The thunderous roar of the waterfall gradually faded into a dull hum behind him.
Qianye changed out of his soaked, tattered clothes and strapped his rusted Tang blade firmly to his back. As he walked along the narrow mountain path toward the Outer Sect, the power of the Seventh Stage of Body Tempering pulsed steadily within him. Every step felt heavier, more deliberate; he could feel the incredible density of his bones and the vitality of his blood.
However, in the eyes of the sect, these changes were invisible.
In the Outer Sect, a "Trash Root" was a "Trash Root" forever.
The labor quarters were, as always, the noisiest and most congested part of the Azure Cloud Sect—the place that everyone saw but no one truly noticed. The wooden shacks were low and rotting, the ground was a permanent slurry of mud, and the air was a thick, unpleasant cocktail of sweat, medicinal dross, and decaying vegetation. Those who lived here were not considered "disciples" by the higher-ups; they were simply "usable resources."
Just as Qianye stepped into the common area, a sharp, ear-piercing clang of a gong shattered the air.
"All labor disciples, assemble at the Task Stone immediately!"
The voice was raspy and devoid of emotion, barking orders as if counting heads of cattle.
Qianye paused for a second before adjusting his course toward the massive stone slab at the center of the square.
Dozens of people had already gathered. Some looked anxious, their hands trembling; others looked bored or whispered curses under their breath, but no one dared to leave. Everyone knew that in the Azure Cloud Sect, missing a task assignment was grounds for immediate expulsion.
The man in charge of the daily assignments was a Deacon Disciple named Chen Yue.
Chen Yue's cultivation wasn't particularly high, but he had spent years using his minor administrative power to bully the laborers. He stood on the stone steps, hands behind his back, his eyes scanning the crowd like a merchant inspecting damaged goods.
"We have quite a few tasks today," Chen Yue said coldly, flicking open a jade scroll.
"Herb Gathering Group: Three teams. Mining Group: Two teams. Beast Pen Cleaning: One team. Back Mountain Maintenance: One person."
The moment the words left his mouth, a wave of nervous murmuring broke out.
Herb gathering was acceptable; the danger was manageable. Mining and beast pen cleaning were notorious for causing injuries or permanent disability. But as for Back Mountain Maintenance—
Many heads turned instinctively toward Qianye.
That was the one job in the Outer Sect that absolutely no one wanted.
Chen Yue's gaze shifted, landing on Qianye with a thin, predatory smile. "Qianye."
Qianye looked up, his expression as calm as a frozen pond.
"You. Back Mountain Maintenance."
It wasn't a question. It wasn't a discussion. It was a sentence.
A few low snickers erupted from the crowd.
"Of course it's him," someone whispered. "A Trash Root is only good for suicide missions."
"Back Mountain Maintenance... Hah, if he comes back alive, he's got luck like a devil."
Qianye didn't argue. He didn't complain. He simply nodded. "Understood."
His lack of reaction actually made Chen Yue feel a flicker of irritation. The Deacon wanted to see fear or pleading. "Remember, you are just a laborer," Chen Yue added sharply. "If something happens in the back mountains, the Sect is not responsible for collecting your corpse."
Qianye turned and walked away. His pace was neither fast nor slow.
He knew this wasn't just a personal vendetta; this was the harsh reality of the Outer Sect. "Back Mountain Maintenance" sounded like a janitorial job, but in reality, it meant clearing the peripheral areas where wild beasts—Wildlings—roamed.
Laborers weren't sent there to hunt; they were sent to act as decoys, to clear carcasses, or to distract beasts so formal disciples could move safely. In other words, they were human shields sent to "test the path" for those with better Spirit Roots.
Qianye stepped into the edge of the back mountain forest alone.
The trees were dense, blocking out much of the sunlight. The ground was littered with the deep gouges of claws and patches of dried, blackened blood. The air held a faint, metallic scent of musk and gore.
He didn't draw his blade immediately.
Instead, he stopped and closed his eyes.
The sound of the wind through the pines, the chirping of insects, and the specific frequency of shifting leaves became clear in his mind. These were the senses he had honed beneath the waterfall—not a formal technique, but a raw, primal perception.
Suddenly—
The bushes to his left rustled.
The moment Qianye snapped his eyes open, his body had already shifted half a step to the side.
Whoosh!
A dark shadow lunged through the space he had occupied a millisecond before, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
It was a Black-Backed Fang-Hound. It was one of the lowest-tier wild beasts, but it was notoriously vicious. Its fangs protruded from its mouth, and thick, foul-smelling saliva dripped from its jaws. It growled low in its throat, crouching for a second leap.
Only then did Qianye slowly draw his rusted Tang blade.
The steel was mottled, but it sat in his hand with absolute stability.
As the Fang-Hound lunged again, Qianye didn't retreat. He stepped into the attack.
He lunged forward, dropping his center of gravity. His blade swept out in a low arc along the ground—not aiming for the head, but for the legs.
Squelch!
Dark blood sprayed across the grass.
The beast let out a piercing yelp, tumbling through the air. Before it could even hit the ground, Qianye had already closed the distance. He reversed his grip and drove the blade through the beast's jaw, piercing straight into its brain.
Clean. Efficient. Silent.
He sheathed the blade, his breathing completely undisturbed. To the current Qianye, a single Fang-Hound was no longer a threat.
But he didn't relax.
Because he knew that in the wild, trouble never came alone.
Sure enough, deeper in the woods, more rustling sounds began to echo. This time, there was more than one.
Qianye stood his ground and exhaled a long breath. He didn't run, and he didn't hide.
The Outer Sect assignments were designed to break people. They were meant to be a punishment for having bad luck or poor talent. But for Qianye, this was different.
This was combat. This was the true cultivation that the Sect was too arrogant to give him.
With his blade in hand, Qianye's gaze remained tranquil. He understood one thing with absolute certainty:
Here, no one would look at him with respect because he broke through. No one would give him an opportunity because he worked hard. His status as a laborer would only push him into more dangerous places.
But it was precisely because of this—because he was pushed to the edge—that he could continue to grind, continue to sharpen himself, and continue to grow stronger in the shadows.
The low growls of beasts echoed through the trees.
Qianye took a step forward, his figure melting into the gloom of the forest. To him, this assignment wasn't a burden.
It was a blood-soaked staircase leading toward true power.