Sunlight shimmered off sweating backs as dozens of disciples drilled martial forms under the watchful eyes of clan instructors.
Qin Feng stood near the edge of it all, leaning gently on his bamboo staff, ears turned toward the noise. He wasn't part of the formation. He never was. But every day, he came here.
To listen.
To memorize.
To hope.
"Why do you even bother coming here?"
The voice cut through the air like a knife — sharp, dismissive, and too familiar.
Qin Feng didn't need eyes to know who it was. The voice belonged to Qin Liang, the son of an inner clan elder, and one of the most talented youths of their generation.
At fifteen, same age as Qin feng, Qin Liang had already reached the Skin Hardening Stage, the final layer of the Body Tempering Realm. His body had been tempered to the peak of mortal limits. His skin could shrug off blades. His fists could crack stone. He moved with the ease of someone used to power… and the arrogance to match it.
"The blind boy's here again," Qin Liang sneered, his confident footsteps drawing closer. "Still pretending to be a cultivator?"
Qin Feng remained still, unfazed. The sound of approaching sandals told him Qin Liang was alone. But the growing whispers around them made one thing clear:
The others were watching.
Of course they were.
They always watched.
In this world, cultivation was everything, the path to power, pride, and survival. And it began with the Body Tempering Realm, the first step on the martial path.
The realm was split into three stages:
Bone Forging: The initial stage, where essence energy was absorbed into the body, reforging the bones through relentless pain and pressure.
Muscle Building: The second stage, when essence seeped into the muscles, refining them for strength, speed, and explosive force.
Skin Hardening: The final stage, where essence merged with the skin itself, making it tough, durable, and able to withstand the burden of circulating higher energies.
Most disciples began their cultivation at fourteen, when their bodies matured enough to survive the strain. For many, even reaching the second stage took years.
But Qin Liang? He had soared through it in just over twelve months. A prodigy.
But Qin Feng…
He hadn't even entered the first stage.
Not because he lacked effort. Not because he lacked will.
But because his body rejected cultivation itself.
The balance of the five senses; that was the hidden requirement for cultivation. Perceiving essence energy wasn't just about qi or blood. It required harmony between the senses, the eyes, ears, skin, breath, and soul.
Essence energy flowed around all things, subtle and intangible. A cultivator had to sense it, feel it, hear it, breathe with it, and move in resonance with its rhythm. These senses together created an internal harmony. A bridge.
But Qin Feng was born blind.
No matter how heightened his other senses became the imbalance in his sensory perception created a dissonance. He could not perceive essence the way others could. That blocked his path.
Qin Liang stopped in front of him. "Hey," he said louder, voice curling with mockery. "I asked you a question. Or do those broken eyes come with broken ears too?"
"I hear you," Qin Feng replied calmly.
"Oh? Then answer. Why are you here? You think standing near cultivators will turn you into one?"
"No," Qin Feng said. "But listening teaches me what seeing never will."
A few of the onlookers chuckled.
Qin Liang scoffed. "You're delusional. You can't cultivate. You're not one of us. You'll never be one of us."
Qin Feng's grip tightened slightly on his staff. The world had told him this a hundred times in a hundred ways. He was used to the words. But they still burned.
"I know I'm different," he said quietly. "But strength doesn't belong to the eyes. It belongs to the will."
That struck a nerve.
Qin Liang's tone turned sharp. "Oh? Then let's test that 'will' of yours."
He turned to the nearby disciples and raised his voice. "Three strikes! If he lands even one hit on me, I'll call him a true cultivator and bow to him."
Gasps rippled through the courtyard.
"But if he can't…" Qin Liang looked back at Qin Feng, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. "He leaves the Qin Clan. For good."
The silence that followed was heavier than steel.
No one intervened.
Not even the instructor standing nearby — an elder with white-streaked hair and tired eyes. He simply looked away. Everyone knew Qin Feng was a burden to the clan, a mark of shame.
This… was simply convenient.
Qin Feng didn't speak right away.
Inside, something twisted.
Leave?
He had no family. No allies. No home beyond these cold walls. The Qin Clan — cruel as it was — was the only place he had ever known. The only roof above his head. The only fire that had kept him warm.
But maybe…
Maybe it had always been a cage.
"Staying here won't do me any good either," Qin Feng thought bitterly. "Maybe leaving is the best course."
He raised his head.
"If that's your condition," he said, voice even, "then I accept."
Shock flickered across the faces in the crowd.
"You really want to be humiliated in front of everyone?" Qin Liang asked, incredulous.
"I've already been humiliated," Qin Feng answered. "Every day for the past seven years. This won't change much."
Qin Liang blinked.
Then he grinned and cracked his knuckles. "Fine. Let's give the trash one last dance before we sweep him out."
The disciples stepped back, forming a wide circle around the courtyard's stone center. The air buzzed with tension and barely concealed excitement.
Qin Feng stepped forward slowly, using his bamboo staff to measure the distance. His steps were light, careful, his ears tuned to every breath and heartbeat around him.
He could already hear the subtle shift in Qin Liang's weight, the cockiness in the set of his stance, the slight grind of his heels as he prepared to strike.
Qin Feng wasn't here to win.
He was here for one last chance to stand, even if only for a moment, as a cultivator.