The Spirit Stone shattered the moment it touched Xiao Li's palm.
Not cracked.
Not dimmed.
It turned to dust.
The fine gray powder slipped through his fingers and scattered across the stone platform, carried away by the mountain wind. For a brief moment, the entire testing hall was silent.
Then someone laughed.
"Again?" a disciple muttered. "That's the third one."
Xiao Li lowered his hand slowly. His expression did not change, though the faint sting in his chest was familiar by now. Around him, dozens of outer disciples stood in orderly lines, each holding their breath as elders measured talent, roots, and fate.
Above the platform, Elder Qian frowned.
"Useless," the elder said flatly. "Remove him."
The word fell like a final verdict.
Two guards stepped forward. They did not look at Xiao Li with hatred or cruelty—only mild irritation, as one might feel toward a broken tool that refused to work.
Xiao Li bowed.
The movement was precise, respectful, and completely empty of hope.
"Yes, Elder."
He stepped away from the platform without protest, without argument. This was not the first time. Nor, he suspected, would it be the last.
Behind him, the test continued.
A young man with bright eyes and flowing robes placed his hand on a Spirit Stone. Light burst forth, illuminating the hall in soft azure brilliance.
"Upper-grade roots!"
Cheers erupted. Elders nodded approvingly. Fate recorded another name.
Xiao Li walked out of the hall as if none of it concerned him.
Outside, the Azure Heaven Sect sprawled across the mountains like a divine city carved from stone and cloud. Floating pavilions hovered above cliffs. Sword lights streaked through the sky. Immortal music drifted faintly on the wind.
It was beautiful.
It had never belonged to him.
Xiao Li followed the stone steps downward, toward the servant quarters hidden beneath the outer sect. His robes were plain gray, marked with the insignia of labor rather than cultivation. He carried no sword, no talisman, no jade slip bearing a future.
Only his name.
And even that felt fragile.
At twenty years old, he had failed the Spirit Root test three times.
By sect law, that made him talentless.
By sect mercy, it allowed him to remain—as a servant.
"Xiao Li."
He stopped.
Senior Brother Han stood near the stairway, arms crossed, expression carefully neutral. Han was already at mid Qi Refining, his aura sharp and defined. The difference between them was not just power—it was recognition.
"The elders have decided," Han said. "You're assigned to lower maintenance. No more testing."
"I understand," Xiao Li replied.
Han hesitated, then lowered his voice. "They're sending you to clean the old formation chamber."
Xiao Li looked up.
The old chamber lay beneath the sect's foundation, sealed off generations ago after a collapse. It was not dangerous—just forgotten. A place where formations failed and Qi behaved strangely.
Servants whispered about it.
"That's fine," Xiao Li said.
Han studied him, searching for bitterness, anger, anything. Finding none, he looked away.
"You really don't feel anything?" Han asked.
Xiao Li considered the question.
"I feel tired," he said.
Han snorted softly. "You're strange."
Perhaps.
Xiao Li bowed again and continued down the steps, his footsteps echoing into the depths.
The lower formation chamber smelled of stone, dust, and age.
Light barely reached it. The walls were etched with half-erased runes, their meanings lost to time. At the center lay a cracked platform, its formation lines broken and incomplete.
Xiao Li set down his tools and began to clean.
Sweeping. Scraping. Clearing debris that no one had touched in decades.
As he worked, he felt it again.
That pressure.
Not Qi. Not spiritual force.
Something… empty.
He paused.
The air around the cracked platform felt thinner, quieter. Sound dulled. Dust settled unnaturally fast. Xiao Li stepped closer, frowning.
There—beneath the broken lines.
A mark.
Not glowing. Not shining.
An inscription carved so deeply into black stone that light refused to linger on it.
He brushed away the last layer of dust.
The symbol did not represent a known Dao.
It did not represent anything.
Yet as Xiao Li looked at it, his heart began to pound.
The world felt wrong.
Then the pressure descended.
Not from above.
From everywhere.
Xiao Li staggered, dropping to one knee. His breath caught. His chest tightened as if space itself were pressing inward.
"This… isn't Qi…"
Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth and splashed onto the stone.
The moment it touched the inscription—
The chamber went silent.
Not quiet.
Silent.
The air vanished.
Light bent.
And something, somewhere far above, hesitated.
Xiao Li did not know it yet.
But in that moment—
Heaven failed to see him.
End of Chapter 1