Shen Yuan had always believed that fear was best treated like soup, hot, seasoned with sarcasm, and served quickly before the noodles of his sanity got too soggy. That belief was put to the ultimate test as he stood at the edge of a jagged cliffside, staring down into what the sect proudly referred to as 'The Spirit Maw'.
It looked like someone had let a mad earth spirit dig a hole during a tantrum. The ravine writhed with jade mist, occasionally belching out ghostly shrieks and the odd floating ribcage.
"This is where outer disciples get to 'face their fears and emerge stronger'," Feng Xiaoyu said with an unsettling amount of cheer for someone pointing into a death pit. "Or, well… most of them emerge. Eventually. In pieces. If the vultures don't get to them first."
She nudged him forward with her elbow.
"I'm starting to think this sect has a subtle death wish," Shen Yuan muttered, clutching his satchel of emergency snacks like a sacred talisman.
A group of disciples gathered behind them, whispering and exchanging bets.
"He's going in without a sword?" one snorted.
"He's got a feather duster in his belt, I swear!"
"That's a spirit-plucking brush!" Shen Yuan barked. "Very rare. Very majestic. May cause mild tickling."
No one looked convinced.
Elder Jin, who seemed to have taken on the role of torturer-in-chief ever since Shen Yuan blew up the bathhouse laundry pool, floated down from a cloud and landed with a theatrical sweep of his sleeves.
"Today's trial will be simple," the elder said, voice booming. "Survive."
There was a long pause.
"…Is that it?" Shen Yuan asked.
Elder Jin blinked at him. "Yes."
"Oh. Right. Easy."
Then the ground crumbled beneath Shen Yuan's feet.
He screamed. Loudly. And somewhat musically.
The fall was shorter than he expected. Unfortunately, the landing was much sharper. He bounced off three rocks, two vines, and one deeply offended tree spirit before crashing onto a mossy ledge halfway down the chasm.
"Okay," he groaned, face-first in dirt. "Ow."
The Spirit Maw was quiet. Not peaceful quiet, more like an apocalyptic hush before something bites your kneecaps, kind of quiet. The mist around him pulsed with life, and Shen Yuan could feel the System humming inside his head.
Trial Detected: SURVIVE.
Optional Bonus Objective: Don't Scream Like a Mortal Child.
Progress: 0%
"Thanks for the support, you rusty wok of a System," he muttered.
A low growl echoed from the mist behind him.
"Right. Moving on!"
He scrambled to his feet, pulling out the spirit brush. It glowed faintly, shimmering with golden strands of qi. It looked absolutely useless, but that hadn't stopped him before.
From the left, a shadow lunged—a creature made of stitched-together fangs and jade bone. Shen Yuan swung the brush on reflex.
There was a poof of feathers.
The creature skidded to a stop, blinked its six eyes, then promptly exploded into glittery smoke.
Shen Yuan stared at the brush, stunned.
"…Okay. I forgive you, weird old man who gave me this."
Spirit Brush Mastery: +1
Brush Technique Unlocked: Majestic Peck of Confusion
He turned, brushing the glitter off his robes. "Right, who's next?"
Three more spirits emerged from the fog. One had the body of a tiger and the head of a screaming rooster. Another floated, made entirely of eyes and sighs. The last just looked like a disappointed tax collector.
He screamed again. This time more heroically.
"Spirit Brush, don't fail me now!"
What followed was a chaotic dance of dodging, flailing, and slapping things with a semi-sentient feather duster. At some point, Shen Yuan started chanting nonsense phrases like "Brush Style: Fluttering Chaos!" and "Dust-B-Gone Technique!" which seemed to confuse his enemies more than hurt them.
Somewhere above, Elder Jin sipped his tea, unimpressed. "That boy… he's either a genius or a cosmic accident."
Back in the chasm, Shen Yuan finally collapsed against a glowing rock, panting and covered in what he hoped was glitter.
"I've changed my mind," he wheezed. "I no longer want to be powerful. I just want a nap."
Suddenly, the ground beneath the glowing rock split open. A staircase revealed itself, winding down into a chamber pulsing with golden light. The air shimmered, and the brush in Shen Yuan's hand buzzed excitedly.
Hidden Legacy Detected: Hall of Heavenly Grooming
Warning: Only true Brush Cultivators may enter.
"…Wait, there are more of me?"
He glanced back at the mist where the spirits were reforming, albeit a bit dazed.
"Welp. No better options."
He scurried down the staircase.
Inside, he found a wide hall lined with mirrors, brushes, and statues of solemn-looking cultivators, each holding a different grooming instrument. Combs, razors, tweezers, and more.
At the far end stood a massive throne shaped like a barber's chair. And upon it, a skeleton with perfectly styled hair and a monocle.
A voice echoed through the chamber.
"Welcome, Wayward Disciple of the Feathered Path."
Shen Yuan yelped. "Sorry! Didn't mean to trespass! I just fell in! Can I leave? Maybe? No?"
The air shimmered again, forming a spectral figure in flowing robes with an enormous afro and glowing beard.
"I am Master Zhen, founder of the Brush Cultivation Path," the ghost said solemnly. "And you… are our last hope."
Shen Yuan squinted. "Wait, is that… pomade in your beard?"
The spirit's expression didn't change. "Indeed. For power begins with proper grooming. And destiny… begins with a clean parting."
Shen Yuan blinked once. Twice.
Then he grinned.
"I'm in."