Dawn had just broken.
The stone steps outside the mountain gate still carried the dampness of the night. When the broom dragged across them, it left faint streaks of water.
Liu Xia bent over, sweeping.
Not fast, not slow.
He had been here for three days.
Since being brought up the mountain, no one had asked his name more than a few times. But the word "trash"—he had heard that plenty.
"Hey."
The voice came from behind, heavy and blunt.
Liu Xia didn't stop.
"I'm talking to you."
The broom paused for a moment.
He still turned around.
Zhao Heng.
An outer disciple, Body Tempering Seventh Layer, liked stepping on people.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
"You're in the way," Zhao Heng said.
The steps were wide.
Liu Xia glanced at the empty space beside him.
"You can walk over there."
Zhao Heng laughed.
"You teaching me now?"
The two guys beside him laughed as well.
The air instantly turned cold.
Liu Xia didn't speak. He moved the broom aside, preparing to step away.
The moment he moved, a hand pressed down on his shoulder.
Strong.
He was forced back to where he stood.
"Did I tell you to move?"
Liu Xia lowered his head, looking at that hand.
Thick knuckles. Steady strength.
He struggled once. Couldn't break free.
"Let go," he said.
Zhao Heng looked like he had just heard a joke.
"You think someone like you gets to order me around?"
His hand pressed down harder.
Liu Xia's knees buckled, and he dropped straight onto the stone steps.
Pain.
A dull, heavy pain from bone hitting stone.
He frowned.
People around had already stopped to watch.
No one spoke.
This wasn't anything new.
Liu Xia let out a breath.
"That's enough."
"Enough?" Zhao Heng crouched down and slapped his face lightly. "You decide when it's enough?"
Liu Xia didn't dodge.
He just looked at him.
His gaze wasn't fierce, but it was straight.
Zhao Heng's smile slowly faded.
He didn't like that look.
It was the kind of look you gave to someone completely ordinary.
Not fear.
Worse—
As if he didn't matter at all.
"Kneel properly," Zhao Heng said. "Say 'I'm trash' three times, and I'll let you go."
Liu Xia was silent for a moment.
Then he said, "You're boring."
The air froze.
Even the two guys beside Zhao Heng were stunned.
Zhao Heng's expression darkened immediately.
"You're asking to die."
He stood up and stomped down on Liu Xia's shoulder.
This time, harder than before.
Liu Xia was forced lower, pain shooting through his shoulder.
He inhaled.
Endured for two seconds.
Didn't manage to hold it in.
"…Take it off."
His voice wasn't loud.
Almost casual.
Like he was just saying it in passing.
—
Far away, something stirred.
—
Zhao Heng didn't catch it clearly. "What?"
Liu Xia looked up at him.
This time, even calmer.
"I said, take it off."
The wind stopped.
Not figuratively.
It really stopped.
The mist outside the mountain gate froze in place, as if pressed down.
Leaves stopped moving.
Even the air felt heavier.
Zhao Heng frowned.
A sudden discomfort crept over him.
He couldn't explain it.
Like something was watching him.
But when he looked around, there was nothing.
"Putting on a show?" he sneered, pressing down harder. "Trash—"
"Bang."
The sound wasn't loud.
But it was heavy.
Zhao Heng dropped to his knees instantly.
Not by choice.
He was forced down.
His knees slammed into the stone steps, cracking a thin line into the rock.
His expression changed immediately.
First confusion.
Then shock.
Then fear.
He tried to stand.
His legs wouldn't respond.
It was like an invisible hand was pressing down from above.
Heavy.
So heavy he could barely breathe.
The two beside him went pale.
"Senior Brother Zhao…?"
No one dared move.
The air grew heavier and heavier.
Like something—
More than one something—
Was watching.
Liu Xia froze for a moment.
He looked at Zhao Heng.
Then at his own hands.
He hadn't done anything.
"…Your legs cramped?" he asked.
No one answered.
Sweat began forming on Zhao Heng's forehead.
He could feel his bones creaking.
Not breaking.
Being pressed.
Like some kind of existence had directly decided—
You should be kneeling.
He tried to speak.
His throat tightened.
No sound came out.
Liu Xia frowned.
"Enough."
His tone carried a hint of annoyance.
"Stop pretending."
The moment he finished speaking—
The force pressing Zhao Heng vanished.
As if it had never existed.
Zhao Heng fell forward, collapsing onto the ground, gasping for air.
He lifted his head and looked at Liu Xia.
His eyes were filled with fear.
That moment—
He knew.
It wasn't a technique.
It wasn't spiritual energy.
He had sensed countless battles before.
That feeling—
Didn't belong to cultivation.
It was closer to—
A higher "will."
Liu Xia stood there, looking impatient.
"Still fighting?" he asked.
His tone was normal.
Too normal.
Like he was just asking if they wanted to keep arguing.
No one answered.
Zhao Heng stepped back.
Then another step.
Like he was trying to get away from something.
The other two retreated as well.
No one dared approach.
Liu Xia looked at them, confused.
"Idiots," he muttered.
He bent down, picked up the broom, and continued sweeping.
As if nothing had happened.
—
And somewhere he couldn't see—
Far above—
Space rippled like water, splitting open a thin crack.
A voice came from within.
"That sentence just now—it was him."
There was excitement in the tone.
And a bit of noise.
"I heard it, I heard it! He said 'take it off,' and that guy knelt! No, wait—he was forced down! But the timeline's already correcting itself, there are two versions now, one where he knelt first and one where he knelt after—"
Another voice cut in.
Low.
Oppressive.
"Who stepped on him."
The moment those words were spoken—
The entire space fell silent.
Like it was being suppressed.
The talkative voice paused, lowering its tone.
"Someone… very weak."
"Name?" the voice asked.
"Zhao Heng."
A brief silence.
Then—
"Remember it."
—
Liu Xia was still sweeping.
Halfway through, he paused.
He thought he heard someone talking just now.
Far away.
And yet close.
Like it was beside his ear.
Or up in the sky.
He frowned.
"Hallucinating?"
He shook his head.
And kept sweeping.
Didn't think much of it.
But what he didn't know—
From the moment he said "take it off"—
Something in this world—
Had started taking him seriously.