Another glorious day in the illustrious Scarlet Cloud Sect, and Lin Feng, as usual, was knee-deep in shit. Literally. The pen of the Cloud-Climbing Horses—third-rate spirit beasts with egos inversely proportional to their combat utility—required his daily attention. And "attention" was a euphemism for shoveling the divine manure these noble steeds deigned to produce.
"Truly, my path to immortality is paved with gold," Lin Feng muttered to himself, a wry smile playing on his lips as he plunged his shovel into the steaming pile. "Or with something that smells suspiciously similar and attracts the same flies."
He glanced up for a moment, beyond the dilapidated walls of the outer disciples' corral, towards the distant peaks where the truly chosen resided. There, on a white jade courtyard that gleamed under the morning sun like a celestial promise, a figure moved with a grace that seemed alien to the mortal world. Slender, cloaked in robes as deep blue as the night sky, her black hair danced like silk as she executed a sword form. Every movement was poetry, every thrust a decree of power. A faint aura of pure, almost white flames surrounded her, distorting the air.
Xiao Lan. The jewel of the sect, the "Ice and Fire Princess" as some called her in envious whispers, though her Dao was clearly of Purifying Fire. Probably practicing some technique that could incinerate this pen and all its occupants with a mere thought. And he, Lin Feng, wondered if Cloud-Climbing Horse number three had swallowed another low-grade spirit stone he could have used to, well, to continue failing in his cultivation attempts, but at least with a little more style.
A harsh voice, like gravel in a rice bowl, snapped him out of his philosophical contemplations on the fairness of the universe. "Hey, Feng! Has the manure fried your brain? We're talking to you, trash!"
Zhang Fu, burly and with just enough intelligence to tie the laces of his disciple boots (an achievement that, according to Lin Feng, must have taken him years of practice), planted himself in front of him, flanked by his inseparable shadow, Li Wei, whose small, glittering eyes darted about with the nervous cunning of a rat in a granary.
"My sincerest apologies, Senior Brother Zhang, Senior Brother Li Wei," Lin Feng replied, his voice smooth, almost honeyed, as he leaned the shovel down with infuriating slowness. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile played at the corner of his lips, one that always managed to light Zhang Fu's short fuse. "I was so engrossed in contemplating the profound correlation between equine fertilizer and spiritual advancement that I failed to perceive your illustrious presences."
Zhang Fu's knuckles turned white. "Still spewing your nonsense, worm! Think you're so clever? Think your little words will save you from the beating you deserve just for existing?"
Li Wei let out a hissing chuckle. "Perhaps he's in the mood to donate his midday rations to us today, Senior Brother. Or that scrap spirit stone I saw him hiding yesterday. A contribution to his superiors, for the sake of his... 'cultivation'."
Lin Feng sighed internally. The same old routine. The same lack of imagination. "Senior Brothers, I'm afraid my only valuable possession at present is this profound understanding of the manure cycle. Perhaps you'd desire a dissertation? It might illuminate your cultivation paths in unsuspected ways."
"Enough of your insolence!" roared Zhang Fu, the vein in his temple throbbing. He lunged forward, his fist aiming for Lin Feng's face.
What followed was not the usual resigned submission. Lin Feng, though he knew he couldn't win in a direct confrontation of strength—his body, barely at the first stage of Qi Condensation, was as fragile as glass compared to them—was no longer the same passive punching bag. Years of silent observation, contained resentment, and a mind sharpened by the need to survive had taught him a few things.
The instant Zhang Fu's fist approached, Lin Feng seemed to "accidentally" stumble over his own shovel, which he had strategically left on the ground. His body leaned back in a strangely elastic way, and Zhang Fu's fist whistled past where his nose had been a millisecond before. Zhang Fu's uncontrolled momentum, combined with the slippery ground of the pen, caused him to stumble and fall face-first... directly onto the pile of fresh manure Lin Feng had yet to shovel.
A wet, sickening squelch echoed, followed by stunned silence, and then a choked cry from Li Wei, who recoiled as if he'd seen a ghost.
Lin Feng slowly straightened up, an expression of innocent surprise on his face. "Oh, dear! Senior Brother Zhang! Are you alright? This ground is treacherous. We should inform the deacon in charge of maintenance. The safety of the disciples is paramount, don't you think?"
Zhang Fu emerged from the pile, his face and robes covered in a brown, foul-smelling substance, his eyes bloodshot with fury and absolute humiliation. "YOU... YOU FILTHY TRASH! I'LL KILL YOU!"
He lunged again, this time blind with rage. Lin Feng dodged his first swipe with another strangely fluid movement, almost as if he knew where Zhang Fu would strike before Zhang Fu himself did. It wasn't Qi speed; it was something else, an anticipation, a way of moving that seemed out of sync with his apparent weakness.
Li Wei, seeing his leader in such a state, tried to join in, aiming a low kick at Lin Feng's legs. But Lin Feng, instead of retreating, took a small step into the kick, pivoting on his heel in a way that caused Li Wei's leg to tangle with Zhang Fu's, who was still trying to regain his balance. The result was a comical and painful collision between the two bullies, who ended up in a heap on the ground, this time away from the manure, but no less humiliated.
Lin Feng observed them with the same detached calm. "Senior Brothers, I truly believe today is not your lucky day. Perhaps the Feng Shui of this pen is not favorable to you. Would you like me to consult some ancient texts on harmonizing equine energies and propitiating martial fortune?"
Zhang Fu and Li Wei got up, bruised, stinking, and above all, deeply bewildered and furious. Never before had Lin Feng resisted like this, never with this strange mix of fortunate clumsiness and a calm that chilled them to the bone.
"This isn't over, Feng," Zhang Fu growled, pointing at him with a trembling, dirty finger. "You'll regret this. I swear it."
"I eagerly await your future... 'lessons,' Senior Brother," Lin Feng replied with a slight inclination of his head. "I am always willing to learn."
The two bullies retreated, casting hateful glares, but with a new, strange hesitation in their steps. The other outer disciples who had witnessed the scene from afar murmured amongst themselves, unsure what to think.
Lin Feng sighed as they left, the smile vanishing from his face, replaced by a cold determination. It had been a small victory, yes, but he knew he had only bought himself time, and probably more trouble. His "luck" wouldn't last forever.
He returned to his task, shoveling manure with renewed efficiency. The humiliation was still a bitter taste in his mouth, but today, for the first time, it was mixed with a hint of something more: a cold, dangerous satisfaction.
That night, in the darkness of his straw pallet, Lin Feng tried to meditate as usual. The flow of Qi remained elusive, his meridians as stubborn as ever. Frustration washed over him. The morning's small victory didn't change his fundamental reality: he was still trash on the path of cultivation.
But then, as his desperation and resentment reached a fever pitch, he remembered that strange sensation he had experienced earlier, that vibration in his dantian. He focused on it, not with hope, but with a cold fury, a silent demand. If there's anything inside me, anything at all, show yourself!
And something answered.
A sharp pain, like a red-hot iron, flared in his dantian. But this time, it wasn't just pain. It was... power. A dark, primordial energy, vast as the void, began to stir within him—not like the gentle, orderly Qi from the manuals, but like a cosmic storm, a nascent chaos. He trembled, feeling his body was a mere vessel for something too vast, too ancient. It wasn't a gift. It was an invasion, an awakening. A seed of chaos, planted in the barren soil of his despair, was beginning to sprout.
At that moment, the sound of a gong echoed throughout the Outer Sector, followed by the amplified voice of a deacon: "Attention, all outer disciples! The Spirit Beast Trial will be moved up! Gather in the White Crane Plaza in one hour to receive your assignments! No one is to be absent!"
Lin Feng opened his eyes, the chaotic energy still writhing painfully within him, but his lips formed a slow, dangerous smile.
"The Spirit Beast Trial..." he whispered into the darkness. "How wonderfully... chaotic. Perhaps this 'fertilizer specialist' will find some different uses for his shovel after all."
A new era, dark and uncertain, had just begun.