The Spiritual Root Awakening Hall stood like a palace made from polished jade, nestled at the edge of a waterfall. Sword-shaped pillars held up a ceiling etched with ancient Daoist runes, humming faintly with celestial energy. The air smelled like incense and spirit stone dust clean, holy, boring.
Ye Zhen hated it already.
Qin Ping whispered next to him:
"This is the big one, Senior Brother. If you test high, you could jump ahead in cultivation resources."
"And if I test low?" Ye Zhen asked.
"They might assign you to… kitchen duty."
Ye Zhen sighed. "I knew this sect was trying to kill me."
Inside the hall, disciples lined up before a towering crystal monolith in the shape of an unsheathed sword, its blade stabbed into the floor. This was the Root Mirror, a sacred artifact said to reflect a cultivator's soul, potential, and affinity.
Elders in white robes stood nearby, watching each student place a palm on the crystal and await the verdict.
"Middle-grade Wind Root.""Low-grade Earth Root.""Dual-attribute, Metal and Fire. Rare!"
Each result sparked either cheers or groans from watching disciples. Spirit root affinity determined everything here: what you could cultivate, how fast, and whether elders would even look at you twice.
Ye Zhen?
He yawned.
When his name was called, the whispering started instantly.
"That's him Ye Zhen, the one who slapped Lin Fan into a coma."
"He doesn't even have Qi. What's he doing here?"
"I heard he's from the Broken Heaven Sect."
"Does that even still exist?"
Ye Zhen stepped up anyway, cracked his neck, and placed his palm on the cold surface of the Root Mirror.
Silence.
Then…
Nothing.
The crystal stayed dark.
Not a flicker.
Not a hum.
Not even a single line of light.
The elder examining the test furrowed his brow.
"Try again."
Ye Zhen did.
Still nothing.
Another elder stepped forward. He was tall, with a long beard and jade prayer beads at his wrist. His brows were furrowed like two swords crossed in battle.
"Impossible. The Root Mirror doesn't fail."
The air shifted. The crowd tensed. Some disciples chuckled.
"He's a cripple."
"Trash!"
"A fluke body cultivator with no root!"
Ye Zhen tilted his head, tapping the mirror with two fingers like he was knocking on a door.
"Hey. You in there? You owe me an answer."
Still silence.
Then
BOOM.
The crystal exploded.
Not shattered, detonated, like it had just lost an argument with a volcano.
Disciples screamed and staggered back. Fragments flew everywhere, but none touched Ye Zhen. They curved midair, scattering around him like he stood in the eye of a storm.
Where his hand had touched the stone, a faint sigil glowed in the air like the burn left by a brand:
A twisting flame in the shape of a phoenix, with a spiral embedded in its heart.
The elders stared.
One whispered, voice tight:
"That's… not a natural root."
Another murmured:
"It didn't fail. It refused to reflect him."
The tall elder stepped forward slowly.
"You… what are you?"
Ye Zhen smiled.
"Still trying to figure that out."
"But if you have another mirror, I'll break that one too."
He didn't wait to be dismissed. He turned and walked off, leaving murmurs behind him like ripples in a pond of fear and fascination.
Qin Ping caught up, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"Senior Brother! What did that symbol mean? Why didn't the crystal work on you?"
"Dunno," Ye Zhen said. "But if the Heaven's watching me, it better bring stronger mirrors."
By the time he returned to Block Eight, another message was waiting on his doorwritten on a silver slip of talisman paper:
"Ye Zhen. Trial match. Tomorrow. Don't be late."Instructor Feng
Beneath it, one sentence scratched in sharp, messy script:
"I'll avenge Lin Fan."Shen Wuji, Outer Disciple Rank #4
Ye Zhen held the paper in two fingers, then flicked it into the breeze.
"Burial it is."
He cracked his knuckles. The Lame Heaven-Slapping Palm had been itching for round two.