The night had passed in silence. Dawn crept into Willowbrook Village, painting the thatched roofs in pale gray. A thin mist clung to the ground, making the air damp and heavy. Roosters crowed, and the first villagers were already gathering near the dirt road that led to the mountains. Today was not just another day it was the day the Radiant Sword Sect opened its gates to test the youth of the province.
Shen Yelan stood quietly at the doorway of his family's small house. His clothes were plain, freshly washed by his mother, but the fabric was already worn thin. His father tightened the strap of the cloth bundle that hung over Yelan's shoulder.
"Keep your head straight," Shen Wuyou said, his voice low but firm. His calloused hands lingered on his son's shoulder for a moment longer than usual.
Madam Shen stood beside them, eyes clouded with worry. She tried to smile but failed. "Remember, Yelan… no matter what happens, don't let others crush your spirit."
Yelan gave a small nod. His expression was calm, unreadable. He had said little since last night, yet his silence was not weakness it carried a strange weight, one that unsettled his parents though they couldn't explain why.
The family joined the stream of villagers heading toward the mountain. Some children walked proudly, their parents boasting in loud voices.
"My boy awakened a faint Fire Root last spring. The overseer will surely take him in as a disciple."
"My daughter carries Wood affinity. She'll at least enter as an apprentice alchemist."
The crowd buzzed with excitement and pride. Shen Yelan walked in silence, each step steady, his eyes fixed on the mist-covered peaks ahead. Whispers followed him.
"That's the rootless child, isn't it? Why bother showing up?"
"Without a root, he's just wasting everyone's time."
"He'll embarrass the village."
Yelan heard every word, yet his pace never faltered. His father's hand twitched, as though wanting to strike back at the gossip, but he restrained himself. His wife squeezed his arm, silently pleading for him not to make a scene.
After an hour's walk, the road widened, and the mountain loomed larger. The villagers reached a vast staircase carved into the stone cliffs. At its peak stood the outer gates of the Radiant Sword Sect. Banners of white silk fluttered in the morning wind, each embroidered with a shining sword motif. Disciples in clean robes stood at attention near the entrance, their faces stern, their backs straight.
The villagers collectively fell silent, overwhelmed by the sight. To common folk, the sect was no different from the heavens. Its walls, its gates, its disciples all spoke of a higher world, one beyond mortal reach.
Yelan lifted his gaze. His expression did not change, but his dark eyes lingered on the sect's towering gates longer than anyone else's.
At the base of the staircase, a wide stone platform stretched out, already crowded with families from surrounding villages. The sect had prepared rows of wooden benches for the elders, while the children stood in front, lined up in groups.
At the center of the platform rested a tall black monolith: the Spirit Testing Stone. Its surface shimmered faintly, etched with runes that pulsed with an inner glow. Every child's future would be decided by that stone.
A man in white robes stood before the crowd, his voice sharp and commanding. His sleeves bore the silver emblem of the Radiant Sword Sect an outer sect overseer.
"Listen well! Each child will step forward in order. Place your hand upon the Spirit Testing Stone. If you have a spiritual root, its type and grade will be revealed. The more brilliant the glow, the higher your chances of entering our sect as a disciple. Those with poor roots may still be accepted as laborers if deemed useful. Those without roots…" The man's lips curled into a sneer. "Heaven has already abandoned you."
Murmurs rippled through the villagers.
The overseer barked, "Begin!"
The first child, a sturdy boy from a neighboring village, placed his hand on the stone. Golden light flared across its surface. The overseer's eyes flickered with interest.
"Metal root, middle grade. Not bad. Step aside."
Applause rose from the villagers. The boy's parents beamed with pride.
One by one, the children tested their roots. Some lit the stone with bright fire, others with gentle wood or flowing water. The villagers cheered and gasped, each result bringing either joy or bitter disappointment.
Shen Yelan stood near the end of the line, silent among the restless children. He could feel their eyes on him, could hear the whispers behind him.
"Why is he even here?"
"He'll shame the village."
"Better he leaves quietly before he's laughed at."
But Yelan showed no reaction. His eyes never strayed from the black monolith ahead.
Soon, the overseer's voice rang out again: "Next Shen Yelan of Willowbrook Village."
A hush fell over the crowd. Parents leaned in, eager to see the outcome. The other children snickered openly, already imagining the humiliation.
Yelan walked forward. His steps were even, his back straight. He stopped before the Spirit Testing Stone and slowly raised his hand.
His palm pressed against the cold surface.
Nothing happened.
The runes remained dark. No light. No glow. No trace of a root.
The silence broke with cruel laughter.
"As expected! Rootless trash!"
"He really thought he could join the sect?"
"Even pigs have more worth than him."
The overseer's lips twisted into disdain. "No root detected. Trash without potential. Heaven has no place for you."
The words struck like a hammer, yet Yelan's expression did not change. His face was calm, his eyes dark and steady.
His father clenched his fists, veins bulging in his arms, but Madam Shen's trembling hand held him back. She bit her lip until it bled, tears filling her eyes.
The overseer waved his sleeve. "Step aside. You're unfit for cultivation. At most, you may serve as a laborer cleaning, fetching water, cutting wood. That is your fate."
Another boy, clad in finer clothes than the rest, stepped forward from the crowd. His smirk was wide, his tone mocking.
"Overseer, why waste breath on him? Trash like that will never rise above scrubbing floors. Perhaps he should return to his village and herd pigs instead. That way, he won't stain the sect's name."
Laughter erupted around him.
The villagers joined in, jeering, their voices like knives.
Through it all, Shen Yelan remained silent. His gaze did not waver.
The boy sneered louder, hoping for a reaction, but Yelan's calm only made his insults ring hollow.
Finally, the overseer waved impatiently. "Enough. Next!"
The overseer's dismissal hung in the air, final and sharp. Shen Yelan lowered his hand from the Spirit Testing Stone and stepped back without a word. His movements were unhurried, calm to the point of defiance.
The crowd did not see dignity in that calm. They only saw a boy too stupid to realize he had been crushed.
Whispers grew louder.
"He didn't even look ashamed."
"Maybe he doesn't understand how useless he is."
"Rootless he'll never touch qi in his life."
The finely dressed youth who had mocked earlier wasn't done. He stepped forward again, his chin raised high, his voice carrying so all could hear.
"Remember this day, villagers. Remember the boy with no roots. He thought he could walk the same path as us, but Heaven has already cast him aside. Trash will always be trash."
The children around him laughed harder, emboldened by his words. Some even mimicked scrubbing motions, mocking Yelan as a future floor-cleaner.
Shen Yelan didn't spare them a glance. He simply returned to his place, his back straight. His silence only made the laughter ring louder, sharper.
The overseer, clearly entertained, smirked. "At least he has some backbone. Very well rootless boy, you'll be placed in the outer sect as a laborer. Do not mistake this mercy for opportunity. You'll never touch the sword, never touch qi. You exist only to serve."
A final wave of laughter swept the platform.
But then
"Enough."
The single word cut through the noise like steel.
An elder in gray robes stepped forward from the sidelines. His hair was streaked with silver, his eyes cold and sharp. Unlike the overseer, his presence carried an aura of discipline and gravity. The laughter died immediately. Even the overseer straightened, bowing slightly.
The elder's gaze lingered on Shen Yelan for a long moment. His brows furrowed, not with disdain, but with thought.
"…Strange," he murmured, almost to himself. "A boy with no roots, yet eyes that sharp. As if he's waiting for something."
Shen Yelan met the elder's gaze briefly. Neither bowed, neither looked away.
The elder finally turned, his tone curt. "Place him among the laborers. If Heaven has truly abandoned him, time will reveal it. If not… then we shall see."
The overseer forced a smile, bowing again. "As Elder commands."
The decision was final. Shen Yelan was marked not as disciple, not even as failure, but as a tool, a servant at the bottom of the sect.
His parents lowered their heads, crushed by the weight of shame. Villagers sneered openly, delighted that the 'trash' had been put in his place.
Yet Shen Yelan's expression remained unchanged. His eyes were steady, calm. Almost… patient.
The ceremony ended before noon. Children with bright roots were taken deeper into the sect, guided up the long staircase to their new lives. Their families wept with pride, some falling to their knees as the gates closed behind their sons and daughters.
Those less fortunate like Shen Yelan were herded to a side path. A row of low wooden huts clung to the mountainside, far from the main gate. Smoke rose from stone chimneys, and the sharp smell of soap and wet laundry lingered in the air. These were the laborers' quarters, where the sect's lowest lived and worked.
The overseer gave no further instructions. He merely waved his hand, dismissing them as one might shoo away beggars.
Shen Yelan carried his bundle inside the hut assigned to him. The walls were thin, patched in places with old wood. Three other boys already occupied the room, all older by a few years. Their eyes lit up when they saw the newcomer.
"Rootless?" one of them asked with a mocking grin.
Yelan set down his bundle without answering.
Another boy laughed. "Figures. Only trash ends up here."
The third spat on the floor. "Stay out of our way, and maybe you'll survive."
Their laughter was coarse and ugly, but Yelan did not react. He lay down on the rough straw mat in the corner, staring up at the cracked ceiling. His silence unsettled them. Soon, their jeers faded into muttered curses, and they left him alone.
The night deepened. Outside, the mountain winds howled against the wooden walls. The laborers' hut grew cold. The others snored uneasily, but Yelan remained awake.
He reached into his bundle and pulled out a small wooden box. His father had slipped it into his bag before the ceremony, whispering no words, only giving him a long, heavy look.
Yelan held the box in his hands, running his fingers over the rough carvings. His father had made it years ago, a keepsake with no real worth. But tonight, it felt heavier than before, as if it carried something unseen.
"…No roots," he whispered softly to himself, his voice low so no one else could hear. "Then I will carve my own."
The words hung in the dark, steady and certain.
A faint pulse stirred inside the box. Not light, not warmth but a cold, subtle throb, like a heartbeat from the abyss. For a brief moment, Yelan's eyes caught the glimmer of something black and deep pressing against the wood from within.
The air around him grew heavier. Shadows in the corners of the hut seemed to stretch, bending toward him.
Then silence. The box grew still again, as if nothing had happened.
Yelan closed his eyes slowly. His breathing steadied, his face calm, but deep within, something had awakened.
And it was waiting.