In the fog-veiled valleys of the Tianxu Realm, the Qingyun Sect perched on its ancient mountain like a predator in wait. Thick mists swirled from towering peaks, drenching everything in a perpetual chill. Pavilions with arched roofs, weathered by centuries of storms, clung to the slopes, their tiles cracked and overgrown with moss. Disciples in flowing azure robes moved along stone paths, murmuring about qi circulation and the elusive dao, as if they alone grasped the heavens' design. To Li Wei, it was all pretence, empty words from those blessed by fate, hiding their fragility behind borrowed power.
Li Wei, at sixteen, carried the weight of a forgotten life. Orphaned by a famine that ravaged his village six years prior, he had been scooped up by sect scouts scavenging for potential recruits. Tested in the dirt, his meridians revealed nothing: sealed, barren, devoid of qi. "Useless," the elder had declared, consigning him to servitude. Now, his days blurred into endless toil, sweeping courtyards until his arms burned, fetching water from icy springs, tending spirit herbs that shimmered with an otherworldly glow. His hands were rough maps of calluses, his back bowed from yokes and deference. He recited the expected lines: "Yes, Young Master." "As you command, Elder." Survival demanded it; defiance invited expulsion into the wilds, where spirit beasts feasted on the weak.
Dawn arrived muted, the fog a gray shroud. Li Wei stirred in his flimsy bamboo shack, the thin mat offering no comfort against the damp earth. The air reeked of Mold and his own unwashed sweat. He donned a threadbare gray tunic, patched and faded, and tied his unkempt hair with a strip of cloth. Grabbing his broom, its handle polished by years of grip, bristles frayed, he stepped into the mist, which clung like an unwanted embrace.
The outer courtyard lay slick with dew, stones reflecting the weak light like tear, streaked faces. Li Wei swept methodically, the broom's scrape a rhythmic dirge. The sun pierced the haze in feeble rays, stirring lazy birdsong. Outer disciples assembled for morning cultivation, their qi flickering faintly, sparks in the gloom. Chen Xiu, a disciple of average talent but inflated pride, dominated the group. "Behold this strike, Junior Sister Su," he boasted, unleashing a qi-infused punch that barely rippled the air. "The flow is impeccable!"
Su Lan, lithe and quick-witted, countered with a qi barrier that shimmered like morning dew. "Impressive, Senior Brother, but your footing falters like a stumbling crane. Observe!" Her shield held firm, and they shared a laugh, their ease a stark contrast to Li Wei's drudgery.
His broom paused, a surge of bitterness rising. Why them? Heaven granted them qi as casually as rain, while his channels remained locked. He resumed sweeping with force, bristles grinding stone. The sect exalted virtue, elders lecturing on balance and heavenly mandate, but it rang hollow. Power flowed to the gifted; the rest were tools, discarded when worn.
A disciple with a scarred face scowled at the swirling dust. "Servant, control your mess. It's disrupting our focus." His voice carried the weight of assumed superiority.
Li Wei bowed swiftly, eyes averted. "This lowly one apologizes, Young Master. It shall not recur." Internally, resentment simmered, but he masked it, noting the disciple's inefficient qi flow, wasteful as a leaking cauldron.
"Hmph. See that it doesn't, or Elder Mei will assign you worse duties." The disciple turned away, satisfied.
Li Wei straightened, murmuring, "As you wish." He completed the courtyard, stacking debris aside, and wiped his brow. Hunger gnawed, but breakfast was Meager slop. First, the springs.
Shouldering his yoke, buckets clanging, he navigated the perilous descent. The path twisted steeply, fog obscuring sheer drops where one misstep meant a fatal plunge into beast-infested depths. Breath laboured, he reached the spring, its waters bubbling with faint qi, prickling his skin. Filling the buckets, he hoisted the load, the strain biting into his shoulders. The ascent was agony, each step a battle against gravity and fatigue. "Endless," he grumbled. "Always the same."
In the herb garden, ethereal blooms scented the air, their veins pulsing with light. Disciples chanted softly, nurturing the plants. Li Wei poured water precisely, mindful of the fragile blood Lingzi. A disciple with braided hair glanced up. "Persistent as ever, servant. Gentle with those Lingzi, they're temperamental."
He inclined his head. "Junior Sister's insight is invaluable. This one pours with the care due a treasure."
She smiled faintly. "Such humility might earn you Favor one day." Returning to her task, she hummed a melody.
Noon sun fought the mist as disciples flocked to the hall, aromas of qi-enriched meals wafting. Li Wei retreated to the servants' nook, a stifling space where thin porridge simmered. Ladling a bowl, he sat on a wobbly stool. Wang Lao, an aged servant with wrinkled features, slurped beside him. "You seem chewed by the mist today, young Wei," he said, chuckling. "Rain's brewing, more work for you."
Li Wei swallowed the bland gruel. "This one endures, Uncle Wang. The buckets weigh heavier than the fog."
Wang Lao leaned close, eyes shrewd. "Overheard Chen Xiu prattling, claims a breakthrough soon, eyeing the trials. Fortune Favors him. You? Stay low. The sect's eyes are everywhere."
Li Wei nodded dutifully. "Uncle's counsel is wise." Yet his thoughts drifted. Fortune? A cruel jest. In this realm, death was absolute, no souls lingering, no cycles of rebirth. Ancients had probed the beyond, returning mad or not at all, their records unequivocal: oblivion awaited, a void that consumed everything.
Afternoon brought hall scrubbing, floors gleaming under lantern light, pillars etched with coiling dragons that seemed to judge. Incense burned acridly. An elder passed, aura oppressive. Li Wei knelt. "This servant honours the Esteemed Elder. May your path ascend."
"Work harder," the elder barked. "Laziness invites ruin." He departed without pause.
Li Wei muttered, resuming his labour. "Ruin? It's already here."
Evening illuminated the training grounds, qi bursts lighting the dusk. Chen Xiu's attack formed a crude lotus, blocked by Su Lan's barrier. Their mirth echoed, talent effortless. Li Wei swept peripherally, shadows concealing his gaze. Envy twisted, sharp as a blade.
Night enveloped the sect, mist swallowing stars. In his shack, Li Wei lit a sputtering lamp, sitting cross-legged. The day's indignities replayed, bows, slop, laughter of the privileged. What purpose in this? Death loomed, final and empty. What lay beyond? The ancients spoke of nothingness, a scattering of essence into the ether. But what did it feel like? To cease, to dissolve into that endless black.
His mind latched onto the question, probing deeper than intended. A flicker, a vague, formless glimpse of the void. Cold, infinite, devouring. No light, no self, just erasure. Terror surged, his heart seizing. The world blurred, breath failing. He collapsed, vision darkening.
Death claimed him.
Then, awareness returned. Gasping, he sat up, the lamp still flickering. "What...?" Confusion gripped him. Had he fainted? The void's echo lingered, chilling his core.
It struck again. The glimpse resurfaced, unbidden. His body convulsed, life ebbing. Dead once more.
Revival. Panic now. "No..." He clawed at the mat, but the cycle repeated. Death. Return. Death. Return. After the fourth, numbness set in; he no longer registered the transitions, trapped in a loop of annihilation and rebirth.
Time lost meaning. When stability returned, hours or eternities later, Li Wei lay still, staring at the ceiling. Nothing had changed outwardly, no unlocked meridians, no surge of qi. Yet everything shifted. The void's touch had tainted his soul, a subtle aura of death clinging like frost. His perception sharpened; the world, once a dull haze, now revealed its truths in stark clarity. Life was fleeting, wasteful for the powerless. Why grovel when oblivion awaited all? Heaven denied him talent? He would seize it, carve his path through flesh and will.
A cold intent bloomed within, born from the taint. Not mere killing urge, but something profound, a whisper from beyond, urging dominance. Accepting it unconsciously, he felt a mental fracture: awareness amplified, intelligence honed. No more pathetic existence. He would cultivate or die truly trying.
The records in the library, burial rites for the departed, channelling a dying cultivator's qi to seal spirits. Invert it: harness that final surge to etch meridians into his barren body. Risky, but necessary. Target: Elder Huo, isolated in the infirmary, his qi fading.
Over days, the routine persisted, but Li Wei moved with purpose. The cold intent steadied him, turning jealousy to calculation. Wang Lao noticed the change. "You've a distant gaze, Wei. Scheming with ghosts?"
Li Wei deflected with a hollow laugh. "Merely contemplating better days, Uncle."
He pilfered nightshade berries, brewing a subtle toxin. Stole spirit ash for runes. In the library, under Elder Mei's vigilant eye, he memorized the texts: chants to guide qi, sigils to contain the storm.
The plan solidified. Dose Huo, wait for the death throes, press palm to dantian, invoke the twisted rite. Let the eruption forge his channels.
In his shack that final night, Li Wei whispered to the dark, "Heavens, you erred. Now, witness the consequence." The cold intent thrummed, a promise of madness to come.
Dawn broke. The day had arrived.