The Jade Cloud Skiff did not so much fly as it dissolved the concept of distance. The verdant patchwork of Fragrant Rice Village, the familiar, comforting curves of the Jade Mist Hills, and the entire world Wei Tiezhu had known shrank beneath him into a painted miniature, then vanished into a sea of swirling cloud. The air was no longer the warm, rice-scented breath of home, but a thin, cold, spiritualized medium that tasted of ozone and altitude. His stomach, which had only just recovered from the terror of the Crows, staged a violent rebellion against this new, unnatural mode of travel. He clung to the skiff's railing, his knuckles white, his face a pale shade of green.
Wei Xiao'ou, in stark contrast, was fast asleep.
He had found a relatively sheltered spot near the rear of the skiff, curled up with his head resting on his rolled-up sleeping mat, his rusty umbrella tucked under his arm like a child's favorite toy. The thunderous roar of wind and spiritual energy that should have been deafening seemed to part around him, creating a pocket of profound quiet. He snored softly, a picture of perfect peace, utterly untroubled by the fact that he was hurtling through the sky at a speed that would turn a normal mortal into a red smear on the landscape.
Elder Guo stood at the prow, a statue of immutable authority, his back to the two new disciples. Senior Sister Shen Bing stood beside him, her posture so perfect it seemed to defy the very motion of the skiff. Her eyes, the color of a frozen lake, were fixed on the horizon, but an occasional, almost imperceptible flicker towards the sleeping form of Xiao'ou betrayed a sliver of… not interest, perhaps, but profound bafflement.
Senior Brother Long Aotian, however, was a simmering pot of righteous indignation. The red paint had been scrubbed from his face, but the stain on his pride remained, livid and hot. He stood as far from Xiao'ou as the skiff would allow, his arms crossed, shooting daggers at the slumbering youth with his eyes. Every soft snore was a personal insult. This… this slug was now his sect-brother? It was an obscenity.
The journey lasted several hours. As they began their descent, piercing through a thick layer of cloud, the Heavenly Sword Peak revealed itself.
It was not a single mountain, but a range of jagged, impossibly tall peaks that stabbed at the heavens like a series of divine swords thrust into the earth. The central peak, Heavenly Sword itself, was a monstrous spear of grey stone, its upper third sheathed in eternal snow and wreathed in auroras of condensed spiritual energy. Waterfalls of liquid light cascaded down its flanks, and bridges of solidified moonlight connected the various subsidiary peaks. The air thrummed with a constant, low-grade hum of sword intent—the accumulated will of countless generations of swordsmen. It was majestic, intimidating, and utterly sterile compared to the living, breathing earth of Fragrant Rice Village.
The skiff docked at a wide, flat plaza carved into the side of a lesser peak, designated for outer sect affairs. The stone was worn smooth by millennia of footsteps. Buildings of dark, polished wood and pale stone clung to the mountainsides, arranged with a severe, martial geometry. There were no spirit-rice fields here, only training grounds marked with deep gouges, practice dummies made of enchanted ironwood, and the constant, ringing sound of metal on metal.
"Disembark," Elder Guo commanded, his voice echoing in the thin air.
Wei Tiezhu stumbled off the skiff, his legs wobbling, grateful to be on solid ground, even if it was this terrifying, alien stone. Xiao'ou was the last to leave, yawning and stretching as if he'd just woken from a pleasant nap in his own bed.
Elder Guo handed them each a small, wooden token inscribed with their name and the character for "outer," and a set of two coarse, grey outer disciple robes. "These are your identity tokens and robes. You will report to the Assignment Hall immediately. Your duties and living quarters will be assigned there. Do not be late. Do not cause trouble." His gaze lingered for a moment on Xiao'ou. "The tolerance for indolence here is zero."
With that, he and the two inner disciples vanished in a flicker of movement, leaving the two country boys alone in the vast, echoing plaza.
Tiezhu took a deep, shuddering breath. The spiritual energy here was so thick it was like breathing soup, but it was also sharp, edged, and aggressive. It felt like inhaling tiny needles. "Ancestors… this place…"
"Loud, isn't it?" Xiao'ou remarked, scratching his head. "All that sword intent buzzing around. Very stressful for the nervous system. No wonder they all look so constipated."
"Xiao'ou! Show some respect!" Tiezhu hissed, looking around fearfully.
"Respect is earned, cousin," Xiao'ou said, his eyes lazily scanning the imposing architecture. "And so far, they've earned a B-minus for hospitality and an F for interior decorating. All this grey. It's depressing."
He tucked his token and robes under his arm and began to amble in the general direction of the largest building, which had a sign above its door reading "Assignment Hall." Tiezhu hurried after him, feeling like a duck that had accidentally wandered into a den of wolves.
The Assignment Hall was a cavernous space filled with the low murmur of hundreds of disciples. A long, stone counter ran along one wall, behind which senior outer disciples shuffled scrolls and barked orders. The air smelled of dust, ink, and sweat. A massive board on one wall was covered in postings for tasks—"Spirit Mine Patrol," "Sword Cleaning Duty," "Alchemy Furnace Stoking," "Latrine Cleansing (Punishment Detail)."
They joined a queue. The disciples around them were a mix of ages and builds, but they all shared a hard, weary look. Their robes were worn, their hands calloused. They glanced at the two newcomers with a mixture of pity and dismissal. Fresh meat.
When they reached the front of the line, a harried-looking senior disciple with a long, horse-like face didn't even look up. "Names."
"Wei Tiezhu."
"Wei Xiao'ou."
The disciple ran a finger down a long scroll. "Tiezhu. Essence Condensation third layer. Earth root. Assignment: Spirit Stone Mine #4, ore-cart pushing squad. Quarters: Dormitory 7, bunk 42." He shoved a small, crude map at Tiezhu. "Xiao'ou. Essence Condensation third layer. Unremarkable root. Assignment: Spirit Herb Garden #9, fertilization and pest control. Quarters: Dormitory 12, bunk 11." He shoved another map at Xiao'ou.
Tiezhu's heart sank. The mines? It was back-breaking, spiritually draining labor, known for stunting the growth of low-level disciples. But he swallowed his disappointment and bowed. "Thank you, Senior Brother."
Xiao'ou, however, was studying his assignment slip. "Fertilization and pest control?" he mused. "So… I'd be dealing with… manure and bugs?"
The senior disciple finally looked up, his expression one of profound annoyance. "Yes. That is generally what 'fertilization and pest control' entails. Do you have a problem with that?"
Xiao'ou looked him dead in the eye, his expression utterly sincere. "Senior Brother, with all due respect, I have a very sensitive nose. I'm afraid the… aromas… would disrupt my delicate spiritual equilibrium. It could seriously impact my cultivation. I couldn't possibly perform such a task to the best of my abilities."
The senior disciple stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. In his years at the Assignment Hall, he had heard every excuse in the book—feigned illness, fake injuries, appeals to non-existent noble lineage. But a "sensitive nose" and "delicate spiritual equilibrium"? This was a new one.
Tiezhu wanted to sink through the floor.
"Are you… are you joking?" the senior disciple sputtered.
"Spiritual health is no joke, Senior Brother," Xiao'ou said, placing a hand over his heart. "Perhaps there is another task? Something less… olfactorily aggressive? I'm an excellent napper. Perhaps there is a need for a somnolence consultant?"
The disciples in the line behind them were now snickering. The senior disciple's face turned red. "You will report to the Spirit Herb Garden #9 at dawn tomorrow, or you will be assigned to latrine duty for a month! Next!"
As they were shoved away from the counter, Tiezhu rounded on his cousin. "What is wrong with you?! You can't talk to them like that! We're nobodies here!"
"Every masterpiece begins with a single, defiant brushstroke," Xiao'ou replied serenely, studying his map. "Now, let's find this Dormitory 12. I hope the mattress isn't too lumpy."
—
Dormitory 12 was, if possible, even more depressing than Tiezhu's Dormitory 7. It was a long, low building that smelled of damp stone and unwashed bodies. Bunk beds were crammed into the space with barely room to walk between them. Bunk 11 was a bottom bunk in a dim corner, next to a drafty window.
Xiao'ou's roommate was already there. He was a boy about their age, but so spectacularly, profoundly fat that he seemed to defy the sect's aesthetic of lean, hardened cultivators. His round, cheerful face was beaded with sweat, and he was currently attempting to meditate while simultaneously eating a steamed bun he'd produced from a seemingly endless supply in his robes.
He opened one eye as Xiao'ou approached. "New guy?" he grunted around a mouthful of bun.
"Wei Xiao'ou," Xiao'ou said, tossing his robes onto the bunk.
"Murong Chubby," the boy replied, finishing the bun and immediately producing another. "Don't judge. It's a medical condition. My spiritual root requires constant caloric intake to function."
Xiao'ou looked him up and down. "The Rare 'Gluttonous Saint' physique? I thought that was a myth."
Murong Chubby froze, the second bun halfway to his mouth. He stared at Xiao'ou, his eyes wide. "You… you know about that?"
"I read a lot," Xiao'ou said, unpacking his meager belongings. "In my sleep. The dreams are very educational."
Murong Chubby looked at him with a new, intense interest. "Nobody here believes me. They just think I'm a lazy fatso. They have me on 'Sustenance Preparation' duty. I have to taste-test all the spirit food for the outer sect elders. It's a living nightmare."
"It sounds traumatizing," Xiao'ou agreed solemnly.
"You have no idea," Chubby said, shaking his head with genuine sorrow. "So, what's your story? You don't look like mine fodder."
"I'm here to nap," Xiao'ou said, lying down on his bunk and closing his eyes. "And apparently, to fertilize herbs. It's a conflict of interests."
—
The next week was a brutal education in the harsh realities of sect life for Wei Tiezhu. The spirit stone mines were a hellish labyrinth deep within the mountain. The air was thick with stone dust and the oppressive weight of earth Qi. Pushing carts of raw, unrefined spirit ore was back-breaking work that drained his meager spiritual energy faster than he could replenish it. His "Unmoving Mountain" technique was the only thing that kept him going, allowing him to root his feet and push with a stability that surprised the older, more jaded miners. He returned to his dormitory each night covered in grime, his muscles screaming, and fell into a dreamless sleep, too tired even to feel despair.
He saw Xiao'ou only occasionally, at the crowded, noisy refectory where they served bland, functional spirit grain porridge. His cousin always looked… clean. And well-rested. He claimed his duties in the herb garden were "surprisingly manageable."
This was a lie.
Wei Xiao'ou's first day at Spirit Herb Garden #9 had begun with a confrontation with the garden's overseer, a bitter, stick-thin inner sect disciple named Senior Brother Gao, who had been banished to this duty after a failed duel.
"The new fertilizer is here," Gao had sneered, pointing to a reeking mound of spiritual beast manure and a pile of crushed insect carapaces. "You will mix it according to this formula," he thrust a scroll at Xiao'ou, "and apply it to each of the thousand Silver-Moon Petal plants in this garden. Then, you will check each plant for Spirit-Sucking Aphids and remove them by hand. Any damage to a plant comes out of your spirit stone stipend."
The task was designed to be impossible for a single Essence Condensation disciple to complete in a day. Failure meant punishment—usually a deduction from the meager monthly stipend of one spirit stone.
Xiao'ou had looked at the manure, then at the scroll, then at the vast garden of delicate, shimmering plants. He had sighed.
Then, he had gotten to work. But his work did not involve touching the manure.
He spent the first hour simply walking through the garden, his umbrella tapping lightly on the gravel paths. He wasn't looking at the plants; he was listening to the earth, feeling the flow of water and nutrients, mapping the subtle ley lines that fed the garden. He noted the areas where the soil was compacted, where the Qi was stagnant, where the sunlight was too harsh.
He then went to the mound of fertilizer. Instead of mixing it, he used the tip of his umbrella to trace a complex, swirling pattern in the air above it. The foul smell instantly vanished, replaced by a clean, earthy scent. The manure seemed to… settle, its spiritual components aligning into a more harmonious state.
Next, he addressed the aphid problem. He didn't look for the insects. He found a colony of fat, contented-looking ground beetles hiding under a rock—a species that was a natural predator of the Spirit-Sucking Aphid but was usually ignored because they were hard to cultivate. Xiao'ou spent another hour using his umbrella to gently coax the beetles, directing them with minute pulses of earth-attuned Qi towards the plants that were most infested. The beetles, sensing an easy meal and a benevolent guiding presence, happily complied.
By midday, he had not mixed a single batch of fertilizer nor squashed a single aphid. He had, however, realigned the entire garden's nutrient flow and deployed a self-sustaining pest control army.
He then found a sunny, sheltered spot between two particularly robust Silver-Moon Petals, lay down, and went to sleep.
When Senior Brother Gao returned at the end of the day, ready to levy fines and mete out punishment, he stopped dead. The garden was… thriving. The plants were noticeably brighter, their petals fuller, their spiritual auras stronger. There wasn't a single aphid in sight. And the manure pile was untouched.
"What… what did you do?" Gao demanded, his voice shrill.
Xiao'ou sat up, yawning. "I fertilized and controlled pests, Senior Brother. As instructed."
"You didn't touch the fertilizer!"
"The most potent fertilizer is a balanced ecosystem, Senior Brother. I simply… encouraged the balance."
"And the aphids?"
"I encouraged their natural predators. It's a more sustainable, long-term solution. Less work for everyone."
Gao was flummoxed. The garden had never looked better. He couldn't punish the boy for success. He sputtered, his face turning red, before finally snarling, "Just… just don't be late tomorrow!"
And so it went. Every day, Xiao'ou would perform some small, seemingly insignificant action—tapping a rock here, tracing a pattern in the air there, redirecting a trickle of water—that would somehow result in the herb garden flourishing beyond its previous state, all while he spent the majority of his official duty hours fast asleep. Senior Brother Gao grew to simultaneously loathe and depend on him. The garden's yield, and by extension Gao's own performance evaluation, was improving dramatically, but it was being achieved through methods he couldn't comprehend and by a disciple who showed him zero respect.
Meanwhile, Xiao'ou used his free time to explore. He napped in the Sword Pagoda library, absorbing the contents of foundational cultivation manuals through his dreams. He napped by the Reflecting Moon Pond, subtly siphoning a fraction of its concentrated water Qi to solidify his own, secretly advancing cultivation. He napped in the shadow of the Grand Auction Hall, listening to the whispers of commerce and intrigue.
He was a ghost in the machine of the Heavenly Sword Peak, a lazy, smiling anomaly that the great sect, in all its rigid, structured glory, had no protocol for handling.
His reputation began to spread, not as a genius, but as the "Lucky Slacker." The disciple who slept through his duties yet somehow always met his quotas. The disciple who had somehow gotten Senior Brother Gao, known for his petty tyranny, to leave him alone.
One evening, about two weeks after their arrival, Wei Tiezhu dragged himself back to the dormitory area. He was on the verge of collapse. A cave-in in the mine had nearly crushed him, and only his Unmoving Mountain stance had saved him, but the effort had drained him completely. He felt the barrier to the 4th layer of Essence Condensation, but it felt farther away than ever, a mountain he was too tired to climb.
He found Xiao'ou waiting for him outside Dormitory 7, leaning against the wall and eating a spirit-fruit he'd presumably pilfered from his garden.
"You look terrible, cousin," Xiao'ou remarked.
Tiezhu didn't have the energy to retort. "The mines… they're sucking me dry. I'm not growing. I'm just… surviving."
Xiao'ou finished the fruit and tossed the core away. "You're trying to be a mountain in a quarry. They're digging you out piece by piece. You need to be a mountain in a forest, where the roots can gather strength."
"What are you talking about?" Tiezhu snapped, his frustration boiling over.
Xiao'ou reached into his robe and pulled out a small, crude ceramic bottle. "Here. A gift from my garden."
Tiezhu took it warily. "What is it?"
"Call it… 'Spirit-Cola Concentrate: Revitalizing Formula.' A collaborative effort between myself and Murong Chubby. He provided the fizz. I provided the… spiritual guidance."
Tiezhu uncorked it. A familiar, sweet, fizzy scent emerged, but it was underlaid with something else—the profound, nourishing aroma of a dozen high-grade spirit herbs. "You… you made spirit cola? Here?"
"Adapt or die, cousin," Xiao'ou said with a shrug. "Drink it. All of it. Then go to sleep. And trust me, when I say, do not be late for your mine duty tomorrow."
Exhausted and desperate, Tiezhu didn't argue. He downed the contents in one go. It was like swallowing a thunderstorm. A torrent of pure, vibrant, strangely joyful spiritual energy exploded in his dantian. It wasn't sharp and aggressive like the sword Qi of the peak; it was deep, earthy, and revitalizing, like the first rain after a long drought. It surged through his meridians, washing away the fatigue and the accumulated stone-dust, flowing directly towards the petrified dam of his 4th layer barrier.
He stumbled into his dormitory and fell onto his bunk. As sleep took him, he felt not the usual dead exhaustion, but a profound, cellular realignment. The Unmoving Mountain technique, guided by Yun Lian and now supercharged by this bizarre elixir, finally clicked into place. He wasn't just standing firm against the world; he was drawing the world's strength into himself.
He slept. And for the first time since arriving at the Heavenly Sword Peak, he dreamed not of darkness and crushing rock, but of deep, strong roots spreading through fertile soil.
The next morning, Wei Tiezhu woke before the dawn bell. He felt… different. Lighter, yet more solid. He stretched, and his joints didn't creak. He took a deep breath, and the sharp, needle-like sword Qi of the air didn't sting his lungs; it felt invigorating.
He reported to the mine. The foreman, a hulking brute named Brother Gang, sneered at him. "Look who's back. Ready for another day of barely keeping up, rock-biter?"
The task was the same: move ten tons of raw ore from the new vein to the surface carts. It was a task that usually took Tiezhu the entire day, leaving him broken.
Today, he walked up to the first massive boulder, took a deep breath, and sank into the Unmoving Mountain stance. He didn't just push the rock. He felt its weight, connected with the earth beneath it, and redirected its inertia. The boulder, which usually required agonizing effort to shift, slid smoothly onto his cart with a deep, grinding rumble.
Brother Gang's sneer vanished. He watched, dumbfounded, as Tiezhu moved from boulder to boulder, his movements fluid and powerful, his breathing even. He completed the task before noon.
The other miners stared. Brother Gang walked over, his expression unreadable. He punched Tiezhu hard in the shoulder—a common test of a body cultivator's stability.
Tiezhu didn't flinch. The impact felt like a pebble hitting a cliff face.
Brother Gang grunted, a flicker of respect in his eyes. "Hmph. Not completely useless after all. From now on, you're on the deep-vein extraction team. Double the pay, double the danger. Don't make me regret it."
It was a promotion. A recognition.
As Tiezhu left the mine that evening, his spirit stone stipend feeling heavier in his pocket, he understood. The cola, the advice… it wasn't luck. It was a calculated, precise intervention. His cousin had looked at the impossible equation of his life and solved for X without even seeming to try.
He looked up at the towering, oppressive peaks of the sect, and for the first time, he didn't feel small.
He felt like he was standing on the shoulders of a giant who was pretending to be an ant.
And somewhere, in a forgotten corner of a spirit herb garden, that giant was taking a well-deserved nap, a slow, knowing smile on his sleeping face. The slacker's ascent had begun, and he was pulling his entire world up with him, one perfectly timed, lazily executed miracle at a time.