The Fang-Root Cells were not cells in the usual sense.
They were tombs.
Hollowed beneath the deepest root system of the Black Rain Sect, the walls pulsed like breathing meat. Stone intertwined with bone. Qi ran through the marrow-veins like stagnant blood.
Yuan Zhi descended the spiral staircase alone. Torchless. Soundless. At his back, a stone door sealed him in.
At his front — madness waited.
A Ritual Chamber.
In the center stood a basin filled with black liquid — not water, not oil.
Soul ink, refined from the melted spirits of failed cultivators.
Above it, chains hung from jagged hooks embedded in the ceiling. They dangled low, swaying, as if stirred by breath.
An elder waited. Different from the others.
This one wore no robe. No mask. His skin was grey and hairless, eyes entirely black. His face held no malice… only neutrality, as if he were a knife that did not care who it cut.
"You've come to undergo the Rite of Alignment," he said, voice hollow.
Yuan Zhi said nothing.
The elder gestured. "Strip."
He obeyed.
The elder raised one palm.
From the darkness, hooks emerged.
Barbed. Bone-carved. Inscribed with runes that shimmered faintly.
Before Yuan Zhi could react, the hooks pierced his shoulders. Then his thighs. Then his spine. Then his wrists.
He didn't scream.
Pain danced like fire under his skin. The chains lifted him — suspended above the ink.
The elder's tone remained detached.
"You will be lowered into the basin."
"If your soul aligns with your chosen cultivation path, you will survive."
"If not…"
He didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
The chains began to creak.
Yuan Zhi's body descended.
The ink met his toes — and every nerve ignited.
It felt like being peeled. Not just flesh — thoughts, memories, instincts.His mind fractured.
"Why do you want to live?" a voice whispered.
He didn't answer.
The ink reached his waist.
Every regret he had ever buried erupted:
— the cold before transmigration
— the nameless lives he stole food from
— the girl he left to die during the Bone Trial
Each memory burned, as if the basin were re-forging him in fire.
The ink touched his chest. His heart stopped.
Inside the ink, he saw a version of himself.
Kneeling.
Shackled.
Face twisted in fear.
"Is that you?" a voice asked.
Yuan Zhi said nothing.
The double raised its head.
"I am you without ambition. You without hatred. You without hunger."
Yuan Zhi stepped forward.
"You are nothing," he said.
And ripped the figure apart with his bare hands.
The basin began to boil.
On the surface, runes erupted — ancient characters, older than the sect.
The elder watching tilted his head.
"Interesting…"
He tapped the basin edge.
The ink drained — not downward, but into Yuan Zhi's pores.
It slithered under his skin, staining his veins black.
He dropped.
Hard.
His body spasmed once.
Twice.
Then lay still.
Minutes passed.
Then his eyes opened.
They weren't human anymore.
"Alignment complete," the elder murmured. "Path: Devouring Shadow."
He placed a stone shard on the boy's chest.
It dissolved into him.
"The first seed is planted."
Yuan Zhi stood.
No help. No words.
The elder nodded once.
"You didn't cry."
Yuan Zhi's voice was hoarse. "I had no tears left."
Outside, in the cold upper halls, an inner disciple named Shi Lian waited. She had been sent to escort him.
When he emerged, she smirked.
"They said you wouldn't last ten breaths."
Yuan Zhi brushed past her.
"Then they're wrong again."
Later that night, he returned to his assigned cave.
He didn't sleep.
He simply sat.
And focused.
Inside him, the basin still boiled.
He felt… changed.
Not stronger. Not yet.
But different.
His shadow moved with a mind of its own.
His senses pulsed sharper in the dark.
His emotions— dulled, focused, colder.
"If the soul is a flame," he thought,
"Then mine just turned black."