On the day of the spiritual root test, the elder publicly declared me the lowest—utterly worthless, a waste root.
As laughter erupted around me, the ancestral jade pendant on my chest suddenly burned hot.
Countless golden runes surged into my mind—it was the legendary Ancient Sigil of Replication!
I replicated the elder's secret technique on the spot and sent him flying, coughing blood.
The sect reluctantly accepted me as a disciple, unaware that I could even copy the talents of spirit beasts.
Inside the illusion realm during the entry trial, I tore apart a third-rank Ironhide Rhino with my bare hands.
And just as the bloodied beast core scorched my palm—hidden enemies could no longer hold back.
Cold rain pelted the flagstones of the plaza, each drop a needle that stirred up the scent of earth and blood. Before the massive gates of Tianyun Sect, a sea of people surged. The murmur of thousands of whispers became a suffocating tide, only to be shattered by the unrelenting drizzle. Faces young and pale stared forward, under the dim, grey light of the sky—some eager, some anxious, and others trembling with poorly concealed fear.
Today marked the sect's once-a-decade recruitment ceremony. A test of spiritual roots—one that determined fate itself.
I, Lin Ye, stood among the crowd, as insignificant as a speck of dust. My coarse linen robe was soaked through, the cold seeping in through skin and into bone. My thin frame trembled—whether from the chill or the restlessness that had taken root in my chest since last night, I could no longer tell. I clenched my fists until my knuckles cracked, nails digging into my palms, using that faint sting to suppress the inexplicable heat spreading through my chest.
Beneath my damp clothes, the ancestral jade pendant pressed against my skin like a brand, burning hot, hotter than it had ever been before.
"Next—Lin Ye!"
On the raised platform, an elder dressed in a cyan robe embroidered with drifting cloud patterns called out, his face gaunt and expressionless. He didn't even lift his eyelids. His voice was dry and dull, like the wheezing of an old bellows. He was Zhou Xian, the Outer Sect's senior steward elder
I felt the crowd's attention shift, the plaza suddenly quieter.
Dozens—no, hundreds of eyes—locked onto me. Some were curious. Others held ridicule, pity, or simply the indifference of watching a farce. Their stares were heavy, suffocating. I drew in a breath tainted by the metallic scent of rain and earth and forced my leaden legs to move forward—step by step—toward the raised stone platform where fate would be decided.
My heart thundered in my chest like a war drum. Every step brought me closer to the unknown judgment waiting ahead. The jade pendant on my chest burned like molten iron, scorching through fabric and searing into my skin, as though trying to carve something directly into my soul.
On the high platform, Elder Zhou Xian stood beside a waist-high spirit-testing stone. The translucent crystal pulsed faintly, filled with swirling mist that carried a mysterious, ancient aura. He rested a withered hand on the stone's surface, eyelids still drooping, as if I wasn't even worth a glance.
"Place your hand on the stone. Focus. Steady your breath," he droned, as if instructing a lifeless object.
I reached out with trembling fingers, just as cold as the rain. The moment my fingertips touched the crystal surface, a bone-deep chill surged up my arm and burrowed straight into my mind. I shut my eyes, pushing away all thoughts, sinking my consciousness into the frigid, shapeless void.
It felt like I was falling—endlessly falling into an icy abyss. Down, and down, and down…
Time passed in silence. Was it a few breaths? Or longer?
The platform and plaza were deathly still. Only the rain made noise—sharp, steady cracks against the stone.
Suddenly—
The mist within the spirit-testing stone froze for a heartbeat—then began to churn violently. The colors shifted in a chaotic blur: crimson, amber, emerald, cerulean, ochre—five elemental lights flashing wildly, clashing and colliding, like someone had knocked over a celestial paint pot. The light grew blinding, searing, before collapsing into a filthy, unsettling gray.
"Hummmm—"
A low, ominous hum vibrated from deep within the crystal. The elemental lights seemed to be ripped apart by some invisible force, shattering into countless dim sparks that scattered like dying fireflies. Then—darkness. Silence. The crystal went still, transparent as before, as if nothing had happened.
Silence. Not a breath.
Then Zhou Xian's voice, dry as rust and cold as a blade, sliced through the rain like an executioner's sentence:
"Five-element mixed root. Chaotic, impure. Rotten foundation. The worst—waste-grade spiritual root. A lifetime doomed to never reach Qi Refining."
"WHAA—!"
A beat of silence exploded into chaos.
Like pouring ice water into hot oil, the crowd erupted.
"Hahaha! Waste-grade! Did you hear that? No hope of cultivation in this lifetime!"
"All five elements? Ha! That's the worst kind! The spiritual energy inside him must be fighting itself!"
"Unbelievable! Who let this garbage into Tianyun Sect?"
"Get off the stage already! Stop wasting everyone's time!"
"Just look at his rags—probably burned incense for three generations to end up this unlucky!"
Laughter. Cruel mockery. Pointing fingers. Scornful sneers. Voices like poisoned needles, stabbing from all directions—into my ears, through my skin, down to the bone. Each word seared like a brand into my soul. My head spun. Blood rushed up, then froze into ice. My limbs went numb.
Shame crashed over me like a tidal wave—cold and inescapable.
Waste root. Useless. Hopeless.
Those words screamed in my skull, over and over, like blunt blades grinding against my thoughts.
And then—
Amid that crushing humiliation and despair, the jade pendant on my chest erupted.
Not the simmering heat from before.
But an explosion.
Like a volcano dormant for ten thousand years suddenly awakening, a torrent of unimaginable heat tore loose—violent, primal, ancient. It surged through my veins, bones, and soul like molten lava. It had a will. It had a purpose. And it crashed into my mind with the force of the heavens collapsing.
BOOM!
A thunderclap—like the roar of the cosmos being born—detonated inside my head. My vision drowned in golden light—pure, sacred, terrifying.
Floating within that blinding sea of gold were countless runes—ancient, intricate, beyond comprehension. They danced like living fish, or orbiting stars, weaving, colliding, assembling. They formed massive, sacred diagrams—etched with truths of the universe—and without hesitation, burned themselves deep into my soul.
Pain!
Agonizing pain, as if my skull was about to burst from the flood of knowledge.
But amid the agony, a strange clarity ignited—like a star blooming in a void of black.
Twelve words, etched with divine will, burned into my being:
Ancient Sigil of Infinite Forms—
Replicate. Analyze. Seize. Make all powers mine.
In that moment—when the golden sigils carved themselves into the deepest recesses of my soul—everything outside fell away.
The jeers, the rain, the crowd… all blurred behind an invisible veil.
My eyes locked onto Zhou Xian—the one who had just condemned my fate.
That withered body. That cold, mocking face. And within his frame… a flow of spiritual energy—sharp, venomous, intricately woven like a spider's fang.
A secret technique.
In this new golden vision, it burned like a firefly in a void—his most hidden move, laid bare before me. A sly, vicious finger technique. And now… I saw its every thread, every nuance, as if the stars had aligned just to let me trace it.
The sigil pulsed.
It locked on.
From the depths of my soul, a new instinct flared—raw, primal, and absolute. The urge to replicate. The sigil's will surged through me, igniting every nerve, every cell, with a hunger not my own.
"Ah—!"
A low, guttural growl tore from my throat—part pain, part fury, part primal release. My right arm lifted without conscious command, fingers outstretched, then clenched sharply into a fist.
My blood boiled.
Something snapped inside me—veins meant to be "rotten" burst open, flooded with a copied, savage power. It was weak, yes—but sharp, ruthless, and terrifying in its precision.
At my fingertips, the air twisted.
A pinprick of dark energy spun into existence—small, nearly invisible, but dense enough to pierce steel. The aura was unmistakable. It was his technique, born again in my hand, stripped of secrecy.
"Strike."
A hoarse, broken whisper escaped my lips. With it, the force launched—condensed, silent, and swift like lightning. A thin line of grey-black shot from my finger, slicing through the rain like a deathless blade.
It was too fast.
From the moment the test stone dimmed… to the mocking laughter… to this strike—it had been only seconds.
Zhou Xian hadn't even finished turning away, still preparing to wave me off in dismissal.
But his eyes caught the movement—his pupils contracted to pinpoints.
That energy—he knew it. He felt it. An absurd horror twisted across his face.
This was… this was the embryonic form of his secret art—Bone-Eroding Needle Strike—a move he'd honed in isolation for decades, never shown in full to anyone!
"Y–you…?!"
His shout of disbelief barely formed before the attack struck.
The grey energy drilled through his hastily raised spiritual shield like it was made of paper.
Thud!
It hit just below his right chest—an area even he often forgot was a vulnerability in that very technique.
"GAHH—!"
His body convulsed violently. The smirk vanished, replaced by ghost-white skin and eyes bulging in agony. Blood burst from his mouth in a thick, blackish arc, splattering across the cold platform.
He flew.
Like a sack of broken bones, he smashed into the base of the spirit-testing stone.
Boom.
A heavy, sickening sound. The platform shook faintly. He crumpled to the ground, twitching. His robe soaked with rain and blood. His mouth foamed red. He clutched his chest with trembling hands. His glazed, furious eyes fixed on me—not just with disbelief, but terror.
Silence.
Colder. Deeper. Heavier than before.
Even the rain seemed to hold its breath.
Thousands of eyes stared—not at him—but at me.
At the boy who stood trembling on the platform, soaked and pale, arm still raised from the strike. Blood on his fingertips. Rage in his eyes.
The pain tore through me.
The god-rune had ripped through my meridians like burning wire. My muscles screamed. My energy was gone. That one strike had drained everything I had.
But I stood tall.
I refused to fall. My spine stayed straight, unbending. I could feel their stares—shocked, afraid, awestruck.
Slowly… deliberately… I lowered my hand.
No one spoke. No one moved. Only the raindrops tapped against stone, like a slow drumbeat in the silence.
Then—
A soft hum.
Warm. Gentle. But brimming with power.
A ripple passed through the air like a silent wave. It brushed against the skin, calming hearts and banishing fear.
The doors behind the platform—leading into the sect's main hall—creaked open without a sound.
A figure stepped through.
He wore white—cloud patterns embroidered in silver thread. His steps left no trace upon the rain-slick stone.
His face was serene, his beard neat, his gaze as calm as a mountain lake yet deep as an endless abyss.
Elder Yunqing.
An Inner Sect elder. Far above Zhou Xian in rank.
He walked onto the platform, expression unreadable.
His eyes flicked toward the broken, gasping form of Zhou Xian—and barely twitched in displeasure.
Then his gaze turned to me.
It lingered.
Examining. Weighing. And then… a subtle flicker. A ripple of something almost like shock.
"This boy…" Yunqing murmured. His voice was soft, but somehow carried to every corner of the rain-drenched square, "That technique… perhaps somewhat unorthodox. But the perception—the talent—undeniable."
He paused. Silence returned.
Thousands held their breath.
Finally, he spoke again—each word clear and final.
"Let it not be said Tianyun Sect is blind to destiny. Spiritual roots may falter, but the heavens hold many mysteries. Today proves this truth."He looked to the crowd, voice firm:
"Lin Ye. Possesses extraordinary insight and a unique gift. I, Yunqing, decree—he shall be accepted into Tianyun Sect. By exception."
Accepted by exception.
The words struck like thunder.
Another wave of chaos exploded across the plaza.
"Exception?! Did I hear that right?!"
"Elder Yunqing himself—?!"
"He's a waste root! That was the worst grade possible! How is this happening?!"
"But did you see it?! One finger—and Zhou Xian flew!"
"Who… who the hell is this Lin Ye…?"
Shock. Envy. Awe. Terror. The tide of emotion churned through the crowd like a storm. And every eye turned back to me again—this time not with scorn, but something far more dangerous.
Fear.
Yunqing paid them no mind. With a wave of his sleeve, a warm force wrapped around me, holding me upright as my knees threatened to buckle.
"Come," he said, his voice ringing directly in my ears—soft, but unquestionable.
I inhaled sharply, fighting back the dizziness and the tremble in my limbs.
I scanned the crowd—faces frozen mid-expression. I looked down at Zhou Xian, curled in his own blood, hatred smoldering in his fading eyes.
Then I met Yunqing's gaze.
Warm. Deep. Mysterious.
Accepted by exception.The gates of Tianyun Sect had opened for me—though not in any way I had imagined.
But beyond those gates… would the path be smooth?
The rain still fell.
Cold droplets slid down my face, stinging my eyes. The jade pendant had cooled, its blazing heat now replaced by something strange—gentle… but waiting.
I said nothing.
And walked forward, step by step, into the open doors.
Behind me: a storm of whispers, stares, and fear.
Before me: the unknown world of cultivation, a sect filled with secrets.
My path had only just begun.