A Single Ladle from the Vast Waters

The saying goes, 'Of the vast waters, I take but one ladle.' But Shen Yuansheng didn't take it; he was force-fed. Born with perfect cultivation, full comprehension, abundant luck, and a complete lifespan, he was invincible among his peers, able to counter any move. His sect treated him like fragile porcelain, and his junior disciples revered him as a prodigy. Yet he alone knew a secret: he had no idea where his power came from. The answer lay in the furnace halfway up Mount Zao, where a fire had burned for three thousand years, consuming the Jiang family. Three thousand naturally empty vessels were drained inch by inch, their spiritual energy poured into a single infant—Shen Yuansheng. But she was the only one who never burned out. She was both sword and reservoir; every ounce of his strength had to pass through her. Each time he used his full power, she lost a part of herself. He saved countless people, while she, within the sword, gradually forgot the way home. He asked if it hurt; she said no. He asked if she was ill; she said no. She smiled beautifully. Until he discovered the family register in the ashes—three thousand names, each followed by a number: how much was taken, into whom it went. The last name was hers, and the space after it was blank. It wasn't a family register; it was a bill. Heaven never creates prodigies; it only keeps accounts. — Description from novelcodex.org