The path down from the trial grounds twisted sharply, winding like a restless serpent through dense forests and jagged stone cliffs. Mist clung stubbornly to the pines, dampening the air with its cool breath. No one followed them—not out of kindness, curiosity, or even pity. Mockery was easy from a distance, but no one bothered to waste time watching trash tumble down the mountain.
Jin Mu walked steadily, hands folded behind his back, his gait calm and unhurried—as if carrying the weight of the world was nothing more than a light burden. Behind him, Li Yiran followed in silence, her boots crunching softly on the mossy trail. Every now and then, her sharp green eyes flicked sideways to him, scrutinizing.
"You don't look like a teacher," she muttered, voice low, almost a challenge.
Jin Mu glanced at her with a lazy, half-smile. "And you don't look like a cultivator."
Her lips twitched—no smile, but something close to it. A crack in her guarded facade.
They walked on, silence settling comfortably around them like a shared secret. After a few moments, she spoke again, quieter this time.
"Why did you choose me?"
Jin Mu stopped, tilting his head as if weighing the question in the air. The rustling leaves seemed to pause with them.
"Because they all rejected you."
Li Yiran halted mid-step, eyes narrowing. "That's a stupid reason."
"Maybe." Jin Mu's voice softened, almost thoughtful. "But it's also the kind I like best. You were alone. Nobody believed in you. That's exactly how a legend starts."
For a heartbeat, Li Yiran stared at him—skepticism warred with something deeper: a fragile flicker of hope buried so deep she barely recognized it.
"…Teach me, then," she whispered. "If you can."
Jin Mu looked away briefly, the wind tugging at his tattered robe. Then he nodded once and resumed walking.
"Alright then," he said, voice steady. "First lesson begins now."
The mossy trail beneath their feet wound through towering ancient trees, their branches knitting together like a cathedral ceiling, filtering dappled sunlight onto the soft earth. The scent of damp wood and wildflowers lingered.
"There are nine stages in the Mortal Realm," Jin Mu began, his tone instructional but patient, as if speaking to a student he already respected. "Every cultivator starts there. Then comes the Spirit Realm, the Soul Realm, Dao Foundation, and beyond. Each stage breaks down further—early, mid, late, peak."
He glanced sidelong at Li Yiran. "Your body isn't awakened yet. That makes you nothing but a commoner in their eyes."
She met his gaze without flinching.
"I know."
"Good." Jin Mu's eyes softened. "Now, about roots."
Holding up three fingers, he explained, "There are three types: spiritual, elemental, and bloodline. Some are born with one, all three, or none."
"I have none," she said quietly.
"That's what they think." He shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "The stone they tested you with only reads surface-level affinities. Some roots hide. Some lie dormant—until trauma or fate wakes them."
Li Yiran blinked, a spark of curiosity breaking through her stoicism. "So… I'm not hopeless?"
"Hopeless people don't survive beast hordes and walk here alone," Jin Mu said softly.
She looked away quickly, biting her lip, words caught somewhere between pride and shame.
Jin Mu gave her a moment before continuing.
"Roots have grades—from Common, Low to Mid to High, and then Heavenly. Most in our sect have Low or Mid-Common roots. High roots are rare. Heavenly roots? We haven't seen one in a century."
Her gaze flicked up, sharp and direct.
"And you?"
He chuckled, the sound rough but genuine.
"Me? I've got the worst kind of root."
She frowned. "What's that?"
Jin Mu smirked. "A reputation."
This time, Li Yiran actually laughed—a quiet, unexpected sound that melted some of the mountain's chill.
What she didn't know: the system had already granted Jin Mu the power to mask his true root level. His truth was his alone to reveal.
As the trees thinned, the view opened up to reveal their destination: a lonely outpost carved into the mountainside, framed by a roaring waterfall. The stone walls were mottled with moss, the wooden beams cracked and sagging, as if time itself had forgotten this place.
A faded wooden sign creaked in the breeze:
Emerald Cloud – Instructor Quarters (North Branch)
Li Yiran frowned, her eyes tracing the peeling paint and crumbling stone.
"…This place looks dead."
Jin Mu gave a lazy nod, his gaze distant.
"It is. They gave it to me as a joke. No disciples, no resources, no support. I'm not even allowed to eat with the other instructors."
She studied him quietly.
"Why… stay?"
He turned to face her, the wind tugging at his robe, eyes fierce.
"Because from the bottom, there's only one way left to go."
Pushing open the creaking gate, Jin Mu motioned for her to enter.
"Welcome to your new home."
Li Yiran stepped inside, taking in the lonely stone courtyard, the shattered training dummies battered by time, and the single cherry tree blooming defiantly in the corner, petals glowing faintly pink against the gray.
"It's ugly," she said, voice rough with a hint of challenge.
Jin Mu grinned—a slow, determined curve of lips.
"You'll make it beautiful."
The mountain breeze carried a quiet promise: from the lowest of the low, a legend was beginning to rise.