man who had bathed in the blood of rogue cultivators and bandits alike. He'd been strong enough that some minor kingdoms would've begged to make him their national guardian.
And yet, this same Jin Shu had been found lying under a tree like a drunk, lost in a nightmare so vivid he'd started screaming in his sleep. Screaming about an old woman trying to rape him.
And the worst part?
Nothing worked to wake him up. Not water, not slaps, not qi infusion. Only one of her high-grade dispelling talismans, personally activated, had managed to break the illusion.
When she'd interrogated him, he'd broken down sobbing. Couldn't give her a name. Couldn't explain what had happened. Only said he saw Wu-ren... then nothing. Then pain. Then her.
Jin Rou felt a cold edge crawl up her spine when she recalled the fear in his eyes.
"It's not possible," she muttered to herself, pacing her private chambers.
No matter how she turned it around in her head, it didn't add up.
A Body Tempering brat shouldn't even be able to touch Jin Shu. Much less lock him in a soul-crushing illusion. That was high-level spiritual arts, and not just basic ones either. Jin Shu was trained in resisting mental influence. The level of mastery needed to get through his defenses would be something only a Nascent Soul cultivator or higher could manage.
Even if someone had helped the boy… why? Why go through the trouble of protecting a no-name child with no clan support or talent background?
And then there was Elder Ling.
She hadn't spoken to him directly, but the rumors had already reached her ears. Ling had lost his mind.
Some said he was cursed. Others whispered about a deviation from cultivation. A rare backlash. But she knew better.
Ling was lustful, yes. But he wasn't weak-minded. He had served as an elder in the clan for decades. He knew how to control himself, how to act in public.
And now he was reduced to obsessing over teacups like a lunatic, getting hard just staring at porcelain?
That wasn't a deviation. That was targeted. Deliberate.
Too precise to be coincidence.
Too specific to be a natural breakdown and definitely a mind attack just like what happened to Jin Shu.
Jin Rou poured herself a cup of bitter spirit tea and drank it all in one gulp. Her fingers were tight around the cup.
She didn't want to admit it. But the signs were all pointing in one direction.
"Could it be him…?"
She muttered again, staring at the wall like it might give her an answer.
"No. Impossible. He's just a boy. And why did he attacked Elder Ling anyway? Maybe elder ling had offend him somehow."
Low-born, low-cultivation, no background, no ambitions. Yet in just one week, he'd crippled her son, ruined her enforcer, and possibly driven a fellow elder insane.
And not a single trace of power could be found on him.
Not once had he shown fear. Not once had he shown arrogance either. He just moved through the sect like a ghost. Untouched, unbothered, perfectly in place.
That unnatural calmness...
Jin Rou clenched her fist.
"Who the hell are you, Jin Wu-ren?"
She was no longer sure this was just a child. Something about him felt wrong. Like a mask. A perfect one. One she couldn't peel off, no matter how hard she tried.
And that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
Later that day Elder Jin Rou stood in front of Elder Ling's residence.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
The stone path leading up to the doorway was scattered with… teacups. Dozens of them. Some were whole, most broken. A few had deep cracks. One even had what looked like blood inside its rim.
She frowned.
Something was very wrong.
This wasn't how a Core Formation cultivator lived. Elder Ling had once been sharp. Ruthless. A man with a nasty temper and no shortage of pride. Yet now, his courtyard looked like a madman's dumping ground.
She took a slow breath and walked in.
The air smelled stale, like someone had been holed up inside for days. There was no sign of servants, no disciples. Even the protective warding around the estate was inactive.
Another teacup cracked beneath her boot.
She followed the trail—cups lining the hallway like someone had been setting up a shrine to madness—and stopped in front of the main room.
The door was slightly ajar.
And from the other side… she heard it.
Sobbing.
A quiet, low, broken sound. Like a man who had forgotten how to cry but was doing it anyway.
She froze.
Elder Ling was Core Formation Realm. The kind of cultivator mortal emperors bowed to. He'd split rivers with a single palm strike. Killed bandits, beasts, even rogue cultivators without blinking.
And here he was, crying.
Jin Rou didn't move right away. She felt a strange discomfort crawl up her back.
A man like Ling didn't cry unless his mind had been completely shattered. Unless something had burrowed so deep into his spirit that he couldn't escape it. Not even with his cultivation.
She gently pushed the door open with one finger.
The room inside was a mess. Broken furniture, shattered porcelain, spilled tea everywhere. More cups—on the floor, on the bed, some stacked on shelves like trophies.
And in the middle of it all sat Elder Ling.
He wasn't dressed. His hair was loose and greasy. His eyes were hollow, fixed on something that wasn't there. He rocked slowly, legs folded, arms hugging his knees like a lost child.
There was a single teacup in front of him.
He didn't notice her.
He just stared at it, breathing in shallow, uneven gasps.
"Please," he whispered to the cup. "I… I won't break you this time… I promise…"
Jin Rou felt her stomach twist.
This wasn't backlash. This wasn't deviation. This wasn't spiritual possession.
This was a curse, a deep suggestion embedded straight into his spirit. So cleanly done that not even his Core Formation power could remove it.
She had to step back to keep her composure.
Who did this to him?
There was no way a Nascent Soul cultivator had entered the sect. The clan's wards would have reacted. She herself would have felt it.
So that left only one horrifying possibility.
Someone strong enough to cripple Elder Ling…
Someone who could walk through the sect without being noticed...
Someone who had no need to touch you to destroy you...
Someone like… Jin Wu-ren?
The name rose up in her mind like a reflex. She shook her head immediately.
"No. That boy's only in the Body Tempering Realm. It's not him."
She didn't believe it. But her gut said that it was the boy himself who did this.
She kept trying to not believe it.
But the way he stood there after beating her son, the way Jin Shu had collapsed without injury, the way Elder Ling fell apart without ever being touched. Both Jin Shu and Elder Ling was a victims of mental attacks, a very vicious one.
And now this scene.
She took one last look at the weeping old man and turned to leave, her fingers tight at her sides.
Her steps were heavy.
She didn't say a word. Didn't try to question Ling. He wouldn't respond. He didn't even know she'd been there.
Outside, the night wind brushed her robes. She stared up at the sky, expression unreadable.
"Why am I thinking of that brat again?" she muttered.
She didn't know.
But the longer she stood there, the more his name clung to her thoughts like a stain.
Jin Wu-ren.
Something was wrong with that boy.
And for the first time in years, Elder Jin Rou felt… unease.