Dusk settled over Skynos, in the Easton nation. At Skynos Hospital, Shane Yale sprinted toward the payment counter, a canvas bag on his back and his breath snagging in his chest. His little sister had been sick for over a month. The family had burned through every last dollar. He had canvassed every friend and relative, even squeezed the online lenders dry. The hospital had just given him an ultimatum: pay a $20,000 upfront fee today, or there would be no surgery tomorrow-and she could die at any moment. He had gone all in to save her, swallowing the harsh terms set by his ex, Cameron Zerba, and borrowing twenty grand at loan-shark rates from a man named Tanner. He needed to pay immediately and lock in the surgery. Just then a blond man darted across the corridor and slammed into him. "Sorry! Sorry!" The blond kid rattled off apologies, then took off like a shot. Shane had no time or energy to care. He rushed up to the cashier window and shoved two thick stacks of cash into the tray. "I'm paying." The clerk glanced at the money, then at him, her expression turning strange. "Sir, did you mix things up? We don't accept spirit money." "Spirit money? How could-" He followed her gaze. The two red bundles weren't real bills at all. "Heaven and Earth Bank" was printed right on them. His mind blanked. He had checked the cash with his own hands when he left the lender. When did it turn into spirit notes? "Damn it-that blond punk!" He thought of the collision and realized he'd been lifted. He spun and ran to search, but after combing the halls, the blond man had vanished. "No. That wasn't a random pickpocket. This was aimed at me." He forced himself to breathe. He had just taken a $20,000 loan, and someone had a matching bundle of spirit money ready to swap it. That wasn't coincidence. The thief had to be working with Tanner. His sister's life teetered on a knife edge, and those animals dared to play games. He bolted out of the hospital, jumped on a shared bike, and tore off toward the lending office. Anger burned hot. His legs pistoned, and the pedals blurred. He rounded a corner and a white-bearded old man wandered into his path, braised pork knuckle in his left hand and a wine flask in his right. He ate as he walked, sauce shining on his whiskers. Shane tried to slip past, but when he cut left, the old man drifted left; when he veered right, the old man slid right. He caught the brakes in time, and the bike creaked to a stop inches away. He had just exhaled when the old man flopped backward, hugged the front wheel, and lay there. "Kid, you hit me. Pay up!" "Uh…" Shane stared, a whole string of curses stuck in his throat. "Sir, where'd you learn a crash scam like this? Did someone teach you wrong? Look-it's a shared bike. I'm poorer than you!" The old man's beady eyes popped wide. He tightened his grip. "Nope. You hit me. You have to pay." "You shameless old geezer. Ever heard of decency? Fine, I give up, okay? Take the bike!" Shane refused to waste time. He let the shared bike fall and started to go. The loan office was close; he could run it. The old man was faster. He lunged and clamped onto Shane's thigh. "Crash into an elder and think you can run without paying? Not happening." Panic and fury twisted together. Shane couldn't bring himself to pry off a man that old, so he tried to bargain. "Please, sir, let me go. I really don't have money. If you want to pull this scam, flag down a Maserati. A Benz or BMW would do too!" "Nonsense." The old man sniffed. "Don't think I don't know-you've got twenty grand!" He reached behind himself and yanked out a tattered cloth sack. When he opened it, two bundles of crisp bills sat inside-exactly twenty thousand. Shane's face changed. "You stole my money?" The old man's beady eyes went round. He barked, "Watch your mouth! That blond monkey taking your cash-that's stealing. Me taking it from him-that's a heist!" "What's the difference?" Shane blurted, thrown off balance. "A big one!" the old man said, deadly serious. "'Steal' sounds low. 'Heist' has class. You've heard of master thieves-ever heard of master stealers?" "Why does that sound so familiar…" Shane muttered. He didn't have time to argue. The pieces clicked: the blond man had lifted his cash, and the old man had then robbed the blond. "Sir, are you here to return it? Thank you, I really need that!" He reached for the money. The old man whisked the sack away. "I was going to give it back. But since you ran me over, this will do as compensation." Cold fear stabbed through Shane. This was his sister's life. He grabbed for the sack. "Brat, trying to snatch from an old man?" The old man swung the flask. Shane moved to dodge. He never expected the old man to be that quick. The flask cracked against the crown of his head. Strangely, there was no pain. Darkness swept him under. He came to in a gray, fog-thick space. The old man stood before him, still drinking and gnawing the pork knuckle, eating and swigging like a king. "Who are you? Where am I?" Shane asked by reflex. Mouth full, the old man mumbled, "Your unreliable dad asked me to bring you a message: cultivate well, practice medicine well. The future of the Ancient Medical Sect rests on you." Shane's eyes flew wide. Urgency roughened his voice. "You know my dad? Who are my parents? Why did they abandon me?" He had grown up an orphan, raised by adoptive parents, with no clue who his birth parents were. "Train hard. When you're strong enough, you'll know." The old man drained the flask, then tapped it against Shane's head again. A torrent of information detonated in Shane's mind-martial cultivation methods, medical arts, mystic techniques… It was too much. His skull felt like it would split. Everything went black. When he opened his eyes again, morning sunlight poured gold across a cramped room. "Where am I?" He jolted upright and took in the surroundings. A cheap motel. Then he froze. Every sense had sharpened beyond belief. He heard the entire building as if it were in his ear. Even the adult film playing next door sounded like a live feed. "Divine Sense," he breathed. Knowledge surged unbidden. The content was new, yet felt inborn, each concept clear as day. This wasn't a dream. He had received the Ancient Medical Sect's inheritance. That power had reforged his body and catapulted his cultivation straight to the Foundation Establishment Stage. He had awakened Divine Sense; even with his eyes closed, he perceived everything within five meters. He turned his head. A tattered cloth sack sat on the bedside table, two bundles of crisp bills inside. Beside it lay the old man's drinking vessel-a black bottle engraved with archaic patterns, old as time in its aura. He understood. The old man had come to deliver the inheritance. That wasn't some ordinary flask at all, but the divine artifact known as the Demon Refining Bottle. It had to be a treasure left by his birth parents. But who were they? Why hadn't they come in person? The thought flickered and died. This wasn't the time. His sister hovered at death's door. He hadn't paid yesterday; there had been no surgery. With the Ancient Medical Sect's legacy in hand, he had to save her now. He stuffed the cash and the Demon Refining Bottle into his canvas bag, bolted out of the motel, bought a pack of silver needles at the pharmacy by the door, and sprinted for the hospital.