Rootless Trash and the Starfall Curse
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🌑 "In a world where even insects have roots, a boy without one is not even worth crushing." — Ancient Sect Proverb
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The wind screamed across the valley like a wounded beast. The sky above was cracked with lightning, and thunder roared like the wrath of angry gods. In the dirt, half-buried in blood and mud, a boy lay motionless, his body trembling with cold… and hate.
His name was Fang Yun, though no one ever called him that anymore.
To the villagers, to the sect disciples, even to the elders, he was known only as one thing:
> "Rootless Trash."
"He's still breathing," someone spat. "Pity. Better if he died early. Save the sect some rice."
Fang Yun could hear them. His consciousness drifted in and out, each word digging into him deeper than any blade.
"Trash like him shouldn't even be allowed in the Outer Sect."
"He has no spiritual root. No meridians. Not even a speck of qi. What's the point?"
They laughed, walking away, their footsteps crunching over leaves and bones. Fang Yun remained where he lay—face-down in the dirt—teeth gritted, fists clenched, his thin body battered from the latest 'test.'
It was his seventh beating this month. Outer Sect disciples liked to train their fists on something that wouldn't break too quickly.
And Fang Yun never broke.
He bled. He cried. But he never broke.
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Born Without Heaven's Blessing
In the Cultivation World of the Thousand Origin Realm, power determined everything. The moment a child was born, their spiritual root was tested. Some had single roots, others dual. A few rare prodigies had heavenly roots, granting unimaginable potential.
But Fang Yun? He had none.
The crystal ball turned black the day he was tested.
A sign of emptiness.
No root. No qi sense. No connection to the Dao.
The Elder who tested him whispered, "This child has been abandoned by the heavens."
His parents died mysteriously days later. Some said it was a demon beast. Others said it was... punishment. Either way, Fang Yun was left alone, growing up in the shadows of cultivators, scrubbing floors and cleaning toilets at the Ironroot Sect.
By age ten, he was accepted as a servant disciple, not because of talent, but because the Sect Master pitied him.
Pity. A cursed gift worse than hate.
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The Day the Sky Broke
That day began like any other—mockery, bruises, and empty bowls. Fang Yun limped up the mountain path, carrying heavy water buckets on a splintered bamboo pole across his back. Rain threatened overhead. Thunder rumbled.
From the cliff's edge, he saw the Golden Pavilion, where inner disciples trained with qi blades and divine techniques.
He watched from afar, yearning.
"Rootless dog," one voice sneered from behind.
He didn't need to look. It was Chen Gui, a senior disciple. A golden-robed prodigy with a Silver Root. Behind him were two laughing lackeys.
"Still dreaming of cultivation?" Chen Gui kicked the bucket over. "Water's spilled. Guess you'll have to fetch it again."
Fang Yun didn't answer. He just picked up the bucket, limping back down the path.
"Hey," Chen Gui called out. "Next time, bark before walking. Rootless dogs should know their place."
The laughter echoed behind him.
But Fang Yun didn't cry.
He just clenched his jaw harder, nails digging into his palms until they bled.
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