The air in the Azure Cloud Sect's martial arena was thick with the scent of dust, sweat, and arrogance. Sunlight glared off the polished stone tiles, but it offered no warmth to Li Tian, who stood frozen in the center of the dueling platform. The laughter and whispers of hundreds of fellow disciples felt like physical needles pricking his skin.
"Look at him! Ten years! Ten years as an outer disciple, and he's still as soft as a mortal!"
"Even a donkey would have learned to kick by now! What a hopeless case."
"I heard he earns his keep by cleaning the latrines. He should stick to what he's good at."
Li Tian's knuckles were white as he gripped the crude wooden practice sword. His robes, patched and faded, marked him as the lowest of the low. Across from him, Zhang Fan, an inner disciple from the influential Zhang family, smirked. Zhang Fan's robes were of fine blue silk, embroidered with silver threads that shimmered with every condescending movement.
"Ready to concede, waste of breath?" Zhang Fan sneered, twirling his own sword, which was made of spirit-empowered steel. "Save us all the embarrassment. A servant like you should know his place—on his knees, scrubbing the floors, not standing where cultivators stand."
Li Tian said nothing. He had learned long ago that words were useless. They only fueled the mockery. But inside, a storm was raging. 'Not again. Please, not again. Just a wisp. Just one single wisp of Qi!' He focused everything he had, every ounce of his will, on trying to feel the Qi around him. He strained, his body trembling, begging his dormant spiritual roots to awaken. But there was nothing. Only a vast, empty silence within his dantian, the sea of energy at his core. The familiar, gut-wrenching void of failure.
"This year's aptitude test is over," Elder Zhao announced from the high platform, his voice bored and dismissive. He didn't even look at Li Tian. "Zhang Fan, proceed."
Zhang Fan's smirk widened into a predatory grin. "With pleasure, Elder."
He didn't use a fancy technique. He didn't need to. He simply channeled a wisp of his Qi Condensation-level power into his sword and lunged. To Li Tian, the attack was a blur of overwhelming force. He raised his wooden sword in a desperate, futile block.
CRACK!
The sound was final, humiliating. The wooden sword shattered into splinters. The force of the blow sent Li Tian flying backward. He landed hard on the cold stone, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs. A coppery taste filled his mouth—blood.
Laughter erupted, loud and cruel, echoing off the surrounding mountains.
"See? I told you! Pathetic!"
"Like swatting a fly!"
Zhang Fan strode over, his shadow falling over Li Tian like a shroud. He leaned down, his voice a venomous whisper meant for Li Tian alone. "Your father was a failure who died in a ditch. And you? You're less than that. You're a stain on the sect's honor. Do everyone a favor and disappear."
The words were a poison-tipped dagger, striking the deepest, most hidden wound in Li Tian's heart. His father. The one subject that could shatter the fragile wall of stoicism he built around himself. A white-hot fury surged through him, so intense it made his hands shake. 'How dare you! You know nothing about him!' He wanted to scream, to lunge at Zhang Fan and wipe that smug look off his face, consequences be damned.
But the fury was immediately drowned by an icy, suffocating wave of despair. What could he do? He was powerless. Absolutely, utterly powerless. The anger was a fire with no outlet, turning inward and burning him to ashes from the inside out. The conflict between his rage and his helplessness was a torture worse than any physical blow.
Elder Zhao's voice cut through the noise, cold and final. "Li Tian. Aptitude: Mortal Grade Zero. No spiritual roots detected. He is to be permanently assigned to servant duties. Next!"
Mortal Grade Zero. The words echoed in the vast emptiness where his Qi should have been. It wasn't just low talent; it was the absolute absence of it. The official verdict crushed the last flicker of his ten-year dream. The fury died, leaving only a hollow, aching cold. He was nothing. He would always be nothing.
He stumbled out of the arena, shoulders hunched against the barrage of insults. He felt the cold, dismissive gaze of the other elders on the platform. None offered a word of encouragement. To them, he was simply not worth the breath.
He didn't stop walking until he reached the edge of the servant's quarters, a cluster of dilapidated huts far from the sect's majestic halls. His home was the smallest and most broken of them all. He shoved the door open and collapsed inside, the thin wood rattling on its hinges.
The silence within was a stark contrast to the arena's roar, but it was no less painful. It was the silence of absolute solitude. He had no family, no friends, no master. He was utterly alone.
Tears of frustration and shame finally welled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He clenched his fists, his nails digging so deep into his palms that half-moon marks bloomed. He looked down at his hand, at the only thing he owned of any value—a simple, cracked iron ring on his finger. It was rusted and unremarkable, the only thing his father had left him. A final, bitter reminder of a legacy of failure.
He curled his fingers around it, the cold, rough metal a pathetic comfort. Was this all his life would be? Endless humiliation? A future of scrubbing floors and being spit on by those who could harness the power of the heavens?
Despair, black and bottomless, threatened to swallow him whole. He felt the last flicker of hope within him guttering out, like a candle in a storm.
But as his despair reached its peak, the cracked ring on his finger grew inexplicably warm. In that moment, Li Tian had no way of knowing that this worthless trinket was about to shatter his destiny and rewrite the laws of heaven themselves.