The morning sun poured over the training grounds of the Clear Sky Sect, casting long golden lines across the cold stone floor. The sound of wooden swords clashing filled the air, mixed with the sharp cries of young cultivators perfecting their forms. Jian Wu stood at the far end of the courtyard, holding a cracked wooden sword that looked as if it could break at any moment.
His clothes were simple, the color faded from years of washing, and his face calm but unreadable. Around him, the other disciples practiced in pairs, their weapons polished, their energy flowing with confidence. They glanced at Jian Wu occasionally, whispering and laughing among themselves.
"Look at him," one said with a sneer. "The boy without a core, still pretending to be a cultivator."
Another added, "If effort alone made one a genius, he would have ascended to heaven by now."
Jian Wu said nothing. He only tightened his grip on the wooden sword. The laughter around him faded into a dull hum, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
The instructor arrived, his voice like thunder as he barked commands. The disciples lined up at once. "Begin your forms!" he shouted.
Jian Wu raised his sword and mimicked the movements of the others. Each swing felt heavier than it should. Every time he tried to guide his breath the way the instructor had taught, he felt the same emptiness inside his chest, a hollow space where a core should have been.
But today, something was different. Deep inside that emptiness, there was a faint pulse, almost like a heartbeat that was not his own.
He paused for a moment, frowning. The instructor's whip cracked through the air. "Focus!"
Jian Wu nodded and continued. Sweat dripped from his chin. His muscles trembled. The pulse faded as quickly as it had come.
When training ended, the other disciples gathered in groups, laughing and chatting as they rested. Jian Wu sat alone beneath a tree, his sword lying beside him. He looked down at his trembling hands. The silence around him was thick, broken only by the wind moving through the branches above.
Then he heard it a whisper.
Can you hear me?
Jian Wu's head snapped up. No one was near. He pressed his palm to his chest, feeling the cold emptiness inside.
You are not empty, the voice murmured again, soft as breath. You have simply forgotten what lies beneath.
Jian Wu's heart raced. "Who's there?" he whispered.
There was no reply, only a faint vibration under his skin. The ground beneath him trembled slightly. For a heartbeat, a dim silver light flickered in the center of his chest. It was not like the bright glow of a spiritual core. It was soft, almost alive. Then it vanished.
He sat still for a long time, staring at the spot where the light had appeared. "That wasn't my imagination," he muttered.
By late afternoon, the second session of the day began. This time it was sparring practice.
When the instructor called his name, Jian Wu stepped forward. His opponent was Gu Ren, the same boy who mocked him earlier. Gu Ren smiled coldly. "Try not to embarrass yourself this time."
Jian Wu said nothing. He simply nodded and lifted his sword.
"Begin!"
Gu Ren charged first, his sword flashing in the sunlight. The strike was fast and heavy. Jian Wu blocked it clumsily, the impact sending pain through his arm. The crowd laughed.
Gu Ren attacked again and again, forcing Jian Wu to retreat step by step until his back nearly hit the wall. "A cultivator without a core," Gu Ren taunted, "is nothing but a moving corpse."
Something inside Jian Wu snapped. Not from anger, but from something deeper, something that wanted to awaken. He heard that whisper again, louder now.
Stand up. You've bowed long enough.
The words echoed inside his mind. Jian Wu took a deep breath and lifted his sword once more. The air around him grew cold. A faint shimmer appeared along the cracked surface of the wooden blade silver light, flowing like mist.
Gu Ren frowned. "What trick is this?"
He lunged forward, but when their swords met, a sharp sound exploded between them. The impact sent Gu Ren staggering back, his sword cracked clean down the middle.
Gasps filled the training ground.
Even Jian Wu looked stunned. His wooden sword was still intact, glowing faintly with that strange silver light. The air around him felt alive, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the glow faded.
Gu Ren stared at him in disbelief. "What did you do?"
"I don't know," Jian Wu said quietly.
The instructor walked over, his expression unreadable. "That's enough for today."
Whispers spread quickly through the disciples. Some were curious. Others were frightened. At the edge of the crowd, Lin Chen, one of the senior disciples, watched with narrowed eyes. "Interesting," he murmured. "The boy without a core… seems not so empty after all."
That night, the courtyard was silent. The moonlight fell across the pond behind the sect, silver ripples moving gently with the breeze. Jian Wu sat at the edge of the water, staring at his reflection. His face looked calm, but his eyes were filled with questions he could not voice.
He placed his hand over his chest. The faint pulse was still there, deep inside him. "That voice," he whispered. "Who are you?"
No answer came. Only the quiet sound of water lapping against stone.
He looked up at the stars. For the first time in years, the night felt different, like it was watching him.
A single thought crossed his mind.
Maybe the world is wrong about what makes a cultivator.
And somewhere in
the distance, unseen and unheard, that same faint whisper returned.
Then prove it.