Yang Feng woke before dawn, his body aching from yesterday's work in the spirit chicken coops but his mind alert as he prepared for another day at the bottom of High Heaven Pavilion's hierarchy.
Today was supposed to be his cultivation day - every ten days, trial disciples were permitted to skip their work duties and focus on advancing their cultivation, a grudging concession to the fact that even the sect's janitors needed some time to improve if they ever hoped to become outer disciples.
He made his way to one of the lesser cultivation caves, a small grotto carved into the mountainside where ambient spiritual energy was maybe twice as dense as normal air. The better caves were claimed by outer disciples and above, leaving trial disciples to fight over the dregs.
Yang Feng found an unoccupied corner and settled into meditation posture, cross-legged with hands resting on knees, breathing slow and controlled as he tried to sense the spiritual energy floating through the air.
Cultivation started with sensing spiritual energy, learning to feel the invisible power that saturated the world but that mortals couldn't perceive. Once a cultivator could sense it, they learned to absorb it, drawing the energy into their body through breathing and meditation. The energy would circulate through meridians - pathways inside the body that spiritual energy flowed through - before settling into the dantian, a space just below the navel where cultivation power was stored.
Yang Feng had mastered the sensing and absorbing years ago, back when he'd first started cultivating as a child. The problem was the rate of absorption.
His two-star spiritual root meant the energy trickled into his body like water through a crack instead of flowing like a river. Every breath brought only a tiny amount of spiritual energy into his meridians, every circulation barely adding to the power stored in his dantian. Progress was possible but agonizingly slow.
He breathed in and felt spiritual energy enter his body, so faint it was like trying to drink fog. The energy circulated through his meridians following the cultivation technique High Heaven Pavilion taught all its disciples - a balanced method called the Heaven Scripture that worked for any attribute but excelled at none.
One circulation. Two. Ten. A hundred.
Hours passed and Yang Feng felt his cultivation advance by perhaps the tiniest fraction, like adding a single grain of sand to a mountain and expecting to notice the difference. At this rate he'd need months to accumulate enough energy to attempt breaking through to Body Refinement Stage Five.
Around him, other trial disciples cultivated in their own corners, all of them facing similar struggles. Kai Sheng sat nearby, his face scrunched in concentration as he worked through his own cultivation. Another trial disciple whose name Yang Feng didn't know had fallen asleep while meditating, her breathing steady but producing no visible cultivation results.
This was the reality of being at the bottom - cultivating was possible but the results were so slow that advancement felt impossible.
Yang Feng broke from meditation as the sun reached its peak, his body stiff from sitting motionless for hours, his cultivation advanced by maybe one percent if he was being generous. At this rate, reaching Stage Five would take three more months minimum.
Three months to advance one stage when outer disciples did it in weeks. The gap between him and his peers widened every day he failed to break through.
"Pathetic effort, trash"
Yang Feng looked up to see Chen Hao standing at the cave entrance with two of his lackeys, the inner disciple's expression showing nothing but contempt as he surveyed the trial disciples cultivating in the lesser cave.
"This one greets Senior Brother Chen," Yang Feng kept his voice neutral and his eyes down, knowing that showing any emotion would just provoke the bastard into another beating.
"I heard you spent yesterday cleaning spirit chicken shit," Chen Hao said with a laugh, "Tell me, does it pay well? Should I recommend it to my fellow inner disciples as a career path?"
His lackeys laughed on cue, the sound grating against Yang Feng's ears as he fought to keep his expression blank. Don't react, don't give him the satisfaction, don't make it worse.
"The work pays two low-grade spirit stones, Senior Brother Chen"
"Two whole stones! Such wealth!" more laughter, "At that rate you'll be able to afford a decent meal in maybe a week, assuming you don't waste it on trying to cultivate that worthless trash body of yours"
The lackeys laughed harder and Yang Feng said nothing, just knelt there and took it because fighting back would mean crippling or death and he wasn't ready to die yet.
Chen Hao kicked a pebble that bounced off Yang Feng's shoulder, "You know what the sad part is? You actually try. I see you here every cultivation day, meditating like you think hard work will overcome your shit spiritual root. It won't. You're trash today and you'll be trash tomorrow and you'll be trash until the day you die, which will probably be soon given how many enemies you must have made by now"
The implication was clear - Chen Hao was considering killing him, or having him killed, or arranging an accident that would remove Yang Feng from existence without consequences.
"This one understands, Senior Brother Chen"
"Do you? I wonder," Chen Hao crouched down to meet Yang Feng's eyes, "Tell me something, trash. Why do you keep cultivating? Why not just accept your place and stop wasting everyone's time?"
Yang Feng met the inner disciple's gaze for just a moment before looking away, but in that moment Chen Hao must have seen something because his expression darkened.
"You dare look at me directly? You forget your place!"
The blow came fast, Chen Hao's fist crashing into Yang Feng's face and sending him sprawling across the cave floor. Pain exploded through his jaw, blood filling his mouth as he tried to protect his head from the follow-up kicks he knew were coming.
But Chen Hao didn't kick him this time, just stood there breathing hard like the single punch had satisfied whatever urge had prompted the violence.
"Remember this, trash - the strong eat the weak. You're weak. I'm strong. That means I get to beat you whenever I want and there's nothing you can do about it," Chen Hao turned to his lackeys, "Let's go, this place reeks of failure and I don't want it contaminating my clothes"
They left and Yang Feng lay on the cave floor, tasting blood and feeling the familiar ache of fresh bruises, while the other trial disciples pretended they hadn't seen anything because intervening would just make them the next target.
Kai Sheng helped him sit up after a minute, offering a cloth to wipe the blood from Yang Feng's face.
"You should stop provoking him," Kai Sheng said quietly, "I know you didn't do anything this time but he's looking for excuses and eventually he'll decide you're not worth keeping alive"
"This one knows"
"Then why do you keep cultivating? Why not just quit like everyone else and go back to being a mortal? At least then Chen Hao would leave you alone"
Yang Feng spat blood onto the cave floor, watching it pool in the dust like all the other blood he'd shed over two years of humiliation, "Because mortals die faster than cultivators, Brother Kai. The strong eat the weak but I refuse to stay weak forever"
Kai Sheng looked at him for a long moment, then shook his head, "You're going to get yourself killed with that attitude"
"Probably"
After Kai Sheng left, Yang Feng sat alone in the cave and let the pain settle into something manageable. His jaw ached but wasn't broken. His ribs were bruised but not cracked. He'd had worse and survived.
The afternoon stretched ahead of him with hours of cultivation time remaining, but Yang Feng's concentration was shot from the beating and his body hurt too much to meditate properly. Instead he made his way back to his quarters, intending to rest and try again tomorrow.
On the way he passed the sect library, a large building where cultivation manuals and historical records were kept for disciples to study. Outer disciples and above could access most of it freely. Trial disciples technically had access too but were discouraged from using it since their time was supposed to be spent working instead of studying.
Yang Feng paused, thinking about the black mirror fragment still tucked in his robes. He'd been meaning to research it, see if there were any records of similar artifacts, but he'd been too busy with work and cultivation to find the time.
Today he had time.
The library was mostly empty at this hour, just a few outer disciples browsing through technique manuals and a bored-looking attendant who barely glanced at Yang Feng as he entered. The trial disciple robes marked him as someone of no importance, beneath notice and beneath caring about.
Yang Feng made his way to the section on artifacts and treasures, running his fingers along dusty spines until he found books about mysterious items and their properties. Most of it was speculation and legend, cultivation fairy tales about ancient treasures that granted immortality or destroyed nations, nothing practical or useful.
But one book caught his attention - "Catalog of Unexplained Artifacts Found in High Heaven Pavilion's Territory, compiled by Elder Shen, Year 342"
Yang Feng pulled it from the shelf and started reading.
The book listed hundreds of strange items discovered over the sect's three-hundred-year history, most of them trash that turned out to be worthless despite seeming mysterious, but occasionally something genuinely valuable would appear. Elder Shen had organized them by type and appearance, providing sketches and descriptions of each artifact along with theories about their origins.
Yang Feng flipped through pages of swords and rings and talismans until he reached a section on mirrors.
There - a sketch of a black mirror fragment with jagged edges, labeled "Artifact #247, discovered Year 315 in the eastern storage hall, properties unknown, deemed non-dangerous but potentially valuable, current location: storage hall pending further study"
Yang Feng stared at the sketch, his pulse quickening. The fragment looked identical to the one he'd found, right down to the jagged edges and black reflective surface. Same artifact then, which meant it had been sitting in storage for over twenty years waiting for someone to figure out what it did.
He read the description:
"Fragment exhibits unusual properties when held by a cultivator - reports of seeing multiple reflections, hearing whispers, feeling as if being watched from inside the mirror. Several disciples tested the artifact but none could determine its purpose or activate any obvious effects. Spiritual energy scans revealed complex formations embedded in the glass but their function remains unknown. The artifact does not respond to blood binding, spiritual energy injection, or verbal commands. Current assessment: potentially valuable but non-functional, possibly damaged beyond use. Recommendation: continue storage pending future study."
Yang Feng frowned. Multiple reflections - he'd seen that. Feeling watched - he'd felt that too. But the artifact was supposedly non-functional, damaged beyond use, unable to be activated by any normal means.
So why had he seen those things? Why did the mirror feel like it was waiting for something?
He kept reading but found no other references to similar artifacts, nothing that explained what the mirror fragment actually did or how to use it properly. Dead end then, or at least nothing immediately helpful.
Yang Feng closed the book and returned it to the shelf, thinking about Elder Shen's assessment. Non-functional but potentially valuable. Multiple reflections that appeared sometimes but not always. Complex formations that nobody could decipher.
Maybe it really was just trash with delusions of grandeur like Elder Wu had suggested.
Or maybe Yang Feng just hadn't figured out how to activate it yet.
He left the library as the sun was setting, his body still aching from Chen Hao's beating, his mind churning through possibilities. The mirror fragment felt heavy in his robes, cold weight against his side, waiting for something Yang Feng didn't know how to give it.
That night Yang Feng sat in his quarters with the privacy formation active, holding the black mirror fragment and staring at his reflection in the dark glass.
One reflection stared back, plain features and tired eyes, exactly as it should be.
"What are you?" Yang Feng asked the mirror, feeling foolish for talking to an inanimate object, "Elder Shen said you have complex formations but can't be activated. So how do I activate you?"
The mirror showed nothing but his own reflection, silent and still.
Yang Feng tried everything he could think of - injecting spiritual energy into the glass, dripping blood on it, speaking various cultivation phrases he'd heard elders use, even trying to meditate while holding it. Nothing produced any results, just his own face staring back at him from black glass.
Hours passed. Frustration built. Yang Feng's spiritual energy was running low from all the attempts and his body was exhausted from the day's beating and work.
He was about to give up when the mirror flickered.
Just for a moment, so brief Yang Feng almost missed it, a second reflection appeared beside his own - taller, broader, with a jagged scar across his face, smiling that same unsettling smile Yang Feng had seen before.
Then it vanished.
Yang Feng's heart hammered as he stared at the black glass, waiting for the reflection to return. Minutes passed with nothing, just his own tired face looking back, but Yang Feng had definitely seen it this time, absolutely certain he hadn't imagined it.
The mirror could do something. It was trying to do something. He just needed to figure out what.
Yang Feng held the fragment closer, studying the complex formations Elder Shen had mentioned, trying to sense their purpose through his spiritual energy. The patterns were intricate beyond anything he'd seen before, layers upon layers of interconnected arrays that seemed to fold into dimensions he couldn't perceive.
Whoever had created this artifact was a master far beyond High Heaven Pavilion's level.
As Yang Feng studied the formations, his spiritual energy nearly depleted from hours of experimentation, the mirror flickered again - and this time the second reflection didn't vanish.
It stayed.
Yang Feng stared at his double, at the reflection that couldn't exist, at the impossible image of himself but different, and watched as the reflection raised one hand in a gesture that looked almost like a greeting.
Then the mirror spoke.
Not with sound exactly, more like thoughts appearing directly in Yang Feng's mind, words that bypassed his ears and resonated in his consciousness:
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Yang Feng tried to drop the mirror but his hands wouldn't respond, fingers locked around the black glass as energy poured from the artifact into his body, burning through his meridians like liquid fire as formations activated that had been dormant for decades.
The second reflection smiled wider.
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Pain exploded through Yang Feng's entire body as the mirror began to merge with his soul, and the last thing he saw before consciousness fled was his own reflection splitting into two, then four, then eight, then more versions of himself than he could count, all of them staring back with eyes that promised strength beyond imagination.
Or death.
Probably both.