The Azure Cloud Province was huge. Mountains rose into the sky like swords, rivers cut through valleys, and endless plains stretched far and wide. To ordinary people, life here was hard. Farmers fought with the earth for food, merchants carried goods across dangerous roads, and hunters risked their lives in the forests.
But in this world, true power didn't belong to farmers or merchants. It belonged to cultivators.
High above common life stood the great sects. The strongest among them was the Radiant Sword Sect. Their disciples were known everywhere. They killed demons, punished criminals, and fought against rival sects. People both feared and admired them.
To mortals, the sect was like the heavens themselves. To join them, even as a servant, meant a chance to rise above ordinary life. To join as a disciple meant breaking free of fate.
Every year, when the Radiant Sword Sect sent people down the mountain to recruit, even the smallest villages trembled with hope and fear. Parents pushed their children forward, praying they would be chosen. Some dreamed of glory. Others dreaded humiliation.
At the edge of a quiet valley stood a small farming village. Its homes were built with stone and patched wood. Chickens pecked along the paths, and children chased each other in bare feet. The people here worked from sunrise to sunset just to fill their bowls.
In one of the houses, a small table had been set for dinner. The food was plain—thin rice gruel, a plate of salted greens, and a small dish of beans.
The man of the house was tall and broad. His back carried the weight of years in the fields, his hands thick with calluses. His name was Shen Liang.
Beside him was his wife, Madam Ruolan, soft-featured but weary from endless work.
Across the table sat their only son. His robe was patched, his figure slim, his skin pale. He was only fifteen, but his dark, calm eyes carried a maturity that didn't belong to his age.
This was Shen Yelan.
The family ate quietly for a while. Only the sound of chopsticks and the chirping of insects filled the room. Then Shen Liang set his bowl down.
"Tomorrow, the Radiant Sword Sect will recruit new disciples," he said in a steady tone. "Yelan, you will go."
Ruolan's hand froze. She looked at her husband with worry.
"Liang… those ceremonies are cruel. In front of everyone… what if he…" Her voice trailed off.
She didn't need to finish. The fear of failure hung in the air.
Shen Liang's expression didn't change. His voice was firm. "Better to try and fail than to never try at all. A man should walk toward the heavens even if the heavens push him down."
Ruolan turned to her son, her voice soft. "Yelan, you don't have to force yourself."
But Yelan slowly placed his chopsticks down. His expression was calm.
"I will go," he said.
There was no excitement, no fear. Only quiet certainty.
Ruolan bit her lip but said nothing more. Shen Liang gave a small nod. His eyes showed pride, even if he didn't say it aloud.
Dinner ended quietly.
Later that night, Shen Liang walked into his son's room. It was bare—just a straw bed, a cracked oil lamp, and a wooden chest.
In his hands, he carried two items. One was a small wooden charm, smooth from years of being held. The other was an old short blade. Its edge was dull, its handle worn.
"These were mine when I was young," Shen Liang said. He placed them on the chest. "The charm is for your mother's peace of mind. The blade is for mine. Take them both. No matter what the sect decides, remember—you are my son. You carry the Shen name."
Yelan picked up the charm first. The wood was warm, the grooves carved deep from his father's hand. Then he lifted the blade. It was crude, but steady in his grip.
"Thank you, Father," he said quietly.
Shen Liang placed a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. "Do not bow to anyone else."
With that, he left. His steps were slow but firm.
The village fell silent. But Shen Yelan did not sleep.
He sat outside under the night sky, the charm tied to his wrist, the short blade resting on his knees.
The moonlight spilled across the fields, painting the mountains in silver. In the distance, the Radiant Sword Sect's peaks glimmered faintly, high above the clouds. To the villagers, those peaks were another world. To Yelan, they were a challenge.
A strange chill ran through his body. For a moment, the shadows around him felt deeper, as if something unseen was watching. His hand tightened around the charm, but his face stayed calm.
The feeling passed quickly, leaving only the sound of the wind.
Yelan lowered his gaze. His lips moved, and though his voice was only a whisper, it carried a quiet weight.
"Ordinary? We'll see."
The night swallowed his vow.