The morning mist clung to the peaks of the Cloud Mist Sect, swirling like dragons in a sea of white. To the mortals living at the foot of the mountain, this place was a paradise of immortals, a land where men flew on swords and lived for centuries. But to Lin Xuan, it was a prison of humiliation.
Lin Xuan sat cross-legged on a jagged rock at the edge of the Outer Sect's training grounds, his breathing rhythmic but shallow. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping onto his coarse grey robes. He guided the thin wisps of ambient Qi into his meridians, trying to force them toward his Dantian.
Just a little more... just one cycle...
A sharp pain, like a needle piercing his gut, shattered his concentration. The gathered Qi dissipated instantly, leaking out of his pores like water from a sieve.
"Failed again," Lin Xuan whispered, opening his eyes. They were dark and filled with a bitter exhaustion.
He was seventeen years old and stuck at the 3rd layer of Qi Condensation. Most disciples his age had already reached the 6th layer; the geniuses were touching the threshold of Foundation Establishment. In the eyes of the sect elders, Lin Xuan was "waste wood"—a resource drain with no future. His meridians were naturally narrow and clogged, a condition known as the 'Stone Veins.'
"Look who it is! Still trying to cultivate on the Widow's Peak?"
Lin Xuan didn't need to turn around to recognize the sneering voice of Zhao Feng. Zhao Feng was the son of an elder, currently at the 7th layer of Qi Condensation, and he took immense pleasure in reminding Lin Xuan of the gap between them.
"This spot is public property, Zhao Feng," Lin Xuan said quietly, standing up and dusting off his robes.
Zhao Feng stepped out of the mist, flanked by two lackeys who snickered in unison. He smirked, toying with a fire-attribute talisman in his hand. "Public property involves resources. Resources are for those with potential. You're just... taking up space. My father says the sect is considering purging the bottom ten percent next month. You better pack your bags."
He flicked his wrist. The talisman ignited, transforming into a ball of scorching fire that shot toward Lin Xuan.
Lin Xuan gritted his teeth and dove to the side, rolling across the gravel. The fireball scorched the rock he had been sitting on, leaving a blackened mark and the smell of ozone in the air.
"Too slow!" Zhao Feng laughed, kicking gravel at Lin Xuan. "If you can't even dodge a basic Fireball Jutsu, maybe you should go back to the mortal world and farm potatoes. It suits you."
Clenching his fists until his nails dug into his palms and drew blood, Lin Xuan remained silent. Fighting back now would only lead to a beating, and the sect rules protected the strong. Justice was a luxury for those with power. He turned and walked away, the laughter of Zhao Feng and his lackeys echoing behind him like a curse.
That night, a storm raged over the Cloud Mist mountains. Thunder rattled the windows of the disciple dormitories, but Lin Xuan wasn't inside.
Unable to sleep, he had wandered into the deep forests of the back mountain, a forbidden area rumored to house spirit beasts. He didn't care. The frustration in his heart was a burning fire that the rain couldn't extinguish.
"Why?" he shouted at the thunderous sky, his voice lost in the gale. "Why give me the desire to ascend if you didn't give me the talent? Why let me see the mountain top if I can never climb it?"
As if answering his call, a bolt of purple lightning tore through the sky, striking an ancient, withered pine tree just fifty meters ahead.
BOOM!
The shockwave knocked Lin Xuan off his feet, sending him sliding through the mud. Ears ringing, he looked up to see the tree split in half, smoke rising from the charred wood. But in the center of the destruction, something was glowing.
Driven by an inexplicable urge, Lin Xuan stumbled toward the crater.
Hovering in the hollow of the burnt tree was a small, spherical object. It looked like a bead made of dull gray stone, completely unremarkable except for the faint, rhythmic pulse of azure light emitting from its core.
"What is this?" Lin Xuan reached out, his hand trembling.
The moment his fingertips brushed the stone bead, the world spun. A rush of ancient, terrifying pressure slammed into his mind, like a god opening its eyes.
A voice, sounding as old as time itself, echoed not in his ears, but in his soul.
"One billion years of slumber... The Heaven-Devouring Samsara Art... finally finds an heir."
The bead dissolved into a streak of azure light and shot directly into Lin Xuan's forehead.
His Dantian, previously stagnant and murky, suddenly roared to life. The pain was excruciating, as if his meridians were being torn apart and stitched back together with steel threads. Lin Xuan screamed, collapsing into the mud as the rain poured down, washing away the old Lin Xuan and baptizing the new.
When he opened his eyes again, the rain had stopped. The world looked sharper, clearer. He could see the veins on a leaf ten meters away. And deep within his Dantian, a tiny, azure vortex was slowly spinning, devouring the surrounding Qi with terrifying hunger.
Lin Xuan smiled, a cold, sharp expression that had never appeared on his face before.
The path to immortality had just opened.