The "accepted" disciples were herded not into a grand hall, but into a sprawling, dilapidated compound nestled against the mountain's shoulder. This was the Outer Disciple sector, a place of weathered wood, patched roofs, and the faint, damp smell of moss and hard labor. The grandeur of the main gates was a distant memory.
A senior disciple with a bored expression and a roster scroll named Gao distributed assignments. "You think you're cultivators now?" he sneered, his eyes sweeping over them. "You're grunts with a sliver of potential. You'll earn every breath of spiritual qi here. Zhang Fan! Courtyard Seven. Your group is on latrine duty for the first week."
Zhang Fan's triumphant expression from the testing grounds crumpled into horrified disgust. A few snickers, now aimed at him, erupted from the crowd.
"Li Chen! Courtyard Nine. Herb Garden maintenance."
Li Chen received the wooden token with a nod. It was a better assignment than most. As he turned to find his quarters, he felt a presence beside him.
"That's a lucky draw," a soft voice said.
It was the girl with the gentle demeanor from the testing line, Bai Lian. Up close, she had intelligent eyes that held a quiet warmth.
"The gardens are peaceful," Li Chen replied. "Better than the latrines."
She smiled faintly. "I'm in Courtyard Eight. Spirit Kitchen duty. I suppose I'll be peeling a mountain of spirit potatoes." She fell into step beside him as they navigated the maze of narrow paths. "Your root... it was very stable. The light didn't waver at all."
"Yours was a Mid-Grade Wood Root," Li Chen stated, having observed her test. "Vibrant. The sect needs healers and alchemists."
"You noticed?" She seemed pleasantly surprised. "Most were only watching Zhang Fan's fireworks."
Li Chen didn't answer, his gaze taking in his new surroundings. He saw the cracks in the foundation walls, the way the runoff from the upper sectors channeled rainwater down to their area, the specific types of hardy weeds pushing through the flagstones. He was already mapping the environment, understanding its flows and pressures.
Courtyard Nine was a sparse, open-walled building housing two dozen straw pallets. His designated spot was in a corner, near a crack in the wall that let in a sliver of mountain air. He placed his meager pack down—a change of clothes, a waterskin, and the few dried rations he had brought from home.
The next morning, the real work began.
The Herb Garden was a vast, terraced slope on the mountain's sunward side. The master in charge, Elder Guo, was a wizened old man with hands like gnarled roots and a perpetual squint. He didn't greet them with speeches, but with a basket of tools and a series of gruff commands.
"These are Spirit Mushrooms," he said, pointing to a patch of shimmering, silver-capped fungi growing in the shade of a large rock. "They are delicate. They require moisture, but not wetness. Shade, but not darkness. You will check each cluster for blight, for parasitic insects, and for qi saturation. You will not harvest unless I say so. Understood?"
The other new disciples assigned to the garden looked bewildered. The instructions were vague, the parameters subtle.
Li Chen, however, approached the first cluster. He didn't just look; he observed. He noted how the healthiest mushrooms had a faint, dewy sheen and a specific, resilient spring to their caps. He saw a nearly invisible vein of blue running through the soil around them—a sign of a healthy, minor spiritual vein. He spent an hour on a single patch, using a small wooden tool to gently aerate the soil around the roots, mimicking the behavior of the earthworms he'd seen in the village fields.
Elder Guo, making his rounds, paused behind Li Chen. He watched in silence for a long time.
"You. The Earth Root," the Elder finally grunted. "What are you doing?"
"Strengthening the foundation, Elder," Li Chen replied without looking up. "The mycelium network is weak here. If it strengthens, the mushrooms will be more resilient and draw qi more efficiently."
Elder Guo made a non-committal "Hmph" and moved on. But the next day, Li Chen found his basket contained a small, handwritten scroll—a basic primer on common spiritual herbs and their soil requirements. It was more than any other disciple had received.
During their scant free time, disciples were expected to study the "Verdant Sword Body Tempering Art," the foundational manual for the Acquired Realm. The first stage was Skin Tempering—using a specific breathing technique to draw trace ambient qi into the body and use it to fortify the skin, making it resistant to cuts and elements.
Most disciples, like Zhang Fan, strained and grimaced, trying to force the qi into their bodies, resulting in red, irritated skin and little progress. Li Chen sat cross-legged on his pallet, the manual open. He didn't fight for the qi. He breathed deeply, calming his heart-mind, and simply allowed the energy in the air to settle on his skin, like dust motes in a sunbeam. He then guided it, not pushed it, to seep into his pores, focusing on one small patch on the back of his hand until he could feel every single cell being subtly reinforced.
It was painstakingly slow. After a week, Zhang Fan could already boast of making his forearm "tingle with power." Li Chen had only perfected a square inch of skin on his hand. But that square inch was perfect. It was denser, more sensitive, and shimmered with a healthy, subdued light when he focused on it.
One evening, as Li Chen was returning from the gardens, he passed the training ground where Zhang Fan and his friends were practicing. They were trying to channel qi to their fists to break a training stone, resulting in loud bangs, flying chips, and bruised knuckles.
"Look, it's the dirt-digger!" Zhang Fan called out, flexing a reddened hand. "How's your farming coming along? Managed to grow a decent carrot yet?"
His friends laughed. Li Chen stopped and looked at the training stone they were abusing. It was a common granite block, similar to the gateway pillar.
"That stone has a fracture line running through its core," Li Chen said, his voice quiet but clear. "You're striking the hard outer shell. If you focus your force three inches to the left, where the grain is weak, it would break with half the effort."
Zhang Fan stared, then scoffed. "And what would you know about it?"
But one of his friends, curious, aimed a punch where Li Chen had indicated. The stone split with a clean crack, far more efficiently than any of their previous attempts.
The laughter died. Zhang Fan's face flushed with a mixture of anger and confusion. Li Chen had not used any power they could understand. He had used simple, undeniable knowledge.
As Li Chen walked away, leaving a silent group behind him, his fingers traced the perfectly tempered skin on the back of his hand. They saw a farmer. They did not see the foundation being laid, brick by patient, unshakable brick. And deep within the quiet of his mind, the memory of the mountain's pulse was a constant, reassuring rhythm.