The room was silent.
Lin Hao stared at the silver ring now resting on the back of his hand, its faint glow slowly fading into stillness. He touched it carefully, half-expecting it to vanish.
But it didn't.
He took a breath, focused his mind, and reached inward.
In the next instant, his vision twisted.
His body remained on the bed, but his mind… shifted.
He now stood inside a vast, dimly lit chamber. Endless shelves stretched out into the shadows. Chests stacked in corners. Weapons on racks. Scrolls and jade slips arranged with surgical precision.
He stood frozen, wide-eyed.
"This… This is real."
The treasure. The one buried beneath the white tree.
It had been inside this ring all along.
He stepped forward, heart pounding as he surveyed the contents. Sword hilts pulsed with dormant energy. Bottles sealed with golden wax lined up like soldiers. Spirit herbs he'd only ever read about in ancient records sat fresh and radiant within locked boxes.
And then—he saw it.
A worn leather journal resting atop a pedestal, its cover unmarked. No title. No symbol. Just plain, aged leather.
He approached slowly and lifted it into his small hands.
It was heavier than it looked.
He opened the cover.
Nothing.
The first page was blank. As was the second. And the third.
He frowned and flipped through the entire book. Not a single word. No seal. No clue.
Was it sealed with a formation?
He bit his thumb and let a droplet of blood fall onto the cover.
The blood was absorbed silently.
Nothing happened.
No glow. No surge. No reaction.
He stared at the book for a long time, turning it over again and again. But there was no latch, no script, no spiritual lock he could sense.
After nearly half an hour, he sighed and placed it back on a nearby table inside the ring.
"Not now, then," he muttered.
He turned his attention back to the rest.
Every shelf, every box—overflowing with potential.
Weapons forged with materials long lost. Spirit coins. Jade tokens. Dozens of relics too complex for his current knowledge.
A grin tugged at his lips.
With this… his family would never suffer again.
His father wouldn't die of overwork. His mother wouldn't struggle to feed them. His sister would live a long, peaceful life. And he—he would train sooner, grow faster, become stronger than he ever was before.
Maybe…
Maybe even strong enough to face what would come thirty years from now.
He turned to one of the open chests and pulled out a wrapped object.
As he peeled the cloth away, he froze.
It was a small sculpture, carved from obsidian and emerald crystal. A curled dragon sleeping upon a lotus flower.
He knew it instantly.
In his past life, this piece had resurfaced just before the world fell apart. It was auctioned in the Cloudspire Pavilion for fifty million silver coins. Enough to buy land, forge armies, or raise a clan from the dust.
And here it was. In his hand.
His father earned ten silver coins a month.
Fifty million… was beyond comprehension.
Lin Hao held the sculpture tightly, then returned it to the ring.
He couldn't show it all at once. A treasure in the hands of the weak was a curse, not a blessing. If word got out, powerful families would come. They would take everything—and leave corpses behind.
He had to be smart.
He would help his family. Slowly. Discreetly. Enough to raise their life, but never enough to invite attention.
This ring would be the key to everything.
But only if he stayed quiet, cautious, and cunning.
He sat cross-legged on his bed and stared at the moonlight creeping through the window.
Tomorrow, the real work would begin.