The Mortal Continent knew nothing of gods, nor of the heavens' battles. Its skies were pale, its mountains low, its rivers sluggish. Spiritual qi was thin, scarce as dew on stone. Here, sects squabbled like starving dogs for scraps of power, and most mortals never touched cultivation at all.
It was here, in a remote mountain village, that a wailing infant appeared.
The villagers found him at dawn, wrapped in bloodstained cloth, lying at the edge of the forest where beasts prowled. Some swore they saw faint golden light clinging to his skin, as though the heavens had spat him out. Others whispered that such an omen meant only misfortune.
An old farmer's wife, childless and gray-haired, gathered the boy into her arms. "A life abandoned is still a life," she said, ignoring the wary stares of her neighbors. She named him Jin Mu—Wood of Gold—for though his future seemed fragile as kindling, she hoped he might one day shine.
But as the years passed, that hope dimmed.
By the age of five, Jin Mu was already different. When the village children chased each other through the fields, he trailed behind, gasping, his body frail and pale. When others trained their bodies with sticks and stones, his arms trembled at the lightest weight.
At seven, when the sect testers came—robed men with glowing jade tablets—the truth was revealed.
One by one, the children placed their hands upon the tablets. Light bloomed for each: faint sparks, thin strands, but light all the same. The cultivator nodded and marked names, recruiting the talented to be outer disciples of nearby sects.
When Jin Mu's turn came, the jade remained dark.
The tester frowned, pressing harder. He tried again. Nothing.
"His meridians…" the man murmured. "They are sealed. He cannot cultivate."
The words fell like a hammer. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Sealed meridians?"
"Then he's crippled."
"What use is a boy who cannot draw qi?"
Even the old farmer's wife, who had raised him with kindness, trembled with despair. She clutched him tighter, shielding him from the jeers, but her eyes were wet with helpless tears.
The sect disciples laughed openly. One boy, tall and arrogant, smirked as he stepped forward. His jade tablet had glowed brilliantly, marking him as a rare genius among the village youths.
"Trash," he said, loud enough for all to hear. "Better you'd been left in the forest where you were found."
Jin Mu's small fists clenched, but he said nothing. He couldn't. His throat locked, his chest burned, but no sound escaped.
That night, lying awake in the straw bed of his foster home, he stared at the broken roof above. Moonlight leaked through the cracks, pale and cold.
The villagers' words echoed endlessly in his ears: Cripple. Trash. Useless.
He pressed his palm to his chest, where the tester's hand had rested. He felt no qi. Nothing but emptiness.
And in that emptiness, a single vow formed. Silent. Bitter. Unyielding.
Even if I must break myself against the heavens… one day, I will prove them wrong.