"Move, outcast!"
The voice cut through the morning mist, sharp as a blade. Lin Feng stepped into the training yard as a group of Lin Clan disciples shoved past him. Their laughter was biting. Their embroidered robes flashed with the clan's crest.
Lin Feng's fists tightened, but he kept his gaze steady. He ignored the jeers that followed him like shadows. The Soul Awakening Ceremony had stripped him bare yesterday. It declared his Martial Soul dormant, useless. Now, the once-welcoming courtyard felt like a battlefield.
He walked on. His footsteps echoed through the Eastern Wing's hollow corridors. The air was heavy with polished wood and old incense. But the doors that once opened for him remained shut.
Servants who had bowed to him as the clan's rising star now averted their eyes. Their faces were carved with pity or disdain. Lin Feng's chest ached. Not from the weight of their rejection, but from the ember of defiance that refused to die within him.
In the training yard where he'd once sparred with cousins under blooming plum trees, he paused. The wind stirred. It carried the distant clang of steel from the inner compound. A place he was no longer welcome.
A young servant approached. His face was unfamiliar. His bow was shallow.
"You've been moved to the outer servant's quarters," he said. His eyes were fixed on the ground. "Elders' orders."
Lin Feng nodded. His voice was calm despite the fire in his veins. "Understood."
The boy handed him a small bundle. "Your things," he muttered before retreating.
Lin Feng unwrapped the cloth. He found only a few worn scrolls, a cracked jade pendant, and the training gloves his mother had stitched. Their threads were frayed but heavy with memory.
No sword. No robes of rank. Just remnants.
That night, under the pale glow of twin moons, Lin Feng sat in his new quarters. It was a damp, stone-walled cell beside the storage cellars. The air was thick with mildew. The cot creaked beneath him, unyielding. But he didn't light the lantern. Darkness felt right tonight.
A soft knock broke the silence. Hesitant but deliberate.
He opened the door to find Uncle Ming. The old servant's silver-streaked hair glinted faintly. His hands trembled with age. His eyes were sharp with kindness.
"I heard what they did," Ming said, stepping inside. His voice was thick with quiet anger. "This cell? They once fought to serve you. Now they toss you to the rats."
Lin Feng's gaze dropped to the rough floor. "Without a Martial Soul, I'm nothing to the clan. The Martial Continent values strength, not promises."
Ming's face hardened. "Strength isn't just a soul's spark. Your father proved that. He chose the sword when they demanded politics. "He rose again, didn't he?"
Lin Feng said nothing. The weight of his father's legacy pressed against his silence.
Ming set a small wooden box on the table. "I won't ask for your plans, but take this."
Inside were steamed buns, dried apricots, and a flask of spiritual tea. Its warmth cut through the chill.
"You still matter," Ming said firmly. "Even if they forget, I won't."
Lin Feng bowed his head. Gratitude tightened his throat. "Thank you, Uncle Ming."
As the door closed, Lin Feng gazed through the narrow window at the night sky. Its stars burned cold and defiant against the vast indifference. He was like them. A light refusing to fade.
Deep within the clan compound, Elder Jian stood before a flickering jade screen. Its glow cast shadows across his lined face. Lin Tianhai stood beside him. His expression was unreadable.
"He's training," Jian murmured. "The Iron Body Forging Technique."
Tianhai's eyes narrowed. "A brutal choice for one without a soul."
Jian glanced at him. "You still see potential in him?"
Tianhai's voice was steady. I gave him the spark. Whether it burns or dies is his to decide."
Jian's gaze returned to the screen. "There's something strange about him. He moved today with a stillness. Like a blade waiting to strike. As if he sees beyond us."
Tianhai nodded slowly. "It's in his eyes." A quiet, like he heard a call we couldn't."
Jian's voice grew firm. "Then we watched him. Not for danger, but for what destiny might carve."
By dawn, the clan hummed with talk of the Tri-Clan Martial Exchange. Disciples and elders gathered in the main hall. Their voices were bright with anticipation.
"Lin Kun will lead us," one elder declared. "His spear will pierce the Zhao Clan's pride."
Another nodded. "Lin Xuan's Tiger Soul is unmatched."
A younger voice sneered. "Lin Feng? He's not even fit to carry their water."
The words reached Lin Feng as he trained alone in the outer yard. His fists slammed against the bone post. Each strike was a pulse of pain through muscle and marrow. The Iron Body Forging Technique offered no flash of power. Only the grind of effort. His hands bled. His joints ached. But he pressed on.
Pain was his only companion now. It answered when nothing else would.
The morning sun climbed higher as Lin Feng continued his training. Sweat mixed with blood on his knuckles. His breathing was steady despite the burning in his muscles. This was just the beginning stages of the Iron Body method. Basic conditioning to prepare his flesh for the real techniques that would come later.
Other servants passed by occasionally. They watched him with a mixture of pity and confusion. Why was the failed heir torturing himself like this? Why didn't he just accept his fate and fade quietly into obscurity?
But Lin Feng had made his choice the night before. When his father handed him that crimson scroll, he had chosen to fight rather than surrender.
"Still at it?" Lin Feng turned to see Lin Kun approaching with several followers. The newly awakened prodigy wore his success like armor. His scarlet Flame Wolf had elevated him to the inner circle overnight.
"Just training," Lin Feng replied calmly.
"Training for what? You have no soul to guide your cultivation."
"I have hands. I have will. That's enough for now."
Lin Kun laughed. "Will? Is that what you call this pathetic display?"
"What would you call it?" "Desperation. You can't accept that you're worthless."
Lin Feng struck the post again. The impact sent vibrations up his arm. "Maybe. But I'd rather be desperately trying than comfortably give up."
"Noble words from someone with nothing left to lose."
"You're right. I have nothing left to lose. That makes me dangerous in ways you can't understand."
Lin Kun's smile faltered slightly. Something in Lin Feng's tone had shifted. Colder. More certain.
"Dangerous? You're a cripple playing at cultivation."
"We'll see." After Lin Kun left, Lin Feng returned to his conditioning. But something had changed during that exchange. The whispers he'd been hearing since childhood seemed louder now. More insistent.
He struck the post harder. Pain flared through his hands, but underneath it was something else. A cold strength that felt foreign yet familiar.
Hours passed. The sun reached its peak and began its descent. Lin Feng's hands were raw and swollen, but he didn't stop. This was preparation. Foundation building. The real Iron Body Forging would begin once his flesh was ready.
As evening approached, Uncle Ming returned with fresh bandages and healing salve.
"Your hands look terrible," Ming observed.
"They feel worse. But that's the point."
"Is it? Or are you just punishing yourself?"
Lin Feng paused his training. "What do you mean?"
"Your grandfather went through something similar. Later, his ceremony failed. He trained until his hands bled, his feet were raw, his body screamed for mercy."
"Did it work?" "Eventually. But not the way he expected."
"What do you mean?". Ming began wrapping Lin Feng's knuckles with practiced efficiency. "He thought he was building strength. But what he was really building was determination. The kind that doesn't bend or break."
"And that's what awakened his soul seven years later?"
"Maybe. Or maybe his soul was always there, waiting for him to become worthy of it."
As night fell, Lin Feng sat in his cell with the Iron Body scroll spread before him. The basic conditioning exercises were clearly detailed. Gradual strengthening through controlled damage and recovery. It would take months before he could attempt the advanced techniques.
But he had time. And he had nothing else. Outside his window, the clan compound settled into evening routines. Disciples celebrated their successful awakenings. Elders planned for future competitions. Servants completed their daily tasks.
And in a forgotten corner, a discarded heir prepared for a journey that would either destroy him or forge him into something the heavens themselves would remember.
Far beyond the clan walls, in the shadowed cliffs of Mount Rengui, a low hum stirred within the earth. Ancient and alive. It pulsed, as if something long dormant had begun to wake. Whispering a name not spoken in ages.