林清秋甩了甩头， reflects the dim, smoke-stained ceiling of the attic room. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light piercing the greying timbers. She was literally living in a forgotten corner of her own family’s estate, which used to be the biggest name in the region, now reduced to pawned lands and crushing debt.

Her dad had been a well-known figure—maybe not a top-tier cultivator, but certainly respected. She remembered the grand parties, the gossip about his rising and guessed falling status. Now? Now there was only the chilling silence of a closed-off property and the relentless knocking at the door. This wasn't just a random nuisance; it was the sound of collectors, the sound of her ruined life hitting her face with every thud.

Muttering under her breath, she snatched up a gnawed-looking chicken leg from the likes table, wiped it crudely on her muddy dress sleeve, and crunched into it. There was nothing fancy about this meal—just stale grain bread and whatever was left from the bird her dad had managed to catch days ago before collapsing.