The sky over Ironcloud Mountain Range burned with the orange hue of dawn, mist curling around its jagged peaks like winding serpents. The silhouette of a massive fortress-like structure loomed at the mountain's waist, partially obscured by cloud and stone. This was Shadow Peak Sect, one of the thousands of second-tier cultivation forces in the Eastern Territory.
On the outermost cliff of Shadow Peak, a row of simple wooden cabins stood like discarded bones. Here lived the Outer Disciples, those at the lowest rung of the sect. Among them, one figure stood at the edge of the cliff, his form motionless against the wind.
Lin Xuan, aged seventeen, held a broom in his hand, though he hadn't swept a stroke in the last hour. He simply stared toward the rising sun. The breeze tugged at his coarse robes, the same cheap standard-issue outer disciples wore—thin and patched at the seams.
His black hair was tied into a rough tail, and though his face was youthful, a certain sharpness lingered in his eyes, like cold steel half-forged. His cultivation? The Fourth Stage of the Body Tempering Realm—barely scraping the bottom among his peers.
"Still sweeping cliffs like a slave, Lin Xuan?"
A mocking voice broke the silence. From the cabin stairs descended Zhou Liang, an Inner Disciple clad in fine silk robes embroidered with the sect's crescent sigil. Behind him trailed two more Inner Disciples, snickering like crows circling prey.
Lin Xuan didn't answer. He simply lowered his gaze and returned to sweeping.
Zhou Liang frowned. "Still pretending you can rise through effort alone? You've been stuck in Body Tempering for four years. Trash like you should've been driven out long ago. You're wasting Master Wu's resources."
Lin Xuan's grip on the broom tightened, but his expression remained calm.
They waited for a reaction, but when none came, Zhou Liang sneered and turned to leave. "Better pray the Sect doesn't cull the outer branches this year."
Their laughter faded into the wind.
Lin Xuan exhaled slowly, the breath steaming in the morning chill. He wasn't angry. Not anymore. He'd long accepted his place here—at the bottom.
But even so... he hadn't come to this sect just to sweep floors and accept insults.
---
A History Buried in Ash
Four years ago, Lin Xuan had been a wandering orphan, the last remnant of a once-unknown family destroyed by war. He remembered flames, a dying mother whispering words he still didn't understand, and a jade pendant shoved into his palm.
He had nothing then. No cultivation technique. No background. Only stubbornness.
When the Shadow Peak Sect accepted him through the open recruitment trials, they had no expectations for him. He had been an average teenager with average talent. But to Lin Xuan, it had been everything—a lifeline.
He worked harder than anyone. When others slept, he meditated. When they ate, he trained. But the heavens were cold. Despite years of blood and sweat, he made little progress. No hidden power surfaced. No awakening. Just pain and exhaustion.
Still, he endured.
---
The Outer Quarry Test
Today marked the Outer Quarry Test, a trial all Outer Disciples had to pass if they wanted to remain. It was also the only chance for promotion into the Inner Sect—however slim.
Those who failed twice were removed from the sect permanently.
For Lin Xuan, this was his second trial.
At midday, a bell rang from within the mountain. Lin Xuan cleaned himself and walked toward the lower arena carved into the mountain's side.
Rows of Outer Disciples gathered under the gaze of Elder Chen, a gaunt-faced man who never smiled. Behind him stood two disciples in Inner Sect robes, recording names and scores.
"Next! Lin Xuan."
He stepped forward. The other Outer Disciples murmured among themselves.
"He's still in Body Tempering?"
"He failed last year. He'll definitely be expelled this time."
"Heard he has no cultivation method, only a basic body scripture."
Lin Xuan stood at the center of the stone arena. Across from him, a bulky youth stepped forward with a grin. Han Yue, mid-Eighth Stage Body Tempering, one of the stronger Outer Disciples.
"Don't worry, Brother Lin," Han Yue smirked. "I'll end it quickly. No hard feelings."
Lin Xuan didn't reply.
"Begin!" Elder Chen called.
Han Yue charged like a bull, muscles rippling, footwork rough but powerful. Lin Xuan sidestepped neatly, avoiding the strike by inches. Dust kicked up in a swirl.
The crowd jeered. "He's just dodging! What's the point?"
Another strike came—then another. Lin Xuan danced around them, never retaliating. A glimmer of frustration flickered in Han Yue's eyes.
"Fight back, coward!"
Finally, Han Yue drove his fist forward. Lin Xuan didn't dodge. He stepped in.
Thud!
His elbow connected with Han Yue's ribs. A cracking sound echoed, followed by a gasp. Han Yue stumbled, breath lost.
Lin Xuan didn't let up. He pivoted, delivering a precise blow to the shoulder, and then another to the side of the neck. Han Yue collapsed, coughing blood.
The arena fell silent.
Elder Chen's brow lifted slightly. "Winner, Lin Xuan."
---
The Weight of Potential
Later that evening, Lin Xuan sat alone on the cliff again, his body aching, bruises blooming under his robe. But his heart felt light for the first time in years.
He had passed.
For now, he could remain.
As the moon rose over the peaks, Lin Xuan retrieved the jade pendant from beneath his robe. It was cracked, dull with age, yet warm to the touch. On its back, a faint engraving read:
破命 — Break Fate.
He still didn't know what it meant. But perhaps... it was time to find out.