Lucian stood in the same place until morning, watching the gray ash of the pyre scatter into the dawn breeze.
Overwhelmed by hollow grief and pure physical exhaustion, his consciousness drifted into sleep while standing right there in the snow.
WHOOSH!
The moment his eyes closed, the snowy village blurred like wet ink on paper.
In the next instant, Lucian woke up to the deafening roar of a crowded street, clutching his temples as a splitting headache throbbed behind his eyes.
’Ugh? What just happened?’
He pressed his palms against his forehead, blinking against the harsh sunlight as the view of a bustling market washed over him.
"I am selling a dharma treasure sword, open to negotiation!"
"Selling a grade two pill, with this you can guarantee an eighty percent sublimation for the dharma soul realm!"
"I have talismans from a Talisman Master!"
Street vendors shouted over one another, displaying glowing talismans, jade flasks, and enchanted weapons across silk-covered stalls.
’Right... we have an Inter-Sect competition...’ Lucian thought, steadying himself.
He was a lay disciple of the Flying Swallow Sect. A few days ago, the sect elders had traveled here with a delegation of disciples to participate in the grand tournament hosted by the Golden Manor.
Lucian looked up, watching older cultivators soar effortlessly across the blue sky atop glowing flying swords and dharma treasures. Down below on the flagstones, other disciples were shamelessly haggling over spirit stones, begging shopkeepers for discounts.
Feeling envy, Lucian turned away from the bustling stalls and headed back to the residential quarters assigned to their sect.
He soon arrived at a grand, multi-tiered pavilion reserved exclusively for the Flying Swallow Sect. Passing through the courtyard gates, he spotted several senior disciples in matching blue robes and immediately bowed low, showing proper respect.
After all, he was still just a lowly lay disciple who had yet to officially embark on his cultivation journey.
He was currently waiting for an auspicious day to begin his cultivation.
His master firmly believed that the alignment of the stars and heavenly bodies had to be taken into account before unblocking one’s meridians, lest a cultivator suffer terrible misfortune later down the road.
Though many in the sect secretly mocked his master as paranoid, nobody dared utter a word of criticism to his face.
His master was, after all, an elder of the sect—a terrifying 4th Revolution Core Formation expert.
Lucian navigated the quiet back corridors until he reached a secluded, incense-scented chamber. Standing outside the wooden partition, he bowed respectfully.
"Master! This disciple seeks an audience."
"Come in."
Pushing the door open, Lucian stepped inside.
An old man was seated atop a wide wooden couch in a standard meditative posture. Though his face was weathered and lined with age, his dark eyes held a quiet, terrifying pressure that made the surrounding air feel heavy.
"There was no news of the Fruit Bearing Dandelion," Lucian reported. He had been on his way back from scouring the local market for that very medicinal herb when the disorientation hit him.
The old man stroked his gray beard slowly.
"Hmm... Alright, go and practice your footwork. You are also participating in the lay disciples competition, after all. Don’t shame my name."
"Alright, Master."
Lucian bowed once more and quietly retreated to his own modest quarters.
Sitting cross-legged on his straw mat, he meditated for an hour to calm his racing thoughts.
Later in the afternoon, he mingled among the other ordinary disciples, listening quietly to rumors about the tournament seeds and the dangerous rivals from competing sects.
Two days passed in the blink of an eye before the opening horns of the Inter-Sect competition finally echoed across the mountains.
***
"...And the next match is between Lu Shen of the Flying Swallow Sect and Mo Yang of Blood River Valley!" the arena referee’s voice boomed across the grounds.
Lucian had worn a sour look, ever since the tournament bracket had been posted.
Though he had Earth Spirit Roots, he was still merely a lay disciple. Mo Yang was the last person he wanted to face in a public ring.
Not only was the boy the favored son of the Blood River Valley Master, but he had also been born with an innate divine ability that ordinary mortals could only dream about.
To make matters worse, the Flying Swallow Sect and the Blood River Valley had clashed along the borders for decades, harboring bitter mutual hostility.
"Just fight a few exchanges and then surrender if it is too much, there is no shame in defeat if you learn from it," his master instructed, his tone heavy with displeasure.
Elder Qi had only brought Lucian along so his disciple could broaden his horizons and witness the wider world, but the pairing was sheer bad luck.
In the cultivation world, one had to acknowledge reality before stubbornness got them killed.
"Alright, Master," Lucian nodded before stepping onto the raised stone platform.
There were few spectators in the stands, as the morning slots were reserved exclusively for unranked lay disciples; the true spectacle of the inner sect would only begin in the afternoon.
Lucian stopped ten paces away, observing his opponent.
Mo Yang possessed striking crimson hair and matching scarlet eyes, but his pupils held an unnatural, glassy sheen.
"Begin!" the referee yelled.
Lucian drew his standard sect weapon—a refined <anno data-annotation-id="0908047d-b4f0-9c8f-1994-757f80ade8f9" data-title="dharma sword artifact. ">dharma sword artifact. 1</anno>
Though his unopened meridians prevented him from channeling spiritual qi through the sword, the blade’s balance and sharpness far surpassed any common iron sword.
CLASH!
Mo Yang closed the distance instantly, his fists wrapped in heavy, dark iron gauntlets that clanged violently against Lucian’s steel.
Lucian remained light on his feet, dipping low to slip beneath a vicious hook aimed straight for his jaw.
Twisting on his heel, he drove a hard kick directly into Mo Yang’s ribs.
Curiously, Mo Yang made no effort to dodge. He absorbed the impact with a grunt, clamped his left hand down on Lucian’s ankle, and hurled him across the stone ring.
Lucian flipped mid-air, skidding across the flagstones to regain his footing. As Mo Yang lunged in pursuit, Lucian thrust his sword forward in a clean, defensive arc.
Yet something felt deeply wrong.
Mo Yang was renowned for his wild, domineering style, but today his movements were strangely sluggish.
After a few more frantic exchanges, Mo Yang’s scarlet eyes clouded over entirely.
Without warning, a streak of rancid, dark red qi erupted from the boy’s gauntlet, piercing straight into Lucian’s chest.
CRACK!
The concussive force hurled Lucian backward through the air like a ragdoll.
"YOU DARE!"
A terrifying, mountain-shattering roar detonated across the arena.
The flagstones beneath Mo Yang instantly buckled, pinning the boy face-down into the dirt under the unrestrained, suffocating aura of a 4th Revolution Core Formation expert. Surrounding lay disciples dropped to their knees in sheer terror, gasping for breath.
Elder Qi appeared on the stage, dropping beside Lucian. Checking his disciple’s chest, the old man’s face flushed red with unbridled fury.
A foul, corroding black venom was already snaking through Lucian’s veins. Elder Qi hastily forced two fragrant, glowing pills down Lucian’s throat to stabilize Lucian’s condition.
"DIE!" Elder Qi roared, the ambient spiritual energy churning into a violent storm.
A colossal sword of blazing white light condensed high above the ring, descending with apocalyptic force to wipe Mo Yang and the platform from existence.
At that exact moment, an immense bloody barrier flared into being above the boy, intercepting the descending blade.
BOOM!
The shockwave shook the entire compound.
Within seconds, half a dozen terrifying auras erupted across the sky.
That deafening clash was the last thing Lucian registered before he fainted.
Down in the outer crowd, an unassuming young man in plain silk robes adjusted his collar, watching the chaotic scene with quiet, chilling satisfaction.
***
When Lucian finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his master’s grim, shadowed face.
"Disciple, you woke up."
"W-What happened?" Lucian rasped, his throat dry as leather.
"We were caught in the scheme of the Golden Manor..." his master explained, his voice laced with venom.
As the truth unfurled, the trap became sickeningly clear.
The Golden Manor held a grudge against the Blood River Valley. Lacking an official excuse to execute Mo Yang due to his status as the Valley Master’s son, they had secretly manipulated the boy into using banned, lethal poison against an opponent in a public ring.
The mastermind behind the plot was none other than the Golden Manor’s youngest young master.
Using this poisoned match as political leverage, the Golden Manor would now step in as an impartial mediator, imposing heavy territorial sanctions on the Blood River Valley.
Under the settlement, the recently discovered border mine rich in high-grade spirit stones would be partitioned between the Golden Manor and the Flying Swallow Sect.
Lucian saw through the layers of deceit in a matter of seconds.
"Is this related to the Manor Master’s successor?"
Elder Qi nodded solemnly, pleased yet pained by his disciple’s sharp mind.
Ordinarily, an accidental scuffle between two lay disciples would never escalate to a sect-level treaty. But when grand powers sought territorial expansion, any spark was turned into a wildfire.
’The Sect Master must have accepted the deal immediately once he saw the profit,’ Lucian concluded in quiet bitterness.
Mo Yang had already been taken away for interrogation, but for Lucian, the true catastrophe was personal.
"Because of the venom Mo Yang used, your cultivation aptitude has suffered severe damage and your meridians have corroded," Elder Qi sighed heavily, looking down at his hands.
"Though you should not despair, my disciple. This master will do everything in my power to treat it."
Lucian felt as though someone hammered him straight in the chest.
Even with Earth Grade Spirit Roots, as he had yet to begin cultivation, that had left him trailing behind the sect’s prodigies. Now, with corroded channels, the gap would become incalculable.
"Sigh..." Elder Qi exhaled, looking upon Lucian’s shattered expression with deep helplessness.
It would take years to heal the wounds, if they could be healed at all.
And just like that, ten years passed in the blink of an eye.
***
Outer Hall, Flying Swallow Sect.
A man who should have been in the prime of his late twenties stood leaning against a wooden balustrade, looking like a weary elder well into his fifties.
His temples were streaked with gray, his posture slightly hunched, and faint lines of chronic pain framed his eyes.
Lucian watched a crowd of newly arrived youths gathering in the courtyard below for the sect’s recruitment examinations, their faces brimming with pure, naive excitement.
Lucian sighed softly.
He had once been just like them—filled with blind optimism for the immortal path, before the harsh reality of the world had torn his dreams apart.
Even after his meridians were crippled, Lucian had refused to quit.
These ten years had not been a heroic montage; they had been an agonizing, day-to-day grind.
His peers had soared in ranks, and even the younger disciples who joined years after him had long since surpassed his standing.
Two years after the tournament, Elder Qi had ventured into an ancient secret realm seeking a restorative marrow herb for Lucian—and had never returned.
Without a patron, Lucian had endured the open mockery of his peers, working grueling custodial duties.
Yet through pure, bloody stubbornness, he had patched his ruined meridians and dragged his cultivation into the Dharma Soul Realm, earning an administrative post in the outer hall.
He had ventured into perilous borderlands, faced betrayal, gained a few rare and precious friends, saved every single spirit stone, and studied hundreds of auxiliary scrolls.
He simply refused to settle for being useless.
’Should I have accepted that deal?’ Lucian thought, looking out over the peaks.
A few days after the arena poisoning, a shadowed emissary from the Golden Manor had secretly visited his sickbed, offering an ancient, peerless manual capable of remolding his meridians—on the condition that he sacrifice the fresh blood of one thousand pure-hearted children to start the ritual.
Lucian had rejected the man on the spot. He knew it was just another dirty trap set by the Manor’s young master.
Years later, his caution was proven right.
A brutal war had erupted between the Blood River Valley and the Flying Swallow Sect after an entire border town was butchered, giving the Golden Manor the exact pretext it needed to annex both territories.
’The leaders of both factions likely knew the truth all along and allowed the slaughter anyway,’ Lucian concluded grimly.
War brought new blood, culled weak disciples, and gave righteous pretexts for plundering resources.
Turning back to the courtyard, Lucian watched the aspiring disciples laughing under the morning sun.
’Did I regret it?’ A sudden, quiet question emerged in his mind.
If he counted the sheer humiliation, the bitter cold nights, the aching chest, and the constant failure, walking this road seemed like madness.
Would he turn back if given the choice?
’No. Regret is regret, but walking this path is a given,’ Lucian realized.
If he stopped now, wouldn’t that mean every sleepless night, every broken bone, and every drop of blood he had shed had been entirely meaningless?
Was he going to deny his own life’s efforts?
There was no way. He still remembered the burning fire in his chest, the quiet pride of opening a single clogged acupoint after countless failures, and the brotherhood of sharing wine with fellow outcasts.
He had walked every painful inch with open eyes.
Looking down at the excited children once more, a faint, genuine smile touched Lucian’s worn face.
’I just hope that whatever you all choose, you stay just as you are now.’
"Filled with life, brimming with hope, and always striving forward on the immortal path."
Always.
As that final thought settled into his soul, Lucian’s aged body dissolved into shimmering silver dust, vanishing from the world.