The morning sun spilled over the tiled roofs of the Yun Clan estate, gilding the martial courtyard with golden light. Dust swirled in the air as dozens of young disciples trained with fiery enthusiasm, fists pounding wooden dummies, swords clashing with ringing steel, and bursts of qi crackling as bright sparks.
The Yun Clan was no minor household. It ranked among the three main families of Jade Province, its roots stretching back centuries. Every spring, disciples gathered in this very courtyard to hone their bodies and cultivate, eager to prove to the elders that they were worthy successors. Here, talent was everything. To be born with spiritual meridians meant the path to cultivation—and power—lay open. Without them, one was little more than dead weight.
And at the very edge of the courtyard, sitting cross-legged beneath the shade of a crooked column, was the clan's greatest shame.
**Yun Tian.**
His clothes were plain, patched more than once. His complexion was pale, his body thin, as if he hadn't eaten well in years. His eyes were shut, not in meditation, but in a stillness that seemed uncaring whether the world moved or not. He sat quietly, ignored by all, mocked by many, pitied by none.
The "clan's trash."
His meridians had been declared defective at birth. All attempts to guide his qi ended in failure. By the age of ten, the clan had written him off as useless—a failed son of the Yun bloodline. For twelve years, every gathering was the same: Yun Tian sitting quietly while the others showed progress, ascended ranks, and gained favor. The comparison only deepened the mockery.
"Look, there he is again, pretending to cultivate."
"Hah, maybe if he sits there another hundred years, his dead meridians will magically work."
"Even the servants laugh at him. What a disgrace."
Their laughter carried through the courtyard, but Yun Tian did not open his eyes. His silence was taken as weakness; his stillness, as cowardice.
Yet no one in that courtyard knew the truth—that under his calm exterior, his heart was pounding louder than war drums. That beneath the stillness, something world-shaking had stirred in the depths of his soul.
For the first time in his life, a voice not his own whispered from within him—mechanical, cold, and absolute.
> [Transcendent Victory System — Activation Complete.]
> [Function One: *Absolute Refusal.* Condition: host cannot suffer definitive defeat. Fate interference will activate counterbalance.]
> [Function Two: *Devour Protocol.* Upon achieving victory, hostile techniques may be absorbed and assimilated.]
> [Function Three: *Talent Reversal.* Weak meridians recalibrated. Correction applied: cultivation speed at 100x standard.]
*I… I'm not dreaming, am I?*
For so long Yun Tian had endured humiliation without resistance, carrying his mother's last words in silence: *Don't shame the family more than you already have.* He had been a corpse that breathed, waiting for his life to rot away. Yet in this very moment, his veins tingled with warmth—qi, real qi, flowing where before there had been nothing.
His eyes snapped open. A spark glistened there, sharp enough to cut the world.
It was at that moment that fate, as though predetermined, brought him face-to-face with his oldest tormentor.
"Trash Tian!" A sneering voice broke across the courtyard. Disciples turned as Yun Fei swaggered forward, hands folded arrogantly into his robes.
Yun Fei was everything Yun Tian was not: talented, handsome, overflowing with qi, already a mid-stage Foundation disciple at the mere age of sixteen. He was hailed by the elders as the Yun Clan's bright star. Ambitious, ruthless, and self-assured, Yun Fei delighted in reminding everyone of the gap between them.
"Still sitting there like a corpse?" Yun Fei smirked. "Tell me, Trash, do you actually think one day Heaven will pity you? That sitting cross-legged makes you a cultivator? Don't make me laugh."
Laughter echoed from the crowd. Some disciples covered their mouths, others whispered gleefully, but none dared oppose him. Yun Fei's dominance was law.
"Maybe I should help you understand your place." His palm flared with blazing qi. "This world isn't for the weak. It'll be quicker if I break you now."
Disciples cheered for the show. It wasn't the first time they had seen Yun Fei "discipline" Yun Tian. They expected the useless boy to fold over, enduring every strike until his body gave out.
But this time—
This time Yun Tian stood.
His back rose like the deliberate drawing of a sword from its sheath, straight and unbending. His gaze met Yun Fei's directly, not with shame, not with fear, but with an icy calm.
"You want to trample me, Yun Fei?" Yun Tian's voice was quiet, yet every syllable carried. "Come, then. Let Heaven decide."
Whispers rippled. Was this the waste talking back?
Snarling, Yun Fei surged forward, palm wreathed in crimson qi, aiming to crush the useless boy's chest. The searing heat warped the air. Even a cultivator with proper training would struggle to withstand it. Against an ordinary mortal, this strike should cripple at minimum.
But as the attack rushed toward him, the System pulsed in Yun Tian's veins.
> [Host threatened with definitive defeat. Activating Absolute Refusal.]
Strength filled his limbs, movements flowing with an instinct he never possessed before. His fist clenched like iron, qi bursting to life inside his once-dead meridians.
Bang!
The courtyard shook as Yun Tian met the palm head-on. Energy rippled outward, stirring dust and nearly blowing smaller disciples off balance. The next scene left every mouth hanging open.
Yun Fei staggered backward, blood spraying from his lips as his body skidded across the stone floor. His confident smirk vanished, replaced by disbelief and pain.
"What—?!" he gasped, clutching his chest.
The courtyard fell utterly silent. Dozens of stunned faces turned toward Yun Tian, the waste… who had just *defeated a cultivator's attack head-on.*
But Yun Tian's expression did not tremble. He stood calm amidst their shock, while another mechanical voice whispered in his mind:
> [Enemy technique analyzed.]
> [Low-grade yellow skill: *Fiery Palm.* Scan complete.]
> [Assimilate?]
*Do it.*
Heat surged through him, seamlessly engraving a martial technique he never learned directly into his meridians. Movements, breathing patterns, qi circulation—every detail written into his body as though he had mastered it for years.
Yun Fei roared, unwilling to accept humiliation. He staggered up with rage:
"You dare!? You—trash—!"
He charged again, but this time it was Yun Tian who stepped forward, palm glowing faintly with scarlet flame. His stance was perfect—too perfect.
The disciples gasped. That was—
"That's Yun Fei's own martial skill!" someone cried.
Yun Tian struck.
Another thunderous boom shook the courtyard. Yun Fei's scream cut the air, his body lifted and crushed against the flagstones. Blood soaked his lips as he lay crumpled, groaning in defeat.
All eyes turned to Yun Tian. Moments ago, he was the clan's disgrace. Now he stood tall, robes whipped by lingering qi, every line of his form radiating a dangerous stillness.
He looked across the silent disciples. His eyes, once dim and resigned, now shone sharp with boundless ambition.
"This life belongs to me alone," he said softly, but every word carried, heavy with promise. "I will carve my path across Heaven itself. Try to stop me… if you dare."
The courtyard held its breath. For the first time in years, no one laughed.
The trash had awakened.
And fate itself had begun to tremble.