The morning sun rose in the east, casting pale light through the lingering fog. Greenstone Town, scarred by last night's fire and wolf howls, lay in ruins. Broken walls and bloodstains told of terror that had shaken every villager's heart.
Carrying his medicine chest and a cloth bundle, Lin Xuan walked slowly out of town beside Xu Ning, Zhao Zhong, and Fang Yu.
Behind him, the Lin family clinic lay collapsed, its shattered sign half-buried in ash, the fragrance of herbs drifting away on the wind. Ahead stretched an unknown road of cultivation.
"Lin brother, do you truly have no regrets?" Zhao Zhong asked, his massive crimson iron ruler resting on his shoulder.
Lin Xuan glanced back once. The ruined clinic, the splintered signboard—it was gone. His voice was low but firm:"If I stayed, I could only treat minor ailments. But if disaster like last night returned, I couldn't even protect myself—let alone save anyone else."
Fang Yu nodded silently. His face was still pale, but his eyes carried respect.
Xu Ning's expression remained cool, though her gaze lingered briefly on Lin Xuan. She knew—it wasn't strength that carried this mortal doctor through a beast siege to sever the flute, but his will. If he set foot on the Dao, perhaps he could carve a path unlike any other.
The Heavenly Path Sect
Two days later, they reached the mountains of the sect.
Endless peaks stretched like sleeping dragons, white mist rolling through valleys, spirit birds soaring across the sky. Waterfalls plunged from cliffs, spray forming rainbows in the sun.
At the gate, a colossal stone stood with three ancient characters carved deep into its face: Heavenly Path Sect. The calligraphy radiated majesty, a presence that seemed to press down on the soul.
Lin Xuan, a mere mortal, felt awe surge in his chest.
At the entrance stood a stone platform where outer disciples registered newcomers and tested their roots.
"Spirit root test," Xu Ning said simply, leading Lin Xuan forward.
At the platform's center stood a man-high crystal, glowing faintly.
The disciple in charge cast a dismissive glance. "A mortal wants to test his root as well? Hmph."
Lin Xuan took a steady breath and pressed his palm against the crystal.
Light flickered—three colors emerged: green, yellow, and white.
"Wood, earth, and metal. Three roots," the disciple said flatly, eyes tinged with scorn.
Three spiritual roots. Barely acceptable, but far inferior to dual roots, and nothing compared to the legendary Heavenly Root. Most with three roots would spend a lifetime never rising beyond the Foundation or, at best, the Core Formation stage.
"Place him in the outer sect," the disciple said, waving for the next.
Zhao Zhong interjected, voice rough: "This man saved us at the brink of death. His heart is uncommon. Should he not be given more?"
The disciple sneered. "The Dao is won with roots and talent, not heart. Resolve alone cannot defeat heaven's gifts."
Lin Xuan bowed calmly. "This disciple accepts placement in the outer sect."
There was no disappointment in him—only quiet relief. He had never dared to dream of cultivation. To enter the sect at all was already fortune. As for talent… the gourd in his sleeve pulsed faintly, reminding him: the true path did not lie in spirit roots alone.
Outer Sect Life
Lin Xuan was assigned to a side courtyard with several new disciples. The dorms were crude, meals plain, with monthly rations of spirit stones and grain. The outer sect stood at the lowest rung; most never advanced to the inner sect in their lifetime.
"A mortal, and with three roots? Hah." Some whispered behind his back.
Lin Xuan ignored them. Each morning he practiced breathing exercises, by day he organized herbs, and at night he studied medical texts. Even in a sect, he did not abandon his healer's habits.
But soon he discovered how difficult cultivation truly was.
Qi Refinement.
According to the sect's manual, one must draw spiritual energy into the body, condense it in the dantian, and circulate it through the meridians. Yet no matter how he breathed, only a wisp entered, scattering into his limbs before he could gather it.
Three days of effort brought almost no progress.
Frustration creased his brow. So three roots truly mean mediocrity?
That night, as he sat cross-legged, his sleeve grew heavy. The gourd trembled softly, its mouth glowing faintly.
Thrum—
His mind shook. Before him appeared a vast inner space, fragrant with herbs. Within the gourd was a pool of luminous liquid, rippling like a spring.
Lin Xuan's breath caught. He tried drawing a strand into his body—
And spiritual power surged like a river. It coursed through his meridians, warming his dantian, completing in moments what should have taken countless sessions of breathwork.
"This… it can aid cultivation!"
Shock filled him. The gourd's power was far beyond ordinary!
At dawn, in the courtyard, disciples practiced sword forms. Seeing Lin Xuan, one jeered: "Didn't sleep, eh? Look at that pale face. Nearly gone astray while meditating?"
Lin Xuan only smiled, saying nothing.
Inside, though, he had already sworn:
Even as a mortal, I will cultivate. Even as a healer, I will fight.