The morning of the Branch Purge dawned cold and grey. A fine, persistent drizzle slicked the stone paths of the Wei Clan estate, mirroring the cold dread that had settled in the hearts of the lesser branches.
In the Pavilion of Forgotten Scrolls, Wei Yuan stood before a small, cracked bronze mirror. The youth staring back at him was thin, his face pale from long hours spent indoors, but his eyes... his eyes were different. They held a stillness, a depth that did not belong to a fourteen-year-old boy, let alone a clan-acknowledged cripple. It was the placid, patient gaze of a Go master surveying the board.
He checked his panel one last time.
[Name: Wei Yuan]
[Age: 14]
[Cultivation Realm: Qi Sensing (Peak)]
[Physique: Knotted Meridians (Cursed)]
[The Loom of A Hundred Arts]
[Art in Progress: Calligraphy (Adept - 498/500)]
[Art in Progress: Chess Tao (Adept - 112/500)]
[Insight Threads: 7]
Peak Qi Sensing. It was a terrifying speed of progress, yet on paper, it was still a full realm below his cousin, Wei Tian. It was not enough. Not by the clan's standards. But the clan's standards were not his.
"Yuan'er," his father's voice called from the doorway. Wei Yuan turned. His father stood there, his own cultivation crippled years ago, leaning heavily on a cane. His face, usually a mask of weary resignation, was today etched with deep lines of sorrow. He was looking at his son as if it were the last time.
"Remember," his father said, his voice rough. "No matter what happens today, you are my son. There is no shame."
Wei Yuan walked over and adjusted his father's collar. "I know, father," he said, his voice soft. "Don't worry. The game has just begun."
His father simply sighed, not understanding, and patted his shoulder. The touch was frail, but the love within it was heavy.
Wei Yuan walked out of the pavilion, leaving his father and Old Man Ji standing in the doorway like two lonely sentinels guarding a forgotten tomb. The drizzle beaded on his worn robes, but he did not feel the chill. His mind was a calm lake, his strategy set.
The main training plaza was a sea of people. The five great branch families were gathered, their disciples arrayed in neat, disciplined rows. The main branch, led by the Clan Patriarch Wei Zhancheng, stood at the forefront, their silks immaculate, their expressions radiating confidence and power. At the Patriarch's side stood Wei Tian, a youth who seemed to glow with an inner light. He was like the sun, and the other disciples were mere stars, their light dimmed in his presence.
The lesser branches, like Wei Yuan's, were huddled near the back, their faces pale with anxiety, their children trembling. They were lambs waiting for the slaughter.
As Wei Yuan took his place at the very back, a wave of whispers and mocking snickers rippled through the crowd.
"Look, the cripple actually showed up."
"What a joke. He can't even absorb Qi. What's he going to do, bore the measuring stone to death with his scholarly ramblings?"
"He's shaming his father. He should have just stayed hidden in that dusty library."
Wei Feng, standing proudly among the main branch disciples, caught his eye and made a slow, deliberate gesture of slitting his own throat.
Wei Yuan ignored them all. His Chess Mind was active. He saw not a crowd of people, but a formation of stones. He saw their arrogance, their overconfidence, their contempt. He saw the cracks in their formation.
The Clan Patriarch, Wei Zhancheng, stepped forward. He was a man in his prime, his aura as vast and oppressive as a mountain. His voice boomed across the silent plaza.
"The Branch Purge begins!" he declared. "As is tradition, we test the foundation of our youth! The first stage is a test of spiritual power. Each disciple will place their hand upon the Spirit Measuring Stone. Those who cannot cause the stone to light up to the third mark will be deemed unqualified. Their branch will be marked for review. Let the test begin!"
A massive, black stone, ten feet high and covered in ancient, glowing runes, stood in the center of the arena. It hummed with a deep, resonant power.
"Wei Tian! You are the pride of our generation. You will go first! Show the clan the strength of the main branch!" the Patriarch commanded.
Wei Tian stepped forward, his expression proud and aloof. He walked to the stone with the unhurried grace of a young emperor. A murmur of awe went through the crowd. Spirit Channeling realm at sixteen! A peerless genius!
He placed his palm flat against the stone's cold surface. He closed his eyes, and a visible aura of pale green Qi erupted from his body.
The runes on the Spirit Measuring Stone began to glow. The first mark lit up. Then the second, the third, the fourth... the light shot upwards with unstoppable momentum. Fifth mark! Sixth! Seventh!
It finally stopped just a hair's breadth from the eighth mark. A result that was almost unheard of for someone his age.
The crowd exploded into a roar of approval and shock.
"The seventh mark! Heavens! He is truly a dragon among men!"
"The main branch is blessed by the heavens!"
Wei Tian opened his eyes, a faint, arrogant smile on his lips. He glanced towards the back, his gaze sweeping over Wei Yuan with utter disdain before he returned to his place. The message was clear: This is true power. This is what you are up against.
One by one, other disciples went forward. Most from the main branch lit the stone to the fourth or fifth mark. The lesser branches struggled, most barely reaching the third mark, their faces slick with the sweat of exertion. Several failed entirely, the stone remaining dark, and they slunk back to their families in shame, their fates sealed.
Finally, it was Wei Yuan's turn.
"Third Branch, Wei Yuan, step forward!" the steward called out, his voice laced with pity.
A hush fell over the plaza, followed by a wave of muffled laughter. All eyes turned to the lone, thin figure walking out from the back. He moved without haste, his back straight, his expression serene. He looked less like a cultivator heading to a test and more like a scholar on his way to a poetry reading.
"Is he really going to try?"
"This is just cruel. The Patriarch should have just exiled them quietly."
"What a disgrace."
Wei Yuan ignored the noise. He walked to the center of the arena, stopping a few feet from the massive black stone. The Patriarch looked down at him from the high platform, his expression unreadable.
"Just place your hand on the stone, boy," Wei Zhancheng said, his voice not unkind, but dismissive. "Do your best."
Wei Yuan bowed slightly to the Patriarch. "Patriarch," he said, his voice calm and clear, ringing through the silent plaza. "This disciple has a request."
The Patriarch raised an eyebrow. "Speak."
"This disciple's path is... unconventional," Wei Yuan said. "My strength cannot be measured by a mere touch. I request permission to use a brush and ink."
What?!
The word exploded in the minds of everyone present.
Use a brush and ink? To test spiritual power? Was he insane? Had the shame finally broken his mind?
Wei Tian, who had been watching with detached amusement, now frowned. Wei Feng burst into loud, incredulous laughter. "He wants to paint a picture for the stone? This is the best joke I've ever heard!"
The Patriarch's face darkened. "Do not make a mockery of this sacred contest, Wei Yuan. This is not a stage for your scholarly games. Place your hand on the stone, or be disqualified."
"I am not making a mockery, Patriarch," Wei Yuan replied, his voice still impossibly calm. He met the powerful cultivator's gaze without flinching. "I ask only for a chance to prove my worth in my own way. If I fail, I will accept any punishment."
Wei Zhancheng stared at the boy. There was no fear in his eyes. Only a strange, unshakable confidence. It was bizarre. It was unprecedented. But it was also... intriguing.
"Fine," the Patriarch finally declared, a flicker of curiosity overcoming his annoyance. "Bring him a table, a brush, and ink! Let us see what 'Dao' the library's cripple has found!"
The crowd buzzed with confusion and derision as a small table was brought out. Wei Yuan calmly laid out his paper, ground his own homemade ink, and picked up his brush.
He closed his eyes.
He didn't think of the crowd. He didn't think of Wei Tian's power or the Patriarch's judgment. He entered that focused state, his Chess Mind analyzing the entire situation, his will gathering like a storm.
This was not a test. This was a statement. A declaration of war against the very foundation of their power.
He would not just pass. He would break the test itself.
His eyes snapped open. They held the cold glint of Sword Intent.
His brush descended.
It moved with a speed and ferocity that seemed impossible. It was not writing. It was combat. Each stroke was a slash, each turn a parry. The very air around the tip of the brush seemed to warp and shimmer.
He wrote a single, magnificent character.
皇
(Huang)
Emperor. Sovereign. The ultimate authority. A character of such profound arrogance and power it was almost a blasphemy to write it here.
As the final, powerful stroke was completed, the ink on the page did not just shine.
It exploded with light.
A torrent of silver radiance, sharp and cold and filled with an indomitable will, erupted from the paper. It did not dissipate. Instead, it coalesced into a formless blade of pure intent and shot forward, not at a person, but directly at the Spirit Measuring Stone.
The stone did not light up.
It did not react at all to the spiritual power.
Instead, the moment the Sword Intent struck its surface, a sound like grinding mountains filled the air. A sound of something ancient and powerful being subjected to a force it was never designed to withstand.
CRACK.
A thin, hairline fracture appeared on the surface of the ten-foot-tall monolith. It started at the point of impact and snaked its way up, a dark line against the glowing runes.
Then, with a final, heart-stopping groan, the top third of the Spirit Measuring Stone, a treasure of the Wei Clan for five hundred years, sheared off and crashed to the ground with a deafening boom that shook the entire plaza.
Silence.
Absolute, profound, soul-shaking silence.
The crowd was frozen. Jaws hung open. Eyes were wide with utter, brain-numbing disbelief. The laughter, the mockery, the pity—all of it was gone, replaced by a single, unified expression of shock.
Wei Feng looked as if he had been struck by lightning, his face ashen.
The Clan Patriarch, Wei Zhancheng, was on his feet, his mountain-like aura in disarray, staring at the broken stone with an expression of pure, unadulterated astonishment.
Wei Tian... the peerless genius, the Son of Heaven... his arrogant smile was gone. He stared at Wei Yuan, then at the shattered remnant of the stone, and for the first time in his life, his perfect composure was utterly broken. The look on his face was one of complete and total incomprehension.
In the back, by the doors of the pavilion, Old Man Ji watched, and a single, proud tear traced a path through the dust on his wrinkled cheek.
Wei Yuan slowly placed his brush down on the table. He turned to face the stunned Patriarch.
"Patriarch," he asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Did I pass?"