The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the Azure Cloud Sect's training ground. A circle of disciples laughed harshly, pointing at a thin young man in tattered gray robes.
"Xu Lan, you call that cultivation? Even a newborn could circulate qi better than you!"
"Heh, five years of training, and your meridians are still crippled? You're a joke!"
At the center of the circle, Xu Lan's hands were bruised and bloodied from countless failed attempts at energy circulation. His body trembled, not from the cold wind, but from the shame that clawed at his chest.
The elder overseeing the test shook his head, voice as cold as the marble ground.
"Xu Lan, your meridians are blocked beyond repair. From today onward, you are demoted to menial disciple. Tend to the spirit fields. That is your only path."
The laughter intensified.
"Menial disciple? Hah! Trash finally gets his proper place!"
"Even a corpse would cultivate faster than him!"
Each word landed like a hammer, shattering the fragile hope Xu Lan had clung to. He lowered his gaze. Trash. Worthless. Hopeless.
All his life, the world had looked down on him, but the humiliation of the sect — the very place he had sworn loyalty to — was unbearable.
He turned away from the sneering disciples and walked toward the sect library. Its towering shelves of ancient scrolls and manuscripts always carried a faint aura of silence and wisdom. Many disciples avoided it, fearing the dusty corners and forgotten texts. Xu Lan's steps were slow but determined.
Inside, the air was cool and musty. Sunlight spilled through the high windows, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the silence. His eyes wandered across rows of scrolls, hoping to find even the tiniest hint of hope.
Then, tucked away in a shadowed corner, he saw it — a scroll unlike the others. Its surface was cracked and yellowed with age, tied with a faded crimson ribbon. The characters on its cover were almost illegible:
"Eternal Devouring Scripture"
Curious, Xu Lan unrolled the scroll. Faded ink covered the parchment, detailing a cultivation technique long forbidden by the sect. A warning scrawled in the margins caught his eye:
"This technique requires the absorption of demon beast essence to advance cultivation. The practitioner risks instability and loss of humanity. The sect does not recommend this path."
Xu Lan's gaze hardened. His meridians were crippled. The orthodox methods had failed him. Every disciple, every elder, had dismissed him as hopeless.
"If the heavens refuse to grant me power, then I will take it myself,"he whispered.
The scroll promised power, but it came with a cost. To cultivate, he would need to kill demon beasts and absorb their essence directly. Pain, blood, struggle — these would become his teachers.
His hands trembled as he clutched the scroll. For the first time in years, something stirred within him: a faint spark of hope, laced with fire and determination.
"I don't care what it takes," he muttered. "If I must bathe in the blood of beasts, then so be it. From today, I will carve my own path. And those who call me trash… they will watch me rise."
A cold wind swept through the library, rustling the edges of the ancient scroll. Xu Lan held it close, feeling the weight of the choice he had made. Outside, the mocking laughter of the disciples faded, replaced by the sound of his own heartbeat, steady and resolute.
He had taken his first step. The path ahead would be fraught with danger, pain, and isolation but for the first time, he was no longer powerless.
And somewhere in the distance, beyond the mountains and forests, the demon beasts of the outer realms waited, their blood and essence calling to him.
The rise of Xu Lan, the trash of the sect, had begun.