The wind blew cold across Mount Gu, rustling through the dry trees and sending loose leaves scattering like ashes. A skinny boy crouched near the hillside, picking up sticks with trembling fingers. His clothes were torn, his skin bruised and cracked from the cold. But his eyes were sharp—quiet, calm, and strangely steady for someone so young.
His name was Luo Yun, fifteen years old. An orphan. No family, no background, no future. He lived at the edge of Gu Peak Village, a poor place deep in the mountains, forgotten by the world. People called him the "dung boy." They beat him when angry, ignored him when happy. Even his name, he gave to himself.
But everything changed one winter.
That year, the snow was heavy. More than half the villagers starved or froze. One night, through the blizzard, a bright light suddenly shot across the sky like lightning. Some villagers said it was a cultivator chasing a fox demon. The light was fast, silent, and gone in seconds—but Luo Yun saw it with his own eyes.
It was real.
A flash of power that tore open the sky.
From that day forward, he believed: cultivators were real. Immortality was real. And maybe—just maybe—there was a way out of this miserable life.
One year later.
"Luo Yun! Still not done with the firewood? Want me to break your legs?!"
A loud voice echoed from the path below.
Luo Yun didn't answer. He picked up the last bundle of sticks and slowly walked down the slope.
Gu Peak Village was small, with only a couple hundred people. Life here was hard—farming, hunting, and freezing. People barely had enough to eat, and nobody cared about an orphan like him.
A big man stomped toward him and kicked him hard in the chest. Luo Yun fell into the mud. The firewood scattered everywhere.
"Next time you're late, I'll burn your hands!" the man spat and walked away.
Luo Yun didn't speak. He lay still in the mud for a moment, then quietly got up and picked up the wood again. His face was blank, his eyes calm. No tears. No anger.
He understood: no one would save him. If he wanted to survive, he had to become stronger. Crying or hating wouldn't help.
That night, the moon hung thin and sharp like a blade. Luo Yun sat in a small cave behind the village, lighting a small fire with the sticks he gathered. Beside him lay an old, broken book. The title was barely readable: "Mortal Body Tempering Manual."
He had found it three months ago in a pile of trash behind the village elder's house. No one else noticed it—but he did. He took it home and read it over and over, even though many pages were missing.
The manual described a rare path: body cultivation. A way to grow stronger even without spiritual roots.
"People are born with different talents," the book said.
"Some are gifted with spiritual roots and can draw energy from the world. Others have none. These are the rootless—doomed to stay mortal."
"But even without roots, one can still temper the body, toughen the flesh and bones, and survive the impossible."
Luo Yun had no spiritual roots.
He had tried meditation before. He sat still for days, hoping to sense even a trace of spiritual energy. Nothing happened.
But this manual offered a different way.
It wouldn't make him immortal. It wouldn't let him fly through the skies.
But maybe—just maybe—it could make him strong enough to not be stepped on again.
Luo Yun took off his ragged clothes. His body was thin and bony, but he took a deep breath and started the first movement from the manual: "Ox Drives the Four Gates."
His body bent forward, muscles strained as if he were pushing against an invisible wall. Every tendon, every bone, burned with pain. His shoulders bled, his arms trembled.
It hurt. A lot. More than anything he'd ever felt.
But he didn't stop.
One hour passed. Then two. Sweat soaked the floor of the cave.
At the third hour, his legs gave out and he collapsed.
Just before blacking out, he felt something strange—a faint warmth rising from his belly. It was tiny, barely there, like a flicker of heat passing through a frozen pipe.
But it was real.
His first trace of energy.
He smiled—just a little—before darkness claimed him.
The next morning, something unusual happened in the village.
A group of people in blue robes arrived, riding strange beasts through the air. They landed near the village square. Everyone gathered to see.
An old man with a long beard stepped forward.
"We are from the Xuanling Sect," he announced. "Once every five years, we search the border villages for disciples. Children aged twelve to sixteen, step forward for a spiritual root test."
The villagers were shocked.
Xuanling Sect was one of the strongest in the Southern Region. Even an outer disciple could change their family's fate forever.
Luo Yun hesitated… but walked toward the crowd.
He knew he had no chance. But still… he wanted to try.
The old man pointed to a glowing mirror.
"Place your hand on the mirror," he said.
Luo Yun obeyed.
A faint light appeared—barely a shimmer.
The old man frowned. "No root."
He turned away. But just as he did, the compass in his hand shook slightly. A faint golden spark flickered inside—then vanished.
"Hmm? A deviation?"
A younger disciple nearby scoffed. "Probably just trash. Maybe a tiny bloodline anomaly. Not worth it."
The old man paused, then shook his head.
"Not qualified. Step aside."
The villagers laughed quietly. Some whispered, "He really thought he could be a cultivator? He picks up dung for a living."
Luo Yun said nothing.
He turned and walked away.
But inside his chest, something had changed.
If the world wouldn't give him a chance—he would make one.
If the heavens had no door for him—he would carve his own path.
Even if he had to walk it alone.
Even if he remained a nameless rogue, he would rise.
Step by step.
Until the world could no longer ignore him.