The winds of the Scarlet Ember Moon howled through the peaks of the Miles Sect, carrying the sound of training blades clashing against wooden dummies. The sect was alive with voices—disciples shouting as they sparred, teachers barking corrections, and the occasional burst of qi that made the air ripple.
Yet, in the middle of all that energy, one figure was thrown into the dirt, coughing blood.
"Useless trash!" sneered Ken Miles, his boot pressing down on Jesse Jordan's chest. The laughter of the other disciples echoed through the courtyard like a cruel chorus. "Even after all these years, you still haven't formed a single thread of qi. How dare you still wear the sect's robes?"
Jesse groaned, trying to push Ken's foot away, but his thin arms trembled. His face was pale, smeared with dirt and blood. His cracked lips whispered, "One day… I'll—"
Ken pressed harder, cutting him off. "You'll what? You can't even lift a real sword. All you cling to is that piece of junk!"
The crowd burst into laughter. Several pointed at the object that had fallen nearby during the scuffle: a long, rusted weapon with a blade split nearly in two, its hilt wrapped in frayed leather. It looked more like scrap metal than a sword.
"That thing should have been melted down years ago."
"Maybe it suits him. Broken sword for a broken man."
"Why hasn't the sect cast him out already?"
Jesse reached out weakly, dragging the cracked sword back toward him as if it were his only lifeline. His fingers trembled, but his eyes burned with a faint light—one the others were too blind to see.
Ken spat on the ground beside him. "Remember this, orphan. Without power, without bloodline, without resources… you're nothing. Even your parents abandoned you to die. If the sect didn't pity you, you'd be rotting in a ditch."
The words hit Jesse harder than the kicks. His body curled, trying to hold itself together, but his heart quaked at the reminder. He had no parents, no clan, no master. He was only tolerated in the sect because someone long ago had begged for him to be allowed to stay. Now, that mercy only chained him to endless ridicule.
The disciples left, still laughing. Their footsteps faded, leaving only the lonely wind.
Jesse lay on the ground for a long while, staring up at the reddened skies of the Scarlet Ember Moon. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and every breath hurt. He whispered to himself, voice hoarse, "Is this… truly all I am?"
Dragging himself up, he leaned on the broken sword as a cane. He limped toward the farthest part of the sect—the Abandoned Courtyard, where no disciples trained, where old structures crumbled and moss overtook the stones. No one ever came there, except Jesse, when he wanted to hide his shame.
Blood dripped onto the cracked tiles as he staggered, his vision blurring. By the time he reached the courtyard, the sun was setting. Shadows crept across the broken pillars, and silence weighed heavy. Jesse collapsed against a wall, clutching his ribs.
The sword clattered beside him.
For a moment, Jesse simply wept. He pressed his forehead against the cold stone and let out the tears he never showed in front of others. "Why? Why keep me alive in this world if only to be humiliated?"
His fingers traced the cracked sword's jagged edge. "I'll prove them wrong. I have to. Even if it kills me…"
It was then that something strange happened.
Where his blood had dripped onto the mossy ground, faint glimmers of light began to pulse. Jesse blinked, rubbing his eyes, thinking it was the pain playing tricks. But the light grew brighter, tracing ancient symbols into the ground. The moss peeled away, revealing a hidden slab beneath the dirt.
From within the slab, something emerged.
A jade slip—thin, translucent, and glowing with pale green light—rose into the air. Its surface shimmered like a starry sky, runes shifting across it in endless patterns.
Jesse's breath caught in his throat. "A… jade slip?"
He reached out with trembling fingers, and the object floated gently into his palm. The moment it touched his skin, a burning wave of energy surged into his mind. His vision went white.
Suddenly, he was no longer in the courtyard. He stood in a vast, endless void. Stars and galaxies swirled around him, and a colossal figure sat in meditation at the center—a man draped in robes woven from starlight, his eyes closed, his aura so immense Jesse felt like an ant before a mountain.
The figure's voice thundered directly into Jesse's mind:
"To the one who grasps the Void Jade, I pass on my legacy. You are the chosen successor. Walk the path of ten thousand tribulations, and ascend beyond mortal shackles. Fail, and perish like the countless before you."
The voice echoed until it felt like Jesse's very soul trembled. Then, streams of symbols and techniques poured into his consciousness. His mind reeled as foreign knowledge imprinted itself into him—the Ninefold Void Sutra, a cultivation method unlike anything in the sect.
When Jesse gasped and opened his eyes, he was back in the courtyard. The jade slip had dissolved into motes of light that sank into his skin.
His body felt different—lighter, sharper, filled with a faint warmth. He could almost sense… something. A flow in the air around him, subtle but real.
Qi.
His eyes widened. "I can… feel it?"
For the first time in his life, Jesse Jordan touched the edges of cultivation.
He clenched the cracked sword in his hands, staring at it with renewed fire. The laughter of the disciples echoed in his memory, but now, his heart whispered something else:
They were wrong. This isn't the end. It's the beginning.
As the night deepened, Jesse sat cross-legged on the cracked stones, closing his eyes. He followed the imprints of the Ninefold Void Sutra, guiding the faint strands of qi into his body. Pain lanced through him as if his meridians resisted, but he endured, sweat dripping down his face.
Minutes turned to hours. His breathing steadied, and the warmth in his core grew.
Just as dawn's light crept over the horizon, a faint ripple pulsed from Jesse's body. His eyes snapped open, and for a split second, a spark of green light flickered in them.
The first step.
Jesse Jordan had finally begun his cultivation journey.
Yet, even as he exhaled shakily, he felt an unease, as though the world itself had shifted.
Far away, within the sect's main hall, an elder meditating suddenly opened his eyes. His expression darkened as he sensed something stir in the abandoned courtyard. "That aura… impossible. Who could have awakened such a thing?"
Back in the ruins, Jesse wiped the sweat from his brow, unaware of the storm that would soon follow. He looked at the cracked sword, its surface faintly glowing under the dawn light.
And then—
A shadow flickered at the edge of the courtyard. A disciple, wide-eyed, had seen everything. His lips parted in shock before he turned to run.
Jesse froze, heart pounding.
If he tells the others…