The deep wilderness remained shrouded in the lingering grey of pre-dawn mist.
Ye Qian stood atop a jagged, jutting rock formation, his silhouette sharp against the eastern horizon as the first sliver of light began to bleed through the clouds. He exhaled a long breath of turbid air, watching it vanish into the cold morning. Within him, his internal energy moved with a newfound stability; the power of the Sixth Stage of Body Tempering flowed through his sinews and bones like liquid iron. With every breath, he felt his physical form becoming denser, more refined, and more resilient.
From the moment he had stepped out of the Ye Estate's shadow, he had understood a fundamental truth— The boy named Ye Qian had already died within the walls of that cold, heartless family.
"From this day forth, I no longer belong to the Ye Clan."
He spoke the words in a low whisper. They were quiet, yet they carried the weight of a mountain and the sharpness of a blade. There was no regret in his voice, only the absolute resolve of a man who had finally cut his own chains.
After a few moments of silent contemplation, he turned his back on the wilderness and began his journey along a pre-planned route. He moved toward the most powerful cultivation force in the region.
The Azure Cloud Sect.
The Azure Cloud Sect was one of the dominant powers within a thousand-mile radius. It was a massive machine of cultivation, divided into the Outer Sect, Inner Sect, and the legendary Core Disciples. It was a place where power reigned supreme. To Ye Qian, wandering the wilderness was a good way to temper his spirit, but his resources were limited. If he truly wanted to reach the heights of power and exact justice, a Sect was an inevitable path.
Three days later, Ye Qian stood before the mountain gates of the Azure Cloud Sect.
The gates were titanic, carved from ancient stone and towering into the heavens. A winding staircase of green stone led upward into the clouds, where the silhouettes of grand pavilions and jade towers were partially hidden by spirit-mist. The ambient Spiritual Qi here was several times denser than in the wilderness. Merely standing at the foot of the mountain made Ye Qian feel as if his pores were drinking in the energy of the world.
The line for the entrance examination was long. Most of the candidates were teenagers in clean, expensive robes, their eyes filled with hope and the naive arrogance of youth.
Ye Qian stood at the back of the line, looking like a total outsider.
His clothes were simple and travel-worn. He carried the faint, lingering scent of blood and medicinal herbs, and while he kept his presence restrained, he possessed a heavy, grounded aura that made the pampered youths around him look like paper dolls.
The man in charge of the examination was an Outer Sect Deacon dressed in cyan robes. His expression was bored and cold, his eyes moving over the crowd like a ruler measuring wood.
"Name?" the Deacon asked when it was finally Ye Qian's turn.
Ye Qian hesitated for a fraction of a second.
In his mind, the memories flashed by: the cold glares of the Ye elders, the Patriarch's roar of fury, and the moment he was sacrificed for a political alliance. All of it burned away into ash.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and steady.
"My name is—Qianye." (Thousand Nights)
The Deacon's brush paused for a moment. He didn't ask questions; he simply gave a disinterested nod. "Place your hand on the Spirit Testing Stone."
The stone was a crystalline slab, perfectly translucent. It was the ultimate judge of a person's talent—the device that determined the quality of one's Spirit Root.
Qianye reached out and pressed his palm against the cold surface.
For a heartbeat, the stone flickered with a dim light, but it faded almost instantly. There was no glow of the five elements, no flash of lightning or wind. Instead, a muddy, turbulent grey color swirled deep within the crystal, looking like stagnant water.
The surrounding area fell into a sudden, mocking silence.
Then, the whispers began.
"...A Trash Root?"
"The spirit affinity is so weak it's almost non-existent."
"With that kind of talent, how does he have the face to show up at the Azure Cloud Sect?"
The Deacon's brow furrowed, and his tone turned icy. "Trash Spirit Root. Extremely low spirit affinity. Your cultivation speed will be abysmal, and you have virtually no future on the path of immortality."
The words sounded like a final judgment.
Many of the other teenagers began to snigger, while others shook their heads in pity. To them, Qianye was already a ghost, a failure who would be chased off the mountain momentarily.
However, in the next second, the Deacon's eyes sharpened as he sensed something unusual. He leaned forward, squinting at Qianye.
"Wait."
His voice carried a new edge of scrutiny. "What is your current cultivation level?"
Qianye did not hide it. He met the Deacon's gaze and replied calmly, "The Sixth Stage of Body Tempering."
The crowd went silent again.
The Sixth Stage?
The teenagers looked at each other in shock. Many of the "talented" youths who had just passed the spirit test were only at the Third or Fourth Stage.
How could someone with a Trash Spirit Root reach the Sixth Stage of Body Tempering at such a young age?
The Deacon's expression shifted significantly. He stepped forward, releasing a thread of his own Qi to probe Qianye's foundation. The more he sensed, the more his eyes widened with surprise.
The boy's blood vitality was as thick as a bull's. His bones were dense, and his internal Qi moved with a stability that suggested thousands of hours of grueling practice. This wasn't a cultivation level bought with pills; this was a foundation carved out of pure willpower.
"How long... have you been practicing?"
"Over ten years," Qianye answered flatly.
The Deacon went silent.
Ten years to reach the Sixth Stage with a Trash Root was objectively slow, but the sheer quality of the foundation was unheard of for someone of such poor talent. He tapped his finger on the register for a moment before finally speaking.
"According to the Sect's rules, your Spirit Root is not qualified for you to become an official disciple."
At these words, many in the crowd felt a sense of "as expected." But the Deacon wasn't finished.
"However, your cultivation has reached the minimum requirement for the Outer Sect. I will permit you to join as a Labor Disciple. If your cultivation shows progress within one year, you may be promoted to a formal Outer Sect Disciple."
He looked Qianye in the eye, his voice turning stern. "If there is no progress... you will pack your bags and leave the mountain."
Qianye cupped his fists and bowed deeply, his expression unreadable.
"Thank you, Deacon."
There was no excitement in his voice, no anger at the "Labor" status. There was only a cold, calculated acceptance of the situation.
He was used to being told he was nothing. He was used to being looked down upon and sacrificed. He had lived through the hell of the Ye family; a Labor Disciple position was luxury compared to what he had escaped.
As long as he could stay, it was enough.
After entering the sect, Qianye was assigned to a dilapidated courtyard in the most remote corner of the Outer Sect. His home was a simple stone shack. His duties involved tending to the spirit fields, chopping wood, and delivering supplies—the most menial tasks in the sect.
The other Outer Sect disciples gossiped as he walked past.
"A Trash Root actually managed to sneak in?"
"He won't last a month."
"He's just a stepping stone for the rest of us. Forget about him."
That night, inside the silent stone shack, Qianye sat cross-legged on the floor. His rusted Tang blade lay across his knees.
The mockery and the cold glares of the day didn't disturb the stillness of his heart. He knew one thing better than anyone else:
A Sect does not care about your past or your bloodline. It only cares about the results.
What if he had a Trash Spirit Root?
No one knew that every bit of his power had been ground out of the wilderness, forged in life-and-death struggles, and tempered by the weight of oppression.
"Qianye..."
He whispered his new name to the darkness.
This was the beginning of his total separation from the past. Ye Qian died with the betrayal of his family. But Qianye would rise within this sect. He would use his blade, his blood, and his indomitable will to carve a path that no one thought possible.
Outside the shack, the night was as black as ink.
But for Qianye, the real counterattack had only just begun.