Wang Lin woke before the morning bell.
He always did.
This habit had developed over three long years of cold stone floors, missed meals, and the quiet understanding that being late even once would give others another reason to look down on him. He sat up on his narrow bed and listened to the mountain breathe.
The Azure Cloud Sect never truly slept.
Wind slipped through the hanging prayer banners outside the dormitory window. It carried the faint scent of incense and damp stone. Somewhere below, disciples were already moving. Their footsteps were light. Their voices were relaxed. Laughter drifted freely through the air.
Not his.
Wang Lin dressed quickly, tying his worn belt with practiced fingers. His outer robe was thin for the season, patched at the elbow, the blue so faded it barely deserved that name. Three years of washing had stripped it of any dignity. It marked him clearly as an outer disciple. One of the lowest.
He paused only once before leaving, his fingers brushing the wooden pendant resting against his chest.
It was warm.
It always was.
He had never understood why.
Outside, the sect grounds were alive. Lines of disciples flowed toward the Assessment Hall like a river guided by invisible channels. Some walked in confident groups. Others walked alone. Every face held the same tension, though most hid it better than he could.
Today was final assessment day.
For most, it served as confirmation.
For Wang Lin, it felt like a sentence.
The Assessment Hall stood at the heart of the lower mountain. Pale stone walls were threaded with silver formation lines that pulsed faintly, as if the building itself were alive. Incense burned in shallow braziers along the walls. Smoke curled upward and vanished into the high rafters.
Wang Lin removed his shoes at the entrance and stepped inside.
The stone floor was cold beneath his feet.
He took his place in the last row, back straight, eyes forward. Whispers rose around him and faded just as quickly.
"That's him."
"The one who never stored qi."
"Three years and still nothing."
"How did he even survive this long?"
He did not react. He had learned early that reacting only made it worse.
Names were called one by one.
Disciples stepped onto the formation circle at the center of the hall. Jade slips were pressed to their chests as elders measured progress with detached precision. Some disciples left smiling. Others looked pale but relieved. A few were quietly escorted away, their futures redirected with a single sentence.
Then the hall grew quiet.
"Wang Lin."
The murmurs sharpened.
He stepped forward.
Bare feet touched the formation circle. Silver lines beneath him lit up faintly in response. For a brief moment, something stirred inside him. It felt like a breeze passing through an empty room. There was movement, but nothing remained.
Then the sensation vanished.
Elder Feng stood before him. His robes were immaculate, and his expression did not change. He took the jade slip from the attendant and pressed it against Wang Lin's chest.
The jade glowed.
Then it dimmed.
Silence filled the hall.
Elder Feng frowned. It was not a dramatic look. Not angry. It was the mild disappointment of someone examining a tool that failed to perform even though it was well made.
"Hollow," he said.
The word echoed through the hall.
Wang Lin felt it settle in his chest, heavy and familiar.
Elder Feng lifted his gaze. "Your meridians are complete in structure. There are no deformities. No blockages."
He paused.
"And yet qi cannot be retained. It enters your body and flows out without resistance. Like water poured into a cracked vessel."
A ripple of reaction moved through the hall.
Someone laughed softly.
Someone else shook their head.
Wang Lin did not move.
"Three years," Elder Feng continued, his voice calm. "No breakthroughs. No deviation. No signs of stagnation or corruption."
Another pause followed. This one lingered longer.
"Which tells me," Elder Feng said, "that effort was never the problem."
That hurt more than the verdict itself.
Wang Lin's fingers curled slowly at his sides. His nails pressed into his palms, grounding him in the sting. It was something real. Something he could still feel.
Around him, the whispers resumed.
"So he really tried."
"What a waste."
"Three years of resources for nothing."
Elder Feng turned the jade slip over in his hand. His interest was already gone. "According to sect law, disciples incapable of cultivation are no longer considered assets."
Assets.
The word scraped against something inside Wang Lin.
"You are to leave the mountain by sunset," Elder Feng said. "Your dormitory will be reassigned. Any sect property must be returned before departure."
That was all.
No apology. No explanation. No acknowledgment of the boy who had risen before dawn every day for three years. No mention of the manuals memorized by heart. No recognition of the blood left on training grounds that had never truly belonged to him.
Wang Lin bowed.
Deep. Precise. Respectful.
"Thank you," he said.
His voice did not shake. That surprised him.
"For allowing me to stay as long as I did."
Elder Feng did not respond.
The formation circle dimmed as Wang Lin stepped back. The silver lines faded, as though relieved to be rid of him. No one met his eyes as he turned away.
Outside the hall, the mountain wind struck his face. It was sharp, cold, and real.
He stood there for a moment, shoes still in his hands, letting the chill sink into his skin.
This was it.
Three years, reduced to a few sentences.
He returned to the dormitory without speaking to anyone. By the time he arrived, his room was already half emptied. His bedding was rolled neatly and stacked by the door. His few possessions had been placed together, as if the sect were eager to erase the last traces of his presence.
He packed quickly.
There was not much to take.
A change of clothes. A chipped bowl. A flint. The wooden pendant.
As he tied the bundle shut, he paused and looked around the room one last time.
This had been his world.
He stepped outside.
The path down the mountain wound through long stone steps worn smooth by generations of cultivators. With every step, the pressure he had lived under for three years slowly eased. It was subtle but unmistakable.
His dantian was empty.
It always had been.
But for the first time, there was no expectation pressing against that emptiness.
No hope left to fill.
Halfway down the mountain, Wang Lin stopped.
The wind shifted.
A sound reached his ears. It was faint. Sharp. Wrong.
A cry.
Not human.
Not entirely.
He turned toward the forest.
The sensible choice was to keep walking. He had no cultivation. No weapon. No backing. Whatever was happening in those woods was none of his concern anymore.
He took one step forward.
Then another.
With each step, the wooden pendant against his chest grew warmer.
By the time he reached the edge of the trees, the cries were unmistakable. Pain. Fear. The desperate sound of something being hunted.
Wang Lin clenched his jaw.
"So this is how it ends," he murmured.
Then he stepped into the forest.