In the Eastern Cloud Continent, where ancient beasts still roamed cloud-kissed mountains and sects carved into stone ruled over mortal and immortal alike, the Drifting Moon Pavilion floated like a dream on the cliffs of the Silent Sky Range.
From a distance, the sect was breathtaking—an elegant array of tiered blue-tile roofs, spiraling towers, and white stone courtyards veiled by ethereal mist. Glowing lanterns hung from curved eaves like stars in paper cages, and silver bridges stretched over still pools, giving the entire sect a sense of frozen poetry.
But beauty in this world was a mask.
And no one knew that better than Li Xuan.
He knelt at the lowest terrace of the sect grounds, beside the Moon Reflection Pond—a wide, oval basin carved from pale jade, its edges chipped and moss-covered. Once used for ancient ceremonies, it had long since been abandoned to servant disciples for mundane cleaning. Stagnant water filled the pond, green with algae and fallen leaves, reflecting the stars above in distorted, trembling shapes.
Li Xuan scrubbed the stonework in silence, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His fingers were red and cracked, knuckles split and scabbed from days of mindless labor. His clothes were plain: a loose, faded brown robe bound at the waist with fraying cord, soaked now from hours of scrubbing. Thin and malnourished, he had the lean build of someone used to hunger, but beneath the grime and dirt, his posture remained oddly straight—refusing to bend completely.
He looked barely seventeen, with pale golden skin tanned by sun and work, and jet-black hair tied behind his head in a messy knot. His features were sharp—cheekbones too high for his thin face, brows naturally slanted with a quiet intensity. His eyes, dark and clear, held a depth of quiet resolve that no servant should've possessed.
But most never looked into his eyes.
Because most didn't see him at all.
Except when they needed someone to punish.
Bootsteps echoed behind him.
Several.
Li Xuan didn't turn. He already knew who it was.
Mu Fan.
A senior outer disciple, three years older, with the arrogant swagger of someone born into privilege. He wore the standard outer sect robes: navy silk, embroidered with silver crescents, far finer than what Li Xuan could ever touch. His face was handsome in a cruel way—thin lips, narrow eyes, and a perpetual smirk that twisted with mockery.
Behind him were two other disciples, flanking him like lesser dogs. One carried a jug of wine. The other had a sword half-drawn, its sheath etched with lightning patterns.
"Well, well," Mu Fan drawled, voice smooth with venom. "If it isn't the moon pond rat."
Li Xuan kept his head bowed.
"You're still scrubbing? It's already midnight. Didn't you start at dusk?"
Li Xuan said nothing.
"Hey, I asked you a question."
He still didn't answer.
Mu Fan's boot slammed into the bucket, tipping it over. Dirty water splashed onto Li Xuan's robes and face.
The cold burned like needles.
Still, Li Xuan only blinked and continued scrubbing.
"Such dignity," one of Mu Fan's lackeys chuckled.
"Must be thinking he's the main character of a cultivation tale," the other sneered. "Too bad he doesn't even have a root."
Mu Fan crouched beside him.
"Say something, Li Xuan. Just once. I want to hear that dog voice of yours before the Rotten Fruit Trial guts you from the inside out."
Li Xuan paused.
"…Senior Brother."
His voice was quiet. Dry. Controlled.
Mu Fan grinned.
"See? That's more like it."
He stood and turned to leave. "Don't forget to scrub the underside of the pond stones too. If I find a single algae spot tomorrow, I'll make sure you can't walk for a week."
Their laughter echoed as they walked away.
Li Xuan slowly reached for the bucket and began again.
The water had turned black with grime.
The stars above the pond were unusually bright tonight.
A full moon sat high in the sky, framed between two distant peaks. Its reflection in the water wavered softly, casting pale silver light over the surface like silk.
Li Xuan paused.
Something moved.
Not in the water.
Beneath it.
A faint shimmer pulsed in the depths. Not moonlight. Not spirit light.
Something alive.
A soft thrum vibrated through the stones. A heartbeat.
He blinked.
No… it was real.
A strange light glowed faintly within the water, far below the surface. A swirl of violet and gold, pulsing with slow, rhythmic intervals. It called to him.
Compelled beyond reason, Li Xuan leaned over the edge, eyes narrowing. His reflection was lost in the glow. His fingers, numbed from cold, moved on their own.
He plunged his arm into the icy water.
Pain.
Raw, biting cold stabbed through his bones.
But deeper still, something warm.
His fingers touched a smooth, round object.
It pulsed against his skin like a living thing.
He gripped it.
And the world shifted.
The moment he pulled it free, the air thickened. The stars blinked. The moon shivered.
The pond water surged outward, splashing onto the stones, and his breath caught.
In his hand was a seed.
No—an orb of darkness, wrapped in gold and violet, with tiny veins glowing like molten lines. It was as if the night sky had been compressed into a fruit. Strange runes flickered across its surface—ancient, alien, beautiful.
It pulsed once.
Twice.
[You have touched the Star Venom Seed.]
A voice echoed in his skull—not a whisper, not a thought, but a brand. A truth.
His eyes widened.
"What…?"
The seed jumped in his palm—and melted.
Viscous black liquid surged up his wrist, spiraling like serpents beneath his skin. Tendrils of energy burrowed into his veins, his nerves, his dantian.
He screamed.
Veins bulged across his skin, glowing violet under the moonlight.
The world vanished in pain.
His muscles locked. His chest heaved. The jade stone cracked beneath his knees. Every part of his body convulsed as if being rewritten.
His vision twisted—
And then came the visions.
An orchard.
Bathed in blood-red mist.
Trees unlike any on earth—twisted, blackened, ancient. From each branch hung heavy fruit, beating like hearts. Some were silver. Others gold. Some black and rotting, weeping venom into the roots.
A wind blew—though the trees made no sound.
He stood barefoot in the orchard.
The soil squelched.
Bones.
Beneath his feet, he realized, were shattered bones.
And at the orchard's heart, atop a hill of writhing vines, sat a black throne of roots and starlight.
A figure sat upon it.
Clad in shadows. Crowned in thorns.
Eyes glowing violet-gold.
He looked closer—
It was himself.
The vision broke.
Li Xuan gasped and fell back.
His chest burned. His arm throbbed. Under his robe, black tattoos had appeared along his left arm—thorny vines spiraling down to his palm.
And deep inside, nestled within his core, something pulsed.
A seed.
No—a root.
A fragment of the orchard now lived within him.
He stared at the pond.
The water was still.
But the reflection was not his own.
For a moment, just a blink, the water reflected the orchard, the throne, and the man seated atop it.
His heart froze.
A voice whispered—not in his ears, but through the stars.
"The Orchard remembers..."