The taste of dust and blood filled Lin Feng's mouth as he pushed himself up from the training ground's packed earth. His ribs screamed in protest, but he forced his body upright anyway.
"Getting up again?" Lin Kun's voice carried across the outer courtyard, thick with amusement. "You really don't learn, do you, heir?"
The word dripped with mockery. Snickers rippled through the crowd of disciples gathered around the sparring circle. Lin Feng ignored them, settling back into his stance—feet planted, guard raised, muscles coiled despite the trembling in his arms.
"Look at him," someone whispered from the crowd. "Still pretending he has a chance."
"The Lin Clan heir, beaten by basic Qi enhancement," another voice added, not bothering to lower it. "What a joke."
From the shadows of the training hall's upper balcony, several figures in elder robes watched in silence. Their faces were impassive, but their presence spoke volumes—they were here to witness the heir's humiliation, yet none moved to intervene.
Lin Kun rolled his shoulders, spiritual energy beginning to gather around his fists in a faint, golden glow. Not his Martial Soul—he didn't need to manifest that spiritual manifestation of his inner power for this pathetic display. Just basic Qi enhancement, the most fundamental cultivation technique. Against the heir of the Lin Clan, it was more than enough.
"You know what your problem is?" Lin Kun stepped forward, his enhanced speed making him seem to glide. "You think technique can make up for power. You think all that training actually matters."
Lin Feng said nothing. His breathing was controlled, measured. Every muscle in his body was perfectly positioned, ready to react.
"But here's the truth—" Lin Kun's palm shot forward, wreathed in spiritual energy.
Lin Feng's block was textbook perfect. His forearm intercepted the strike at the optimal angle, his body positioned to redirect the force. Against another mortal, it would have worked flawlessly.
Against a cultivator, even one using the most basic Qi enhancement, it was like trying to stop a sledgehammer with parchment.
The impact sent shockwaves through Lin Feng's arm. His perfect technique crumbled as raw spiritual energy overwhelmed his purely physical defense. He flew backward, hitting the ground hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.
"See that?" Lin Kun's voice boomed across the courtyard as he turned to address the crowd. "This is your precious heir! All the will in the world is a joke without power. Without a Martial Soul, you're less than nothing!"
He gestured broadly to the watching disciples. "Look around you! Every single person here has awakened their Martial Soul. Every one of them can channel their spiritual essence into reality. But you?" He pointed down at Lin Feng. "You're still just... mortal."
Cruel laughter erupted from the watching disciples. Even from the shadows above, Lin Feng could sense the silent judgment of the elders. The heir of the Lin Clan, powerless before the most basic cultivation.
Laughter erupted from the watching disciples. Lin Feng lay still for a moment, staring up at the afternoon sky, his body a symphony of pain.
"He's down again," someone called out gleefully.
"What's he even trying to prove at this point?"
"Three days," Lin Kun announced, his voice cutting through the mockery. "In three days, the Soul Stone will make this permanent. And when it confirms what we all already know—that you have no Martial Soul, that you're nothing but a mortal pretending to be a cultivator—you'll suffer a fate worse than death."
His smile turned vicious. "Exile. Stripped of your name, your status, everything. Cast out to live as a commoner while the rest of us ascend to greatness. Remember this feeling, heir."
The crowd began to disperse, their entertainment concluded. Footsteps faded as disciples returned to their own training, their conversations peppered with speculation about the heir's impending downfall. Even the elders above began to withdraw, their silent verdict delivered through their very inaction.
Lin Feng closed his eyes, feeling the weight of solitude settling over him like a shroud. But slowly, painfully, he began the process of standing up.
"An interesting choice."
The voice was quiet, but it carried the unmistakable authority of the Lin Clan's inner circle. The few remaining disciples immediately bowed and hurried away, leaving the courtyard in sudden silence.
Elder Mo stepped from the shadows of the training hall, his weathered face unreadable. He watched as Lin Feng finally made it to his feet, swaying slightly but refusing to fall.
"Tell me," Elder Mo said, his hands clasped behind his back, "what purpose does this serve? This... public display of futility? You are the heir of the Lin Clan, yet you allow yourself to be humiliated before the entire sect."
Lin Feng wiped blood from his split lip with the back of his hand. His voice, when it came, was hoarse but steady. "Because if I stop training... then they are right. Then I really am just a useless heir, a disgrace to the Lin bloodline."
"Right about what?"
"That I'm worthless without a Martial Soul. That I don't deserve to be heir. That the clan would be better off with someone else leading them."
Elder Mo studied him for a long moment. The old man's eyes held depths that spoke of decades navigating the clan's complex politics, of watching promising disciples rise and fall.
"Your cousin used only basic Qi enhancement," Elder Mo observed. "Not even a proper technique. Yet you couldn't touch him."
"I know."
"In three days, you'll face the Soul Stone. If it rejects you—if it confirms you have no Martial Soul to awaken—you'll be exiled. Stripped of your position, your name, everything that makes you who you are. A fate worse than death, as your cousin so eloquently put it."
"I know," Lin Feng repeated, his jaw tightening.
"Then why continue? Why endure this humiliation? Why not accept your limitations and find another path?"
Lin Feng was quiet for several heartbeats. When he spoke, his words came slowly, as if he were discovering them as he said them.
"Because everyone is waiting to see me break. The elders, the disciples, even members of my own family. They want to watch me crawl away, to prove that being heir means nothing without a Martial Soul, that only spiritual power has meaning in this world. But if I give up now, I'll never know who I really am beneath all these expectations."
Elder Mo's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. "Interesting. And who do you think you are?"
"I don't know yet. But I know I'm not someone who gives up."
"The body is temporary," Elder Mo said after a long pause. "It can be broken, healed, strengthened, or weakened. But the will... the will is the seed of a cultivator's path. Without it, even the most talented disciple will eventually falter."
He turned to leave, then paused. "The Soul Stone will give its judgment in three days. See that you are ready to face it."
"Elder Mo," Lin Feng called out as the old man began to walk away. "What if... what if the judgment isn't what everyone expects?"
Elder Mo didn't turn around, but Lin Feng caught the slight smile in his voice. "Then I suppose we'll all learn something new."
The courtyard fell silent again as Elder Mo disappeared into the shadows. Lin Feng stood alone, the pain in his body a constant reminder of his weakness, the echoes of mockery still ringing in his ears.
Everyone was waiting. The entire clan, watching to see if he would finally submit to reality. Waiting to see if the Soul Stone would accept him, or if it would confirm what they all already believed—that he was nothing special, nothing worthy of the Lin family name.
The thought should have terrified him. For years, it had. The approaching ceremony had loomed over him like an executioner's blade, counting down the days until his fate would be sealed.
But standing there in the empty courtyard, blood still fresh on his lips and dust coating his robes, Lin Feng felt something shift inside him. A small, rebellious spark that had been growing stronger with each defeat, each humiliation, each moment he chose to stand back up when everyone expected him to stay down.
They were all waiting to see if the Soul Stone would accept him.
But what if the question wasn't whether the Stone would choose him? What if the real question was whether he would choose to accept its judgment?
His hands slowly clenched into fists at his sides. The pain in his ribs flared, but he welcomed it. It reminded him that he was still here, still standing, still fighting.
"What happens," he whispered to the empty air, his words carrying a weight that surprised even him, "if I refuse to accept it?"