The barracks of the Mortal Estate stank of unwashed bodies, stale sweat, and the lingering, distant sourness of the Spirit Horse manure. It was a suffocating, heavy air—a physical manifestation of despair. Lin Feng lay on his damp, lumpy straw mattress, pretending to sleep, listening to the cacophony of snores from the other tired servants.
He waited until the last sounds faded, judging the time by the shift in the pressure of the night air—a sensitivity only available to a cultivator, however failed. When the stillness settled, he opened his eyes.
"This is my sanctuary," he thought, ignoring the discomfort of the hard mattress. "The lowest point of the Azure Cloud Sect is now my highest peak."
He channeled a sliver of the newly refined, vibrant Qi from his dantian directly into the dull black ring on his thumb. There was no flash, no sound, only a cold, immediate withdrawal from his surroundings.
Instantly, he was back in the silent, terrifying dimension of creation.
The purple-gold light pulsed, radiating from the eternal scroll, filling the void with Primordial Spiritual Qi so dense it shimmered. A single inhalation felt like swallowing a massive gemstone of pure spiritual energy.
"Ten years for Level One," Lin Feng muttered to the vast, empty space, his voice rough with emotion. "I failed because the Qi was poisoned, tainted by impurities. Now, I have the key to the source."
He sat cross-legged, adopting a posture he had practiced a thousand times in vain, but this time, the results were different. He executed the first movement of the Primordial Chaos Art: Heaven's Foundation, which was less a technique and more an instruction to the universe: Purify and Accept.
The Primordial Qi rushed toward him. It bypassed his meridians entirely, instead flowing directly into the sealed sphere of his refined energy within the dantian, washing away the last traces of weariness and replacing them with vibrant, explosive strength.
The cultivation process felt less like meditating and more like drinking from an overflowing well while a divine smith forged his spirit anew.
Level Three to Four.
The feeling was a subtle shift—a deepening of the lake. He felt his connection to the Wood element strengthen, no longer a shattered twig, but a sapling with deep, clean roots. The subtle sounds of the distant sect—the faint chime of a clock tower, the whisper of the wind over the highest peaks—became clear, as if someone had removed a cotton ball from his ears.
Level Four to Five.
A distinct barrier crumbled within his dantian, followed by a surge of warmth. This was the level where Outer Disciples started to gain minor utility spells, like the ability to light a small fire or sustain physical endurance. Liu Kai, the mockingly talented disciple, was a Level Seven. Lin Feng was gaining on him in minutes, not years.
He kept the Primordial Chaos Art running, pulling in the divine energy. He had a decade of wasted time to reclaim, and the luxury of this dimensional space wouldn't last forever. He had to assume the ring could be taken, or the secret discovered. He had to get strong enough to defend himself.
The energy accumulated, compact, and dense. Lin Feng could feel the core of his newly forged spirit root glowing fiercely, metabolizing the overwhelming energy into pure, manageable power.
Level Five to Six.
The change was profound. His physical body hardened. The bruises from the day's labor disappeared instantly. He felt a deep, steady hum in his blood. He could likely outrun and outfight any mortal on the mountain now, including Head Servant Cao. He was reaching the threshold of true Outer Disciple power.
He knew he shouldn't rush the foundation, but the speed was intoxicating. He pushed once more, drawing on the immense spiritual reserves of the hidden dimension, condensing the Qi until it was heavy and viscous.
Level Six to Seven.
He stopped. The dantian was full, tightly packed, and ready for true combat. He had gone from the biggest failure to a genuine, formidable Level Seven Qi Condensation cultivator—the same level as his tormentor, Liu Kai—all in the span of four hours.
He carefully sealed off all but a Level One sliver of Qi, forcing himself to feel weak again. He needed to look exhausted and broken, ready to face his humiliation.
He slipped out of the ring dimension just as the first grey light of dawn filtered through the barracks window. He felt the familiar ache of the straw mattress, but his body was perfectly rested, his mind sharper than ever.
Head Servant Cao marched into the barracks before the sun had cleared the peaks, his face already set in a scowl.
"Up, you lazy worms! The Spirit Horses don't wait for sunlight!" he bellowed. He pointed a thick, calloused finger at Lin Feng. "You, failure! I expect those stalls to be spotless today. They will be the death of you, boy, but at least the sect will get clean horse stalls out of the deal."
Lin Feng bowed, looking pale and weary. "Yes, Head Servant. I will do my best."
He walked to the stables, the stench immediately assaulting his nose—the thick, heavy smell of magical digestive waste and rotting bedding. It was terrible, but unlike yesterday, it didn't make him gag.
"The spiritual impurities are what truly make this smell so foul," Lin Feng realized. "A Spirit Horse digests spirit stones, and their waste contains residual, corrupted Qi that is terrible for mortal workers."
An idea formed. He had been given the Primordial Chaos Art, an ability designed for purification and foundation. Why use it only for himself?
He picked up his shovel and approached the most offensive-smelling stall. He began his labor, but this time, as he shoveled the waste into the cart, he focused a nearly imperceptible trickle of his Level Seven Qi—purified by the Primordial Chaos Art—and spread it like an invisible mist over the stall floor.
The effect was immediate and astonishing.
The smell didn't just lessen; it evaporated. The heavy, sick spiritual impurity that clung to the air was instantly metabolized by the purified Qi, leaving behind only the faint, earthy scent of normal manure and straw. The difference was night and day.
Lin Feng continued this process stall by stall. The work was still physically demanding, but the spiritual pressure—the true source of fatigue for the mortal workers—was gone. He worked faster, more cleanly, and by mid-morning, he was done.
He cleaned the final stall, carefully purifying the air, then retreated to the latrine pit, where he performed the same cleansing act. He didn't just empty the buckets; he vaporized the spiritual impurities that made the waste so vile.
He was waiting at his bunk, looking suitably exhausted and grimy, when Head Servant Cao returned for the mid-day inspection.
Cao stood at the stable entrance, bracing himself for the expected miasma. He took a deep, preparatory breath, then... paused. He sniffed the air, then sniffed again, confusion wrinkling his brow.
"What in the blazes?" Cao muttered, walking into the stable.
He walked past the first stall, then the second. The spiritual air was strangely neutral. The floor was spotless, the hay was clean, and there was only the faint, tolerable scent of animal.
"Lin Feng!" Cao roared.
Lin Feng stumbled over, trying to look panicked. "Head Servant? Did I miss a spot?"
"Miss a spot? This stable… it's cleaner than the Master's own paddock! How did you eliminate the smell? The smell is always here! It clings to the walls! Did you drench the place in water?"
"No, Head Servant," Lin Feng said meekly, wiping sweat from his brow. "I… I heard that if you sweep immediately and quickly, before the spiritual heat dissipates, the waste doesn't stick to the walls as much. I just worked very, very fast. I was desperate not to be punished."
Cao stared at him—a long, hard, suspicious stare. He rubbed his chin, completely baffled. The sheer exhaustion on Lin Feng's face looked genuine, but the results were supernatural for a Level One failure.
"Hmph. Well, don't think this means you're done. The work is cleaner, but I want you to start sorting the hay in the supply shed now. It needs to be checked for pests." Cao turned away, still sniffing the air suspiciously. "Don't let that clean work make you lazy, failure. We'll see how long this 'working quickly' lasts."
Lin Feng bowed as Cao left, a sense of cold, calculated victory filling him. I will not be broken by physical labor. I will use the smallest application of divine power to maintain the perfect façade of a hard-working, failed mortal.
That evening, Lin Feng ate a bowl of thin, tasteless porridge. While chewing the gritty rice, he began considering his next move. Physical labor was now easy, but he needed resources and information.
Han Yue.
The Administrative Disciple had been genuinely kind, and she had access to the sect's archives and knowledge of transfers. She was a valuable asset, and he owed her a debt of gratitude for the simple, human contact.
He recalled the brief, unexpected touch of her fingers. She was beautiful, radiating a quiet, gentle spiritual aura. She hadn't scorned him, which meant she saw something in him, or at least felt pity.
"Pity is a good starting point for trust," Lin Feng decided, a slightly manipulative edge entering his thoughts. "But I can't risk approaching her directly yet. I need an excuse. Perhaps I need a message delivered, or a replacement supply of tools. Something that seems necessary for my work."
He knew she often delivered minor supplies to the lower administrative hut near the path. He would wait two days, establish his 'hard worker' reputation with Cao, and then arrange a seemingly accidental meeting with Han Yue.
He needed to subtly charm her, to make her feel useful and respected, but always keep his new power hidden. He wanted an ally, not a partner in crime. His fate—his terrifying, glorious future—had to remain a secret, guarded by the dull black ring and the stench of Spirit Horse manure.
Lin Feng took another deep breath of the barracks air, which, thanks to his own subtle purification of the surroundings, was slightly less offensive than before. The world thought he was broken, but he was merely waiting, a seed of chaos growing quietly in the dark.