Pain exploded across my back as the whip cracked again. I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood, refusing to cry out. Not in front of them.
"Faster, you worthless trash!" Ye Kun's voice rang out, dripping with disdain. My cousin stood on the edge of the spirit stone mine pit, arms crossed, a smug grin splitting his face. At Qi Condensation fifth layer, he was one of the "geniuses" of the outer sect. I was fourteen, stuck at the very bottom with meridians so blocked I could barely sense qi, let alone cultivate it.
I dragged the heavy basket of raw spirit stones up the steep slope, muscles burning, sweat mixing with dirt and the sting of fresh welts. The other outer disciples laughed as they lounged in the shade, chewing spirit fruits while I did the work of ten men.
"Pathetic," one sneered. "Even the dogs in Qinghe Town have more talent than Ye Tianhen."
My name—Ye Tianhen—meant "Heavenly Scar." Right now it felt like a cruel joke. The only scar I carried was the endless humiliation the Ye Clan heaped on me.
My own parents had made it official last month. Father, Ye Zheng, an outer deacon, stood before the elders and declared, "This son has defective meridians. He will never amount to anything. From today, he serves the clan as a trial disciple—nothing more." Mother had nodded beside him, eyes cold. They traded their own blood for a few extra spirit jade coins and a pat on the back from the patriarch.
The only person who ever showed me kindness was Grandfather Ye Hongtian. He taught me basic sword forms in secret when I was small, told me stories of distant worlds and true experts who could split mountains with a single strike. Then the elders exiled him five years ago for defying them. Rumors said he used an ancient space array to flee to another world entirely. I clung to that memory like a drowning man to driftwood. One day I would find him. But first, I had to survive.
"Move it!" Ye Kun cracked the whip again, this time catching my shoulder. The pain flared white-hot. I stumbled but kept my grip on the basket. If I dropped it, they'd beat me worse and dock my already pitiful rations.
Night fell by the time they let me stop. My arms trembled as I collapsed against the cold stone wall of the outer disciple barracks. A thin blanket and a bowl of watered-down porridge were my only comforts. I stared at the flickering oil lamp, fists clenched.
Why am I so weak? Why did the heavens curse me with these meridians?
I thought of Grandfather's words: "Talent is important, Tianhen, but will is everything. A blade that endures the forge becomes sharper than any other."
A bitter laugh escaped me. Easy for him to say. He could cultivate.
I closed my eyes, trying to circulate what little qi I could feel. It was like pushing water through a clogged pipe—barely a trickle. Frustration boiled inside me. I wanted to scream, to shatter something, to prove them all wrong.
The next morning they sent me deeper into Bloodfang Forest as bait.
"Clan hunt today," an elder grunted, tossing me a dull iron sword. "You'll flush out the low-level spirit beasts. Try not to die too quickly—your corpse might still be useful as fertilizer."
Ye Kun and a group of outer disciples rode spirit horses behind me, laughing and placing bets on how long I'd last. I gripped the sword hilt until my knuckles turned white. The blade felt heavier than my shame.
Bloodfang Forest lived up to its name. Crimson-leaved trees blocked most sunlight. The air reeked of damp earth and predator musk. Low growls echoed from the underbrush. I walked ahead, heart pounding, scanning for movement.
A shadow burst from the bushes—a Bloodfang Wolf, eyes glowing red, fangs dripping. I swung the iron sword in a clumsy arc Grandfather had once shown me. The blade scraped its hide but barely drew blood. The wolf lunged. Claws raked my side, tearing cloth and flesh. Hot blood spilled down my ribs.
I staggered back, pain blinding me. Another swing—missed. The wolf's jaws snapped inches from my throat.
Laughter erupted from behind. "Look at the trash dance!"
I tasted iron in my mouth. Rage, pure and scalding, flooded my veins. I refuse to die like this.
Then the sky split open.
A deafening boom shook the forest. Trees toppled like matchsticks. Two figures descended from the clouds, their auras crushing everything beneath them.
One was a local expert—Saint Realm, robes torn, blood leaking from his mouth. The other was a nightmare from beyond: tall, horned, eyes like swirling voids. Power that made the air itself scream radiated from him.
They fought for something small and black that tumbled between strikes.
"You dare chase me across dimensions for the God Rock, Zorath?" the local expert roared, slashing with a glowing palm that split a mountain ridge.
The horned being—Zorath—laughed coldly. "That rock belongs to higher planes. Hand it over and I'll grant you a swift death."
Their clash sent shockwaves that flattened trees for miles. Beasts fled in panic. I dropped to my knees, the wolf forgotten as it whimpered and ran.
A fist-sized black stone, covered in faint pulsing runes, shot out from the explosion and arced straight toward me.
Time seemed to slow.
It landed in the dirt inches from my hand.
Without thinking, I snatched it up. The moment my fingers closed around the God Rock, a flood of warmth surged into my body. My blocked meridians trembled. Something ancient and boundless whispered in my mind.
Above, the battle reached its peak. Zorath unleashed a technique that warped space itself—ripples of distortion that made reality fold. The local expert countered with a time-slowing palm strike, freezing motes of dust mid-air for a heartbeat.
I held the rock tighter. My eyes widened as comprehension slammed into me like a hammer.
The movements… the flows of energy… I understood them.
Not just watched—absorbed.
The God Rock pulsed once, and knowledge poured in. Basic sword principles sharpened in my mind. Strands of something far greater—Space and Time—brushed against my soul.
In that instant, while the two powerhouses fought for their lives, I felt my defective meridians crack open for the first time.
Qi rushed in like a broken dam.
I gasped, body shaking. The wolf that had attacked me earlier circled back, sensing weakness. It lunged.
This time, I moved.
The dull iron sword in my hand felt alive. I copied the local expert's palm trajectory but channeled it through the sword—a simple horizontal cut.
The blade flashed.
The wolf's head separated cleanly from its body mid-leap. Blood sprayed in a hot arc, painting the leaves crimson. The corpse hit the ground with a wet thud.
I stared at the sword, then at the God Rock in my other hand.
A savage grin slowly spread across my face despite the pain in my side.
For the first time in fourteen years, I wasn't trash.
Ye Kun's mocking laughter died in the distance as the sky continued to explode with immortal-level combat.
They had no idea what had just fallen into the hands of the clan's greatest disappointment.
I clutched the God Rock tighter, feeling its power hum against my palm like a promise.
This… changes everything.