Xiao Xuan awoke to a sliver of sunlight piercing the cracks in the wooden shutters. His body was sore, his head heavy, and the sour taste of rejection lingered on his tongue like spoiled tea. For a few seconds, he lay still, eyes on the ceiling. Then the memory hit — the humiliation, the laughter, the suffocating spiritual pressure that had knocked the breath out of him the day before. It hadn't been a nightmare.
He rose slowly and washed his face with cold water from a wooden basin. No cultivation, no money, no talent. Those words, spoken and unspoken, repeated in his mind like a mantra. But instead of despair, something else brewed underneath — pressure. Like steam building under a sealed lid.
Stepping into the morning streets of Green Lotus Town, he was quickly swallowed by the crowd. Life didn't stop just because someone failed. Disciples from various sects strolled confidently through the city square, showing off their cultivation robes. The smell of roasted beast meat and incense drifted through the air. But to Xiao Xuan, it all tasted like ash.
He passed the recruitment site again — now nearly empty. Only a few elders remained, packing up. A group of outer disciples from the Wind Lightning Sect lounged nearby, laughing.
"Look! It's him again — the no-root trash!"
"He should be grateful Elder Fen didn't squash him like a bug."
"I've seen better potential in pigs."
Laughter followed him as he walked past, not bothering to reply. Their words stung, but he refused to give them satisfaction. His silence wasn't submission — it was focus.
He wandered through the winding back alleys of the town, passing apothecaries, forge shops, scroll vendors — all brimming with cultivation goods he couldn't afford. At one stall, he paused to watch a boy no older than ten bargain for a Qi-condensing pill. The boy's voice cracked, his hands trembling with excitement. The stall owner smiled warmly, handing over the goods.
That boy had a future. Xiao Xuan had rejection.
Still, he didn't leave. He observed. He learned. He eavesdropped on conversations about cultivation methods, sect gossip, and spiritual herb locations. Information, at least, was still free.
At midday, he found himself at the town's riverbank. He sat on a smooth rock beneath a crooked tree, letting the wind cool his burning thoughts. The water flowed without hesitation — clear, determined, unburdened.
From his sleeve, he pulled out a small scrap of parchment. It was torn, grease-stained, but blank on one side. He used a charcoal stub he'd found near a vendor's stall to write.
Barriers:
No cultivation manualNo spirit root detectedNo backgroundNo influenceNo support
Assets:
Sheer Fucking WillPlan of actionEarth knowledge — logic, memory retention, planningNo Qi deviation or backlash so far
He stared at the words. "I'm not broken," he whispered. "Just unrecognized."
A sudden shout made him look up. A group of rogue cultivators were arguing over the price of a beast core. One of them, covered in dust and scars, looked directly at Xiao Xuan.
"You staring, brat?"
"No," Xiao Xuan said calmly.
The man stepped forward but paused when a passing patrol disciple frowned at him. With a scoff, the rogue walked away.
Even among outsiders, status mattered. Strength mattered.
Xiao Xuan returned to his inn by sunset. The last coin from Willow Brook got him another bowl of plain rice and water. He ate slowly, chewing each bite like it was his last — because it might be.
That night, instead of sleeping, he meditated. Not to gather Qi, for he had none, but to clear his thoughts. He recited his mental cultivation: resilience, observation, patience. He couldn't run forward yet — but he could prepare. Brick by brick, he'd lay the foundation no one else saw.
And when he was ready, he would rise. Slowly, surely, endlessly.
"I will never beg," he murmured into the darkness. "I will never bow again."
He tightened his blanket around him, eyes open until morning.
They could laugh now. But one day, they would kneel