The stone tablet cracked.
Not with a dramatic explosion, not with divine light or thunderous noise — just a thin, ugly line spreading from its center like a scar. It was quiet enough that only those close to it noticed.
Unfortunately for me, the assessment elder was very close.
His hand froze mid-air, brush hovering above the parchment. For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes flicked from the tablet to me, then back again, as if hoping the crack would politely disappear.
It didn't.
A murmur rippled through the assessment hall.
"Did it break?"
"No, it just… cracked."
"Isn't that rare?"
The elder coughed, clearly displeased by the attention. He placed his palm against the tablet, channeling a thread of Qi to stabilize it. The crack stopped spreading.
"Name," he said flatly.
"Li Shen," I replied.
"Age?"
"Seventeen."
He exhaled slowly. That alone sealed half my fate.
At seventeen, geniuses were already in Qi Condensation. Talents were at least deep into Meridian Opening. Anything less was… inconvenient.
The elder's Qi probed my body. I felt it pass through my skin, sink into my muscles, trace my bones, then follow the flow of my blood.
His brows knit together.
"Tempered Body Realm," he announced. "Late stage."
The murmurs grew louder.
Late Tempered Body.
In the Azure Ridge Sect, that realm was where outer disciples began — and where most of them stayed until they were quietly discarded.
The elder added, almost as an afterthought, "No abnormalities detected."
I nearly laughed.
If only he knew.
The assessment continued, but the verdict was already written.
"Background?" he asked.
"Blackridge Village."
That earned me a few sympathetic glances. Blackridge was known for its rocky land and short life expectancy. Cultivators rarely emerged from there, and those who did were usually desperate rather than talented.
The elder dipped his brush again.
"Assignment," he said, voice devoid of interest. "Outer disciple. Logistics division."
There it was.
No combat hall.
No technique inheritance.
No elder guidance.
Logistics disciples carried water, chopped wood, transported pills, repaired training grounds, and died anonymously when sect wars broke out.
I bowed respectfully. "Thank you for the opportunity, Elder."
My voice was calm.
Inside my head, I was laughing so hard it almost hurt.
That night, as I lay on a straw mat in the outer disciple quarters, I stared at the wooden beams overhead.
Low class.
That label followed cultivators like a curse. Once placed, it rarely came off. Elders liked predictable growth, not anomalies. An anomaly threatened balance, and balance was more important than potential.
Fair enough, I thought. If I were them, I'd suppress me too.
I rolled onto my side and flexed my fingers.
They moved smoothly. Too smoothly.
Since childhood, my body had behaved strangely. When I worked the fields back in Blackridge, I never strained muscles the way others did. When I carried heavy loads, my breathing naturally adjusted. When I swung tools, my balance corrected itself without thought.
I didn't train techniques.
I trained movement.
I rose quietly and slipped out of the quarters. The night air was cold, the mountain mist thick. I found an empty clearing behind the storage hall and picked up a fallen branch.
No Qi.
Just movement.
I stepped forward, turned my waist, let my shoulders follow, and swung.
The branch cut cleanly through the air.
Again.
Again.
My breath synced with my blood. My blood warmed my muscles. My muscles guided my bones.
Only later would I understand that I had already reached the Flowing Blood stage of the Tempered Body Realm — the final stage — without ever consciously cultivating it.
At that moment, I only knew one thing:
My body was learning.
Far above, in the inner sect, an elder frowned for no reason at all.
And the heavens, unnoticed, watched quietly.