The wind on Cloud-Split Peak was a bitter, relentless sculptor, carving the craggy stone and chilling the bones of anyone foolish enough to linger. For Lin Wei, it was simply the air he breathed. At sixteen, he was lanky and unremarkable, his clothes the coarse, faded grey of a servant, not the vibrant silks of a disciple.
He knelt by a small, isolated stream that trickled from a higher snowmelt, meticulously scrubbing a set of robes belonging to Elder Gu, a man whose temper was as legendary as his meager cultivation base.
Lin Wei wasn't a disciple of the Azure Sky Sect. He was a 'Dirt-Scraper', an orphan brought in from the nearby village to handle the sect's most menial tasks: cleaning latrines, mucking stables, and doing laundry for the outer court disciples. He had been told, since he was old enough to hold a bucket, that he possessed 'Mortal Roots'—the lowest tier of spiritual aptitude, essentially rendering him incapable of absorbing the slightest wisp of Heaven and Earth Qi.
He finished Elder Gu's robes, the silk slippery and cold in his hands. A sharp, mocking voice sliced through the silence.
"Look what the wind dragged in. The sect's prize piglet, scrubbing away his worthless life."
Jian Lei, a hulking outer court disciple with a perpetually sneering face, stood over him, flanked by two equally smug companions. Jian Lei's cultivation was only at the third level of Qi Condensation, but that was a chasm away from Lin Wei's zero.
Lin Wei kept his head bowed, the ingrained habit of years keeping his voice neutral. "Disciple Jian. I have finished the Elder's laundry."
Jian Lei kicked the basin, sending soapy water splashing onto Lin Wei's face and soaking the clean robes. "Careless fool! Now they're dirtied again. That's a punishment, Dirt-Scraper." He grabbed a fistful of Lin Wei's thin tunic, pulling him close. "The punishment is for you to give me that Spiritual Stone you stole from the mess hall yesterday."
Lin Wei's eyes widened slightly. "I... I didn't steal anything, Disciple Jian." A Spiritual Stone, even a low-grade one, was worth a fortune to a commoner, and guarded zealously by the sect.
Jian Lei delivered a swift, hard punch to Lin Wei's gut. Lin Wei doubled over, gasping, the cold wind suddenly feeling like blades. "Lying to your betters? You'll regret that." Jian Lei and his cronies began a slow, brutal beating, punctuated by insults about his 'Mortal Roots' and his 'filthy bloodline.'
As a final act, Jian Lei spat on the ground near Lin Wei's head. "The robes had better be spotless by morning, or you won't be scrubbing clothes—you'll be scrubbing your own blood." They swaggered off, leaving Lin Wei a bruised, trembling heap on the cold stone.
Lin Wei lay there for a long time, the only sound the painful wheezing of his own breath. He finally dragged himself up, his eyes falling on a peculiar sight. The impact from Jian Lei's kick had chipped a piece of rock near the stream. From the broken stone, a sliver of faint, emerald light was emanating. It looked almost... liquid. Lin Wei, driven by a deep, despairing curiosity, crawled closer.