The clan's academy stood tall against the morning sky, its stone walls etched with generations of inscriptions, each marking victories and defeats of the Xuan lineage. The courtyard was already filled with the restless shuffle of children, each dressed in their clan robes, their faces pale with nervous anticipation. Today was no ordinary day. Today was the Awakening Ceremony.
"Good," the presiding elder said as he stepped into view. His voice carried the weight of decades, sharp and commanding, yet not without pride. His white beard flowed down to his chest, his back straight despite his age. His eyes swept across the group, measuring, weighing.
"You have all come at the right time," he declared, hands clasped behind his back. "From this day forward, your lives will never be the same. I will not waste words on nonsense. What you seek is before you, but remember this well: Awakening is not a gift it is a responsibility."
The children exchanged glances, some with excitement, others with fear. Xuánray stood among them, shoulders slightly hunched, already shrinking beneath the weight of whispers. Xuánming, calm as still water, kept his gaze steady on the elder. His heart did not tremble. He had seen this once before.
"Follow me."
The elder turned, and the children fell into line behind him. Their footsteps echoed as they were led down winding stairs carved deep into the mountain. The air grew cooler, damp with the scent of earth and stone. Torches crackled along the walls, casting shadows that seemed to stretch like ancient spirits.
Finally, the path widened into a vast cavern. Gasps broke out among the children as their eyes adjusted to the sight before them.
A pool of luminous water shimmered in the cavern's heart, glowing faintly blue-green. Veins of spirit jade glittered along the rocky walls, pulsing faintly with the energy of the world. Mist hung over the spring, carrying a fragrance both sweet and metallic, sharp enough to make their lungs ache yet refreshing with every breath.
The elder raised his arm toward the pool. His voice softened with reverence.
"Behold the Spirit Spring. A thousand years ago, our ancestors discovered this place. With it, the Xuan Clan carved out its home upon Xuanwu Mountain. Without this spring, we would have perished like countless forgotten families. It is not just water, children it is the backbone of our clan."
His words echoed through the cavern, solemn and unshakable.
"From this spring flows the spirit stones that nourish our cultivation. Without spirit stones, even the greatest genius will starve on the path of cultivation. Remember this well: talent may dazzle, destiny may blind but in the end, it is resources that determine survival. You may stray far from this mountain, but you will never stray far from the need for what flows here."
The children stood in silence, their awe mingled with fear. Some saw the spring as a promise. Others, as a burden.
Xuánming's lips curled faintly as his gaze swept across the cavern. The mist of the spirit spring coiled upward like ghostly fingers, brushing against the stone ceiling as if whispering secrets only he could hear.
So, he thought, eyes narrowing, we have reached it the starting point of my cultivation.
The spring shimmered before them, not merely water but a living reservoir of power. Beneath its glowing surface bloomed countless spirit flowers petals translucent as jade, exhaling a fragrance that could intoxicate even the strongest will. Their soft radiance lent the cavern a dreamlike hue, as if the children stood not in stone and earth but in the womb of heaven itself.
The clan elder stepped forward, his robe brushing lightly against the stone, and lifted his hand in solemn reverence. His voice carried deep into the walls, steady as an oath.
"What stands before you is not merely a spring. It is the foundation of the Xuan Clan. For a thousand years it has fed our lineage, and for a thousand years it has chosen who among us shall rise and who shall fade. Today, it shall judge you."
His words fell heavy upon the group of children. Nervous glances darted from face to face, some filled with pride, others with fear. Xuánray bit his lip, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. Xuánming stood motionless, a calm smile tugging at his lips, as if this was all a performance he had already watched once before.
At the edge of the platform, the clan leader raised his hand in a gesture of permission. His voice, though quiet, echoed with authority.
"Proceed."
The elder bowed slightly, then turned back to the children. His gaze sharpened, sweeping across them like a blade.
"When I call your name," he said, "step forward into the spring. You will walk as far as you can. Each step you take is the measure of your potential the further you go, the stronger your awakening shall be."
The children straightened, hearts pounding. The mist swirled more thickly as if the spring itself stirred, eager to test the souls that dared step into it.
The elder's voice cut through the heavy mist.
"Xuan-ji."
A thin boy with trembling hands stepped forward. His legs shook, but pride pushed his chest outward as though to convince himself he was ready. All eyes followed him as he approached the glowing spring.
The instant his foot touched the surface, the water rippled with a strange resonance. Invisible weight pressed down from above, and Xuan-ji staggered, gasping for air. His spine bent slightly, knees wobbling as though an unseen mountain had settled upon his shoulders.
His thoughts screamed within him. What is this pressure? It's as if heaven itself seeks to crush me… No… no, I cannot stop here. I cannot be worthless.
Sweat beaded across his brow. He forced one leg forward, the spring's light clinging to his skin like chains. Each breath came ragged, broken, yet his eyes burned with desperate hope.
Particles of the spirit flowers stirred. Tiny motes of light danced around him, as though whispering encouragement. For a heartbeat, his lips curved into a trembling smile.
"I…I can go further!" he shouted hoarsely, voice echoing through the cavern. "I'm not a servant's dog! I may have little talent… but please, Heaven, give me a chance!"
The boy's tears mingled with the mist. His fists clenched, and with a roar born of desperation, he dragged himself two more steps forward. The sound of his knees striking the stone rang hollow as he collapsed, gasping, chest heaving like a drowning man pulled ashore.
The spirit flowers dimmed, their light retreating as if mocking his effort. Silence fell.
The elder's expression did not soften; his tone was colder than the cavern walls.
"Xuan-ji, your limit has been revealed. You hold no talent for cultivation."
He raised his hand and drew a glowing mark in the air. The brand shimmered dark red before searing itself onto Xuan-ji's forehead the symbol of failure, of waste. A "trash mark."
Xuan-ji's voice cracked as he whispered, "No… no… this cannot be…"
But the elder had already turned his gaze away, dismissing him as though he were nothing more than a broken branch cast into fire.
The elder's voice echoed once more, calm but merciless.
"Next Xuan-li."
A tall boy stepped forward, chin raised, shoulders squared. His steps were steady, confident, unlike the trembling ones before him. As soon as his foot touched the spirit spring, the water shivered in radiant ripples. The oppressive weight that had crushed Xuan-ji and the other child moments before seemed to part before him, as though the spring itself recognized his bloodline.
Gasps spread among the gathered children.
"He's walking so easily…"
"Not even slowing down…"
Indeed, Xuan-li's pace was fluid, unhurried. He moved as if strolling through a garden rather than enduring the crushing might of the spring. Ten steps… fifteen… twenty. His breathing remained calm, his face composed. Some of the weaker children bit their lips, shame burning in their eyes as he advanced without effort.
By the time he reached thirty-three steps, the glow of the spirit flowers surrounded him in dazzling radiance, wreathing his figure in light like a favored son of heaven.
Xuan-li finally stopped, standing tall with pride swelling in his chest. A triumphant smile played on his lips as whispers rippled among the children.
"It's already thirty-three steps…"
"He's definitely one of the strongest…"
From the side, an old man with sharp eyes and a wrinkled face stepped forward. His smile was smug, his voice filled with pride.
"Hmph. I told you all, my grandson is no mediocrity."
It was Elder Xuan-Li, one of the clan's senior figures. His words dripped with satisfaction as though Xuan-li's success was his own achievement.
The ceremony elder nodded, stroking his beard. "Xuan-li, you have done well. Let us now examine your inner stone."
He extended a palm, weaving ancient runes that sank into Xuan-li's chest. A faint glow spread, and a crystal image of a small luminous stone emerged, pulsing softly with power. Its size and clarity determined his aptitude.
The elder's eyes gleamed as he measured.
"Second-class aptitude. Inner stone size: five out of five."
He recorded the result in the clan's register. The announcement carried through the cavern like thunder.
As more names were called and more children stepped into the spirit spring, the cavern filled with whispers. Some children stared with admiration, others with envy, and many with poorly hidden contempt.
In one corner, a thin boy and a sharp-eyed girl exchanged hushed words. The girl curled her lips in disdain as she glanced at Xuan-li, who was still basking in his triumph.
"Hmph. He only has second-class aptitude, yet the elders are feeding him praise as if he were the heavens' chosen."
The boy gave her a look of disbelief. "Do you really not know, or did your parents never bother to teach you?"
The girl frowned, her curiosity piqued despite herself.
The boy leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a great secret. "My father told me everything before I came here. The measuring is divided into three classes. First, second, and third."
The girl's eyes widened slightly. "Three classes?"
"Yes," the boy nodded with certainty. "Those who can only walk ten… maybe twenty steps? They're the hopeless ones. They have no true talent for cultivation. They'll be discarded kept around as servants at best, wasting their lives."
He paused deliberately, enjoying the girl's growing attention. "But if someone manages twenty to thirty steps, they're considered third-class aptitude. Weak compared to the heavens' true geniuses, yes, but with hard work… when they become rank-one cultivators, they at least form the foundation of the clan. They're useful, even if they'll never rise too high."
The girl bit her lip, finally nodding in understanding. Around them, other children were eavesdropping, their expressions shifting some to relief, some to despair as they silently compared the gossip to their own performance.
The cavern grew tense as the next child collapsed after only fifteen steps. The elders marked him down without expression, but the murmurs among the watching youths grew louder. Every stumble and success was weighed not just by the clan but by the children themselves, who dreamed and feared what those steps meant for their futures.
The sharp-eyed boy, still whispering to the girl, lifted his chin with pride. He was clearly enjoying the role of teacher.
"Listen carefully," he continued, his voice low but urgent, "those who can push past thirty steps thirty to forty, to be exact are judged as second-class. They are stronger than servants, stronger than the useless trash. With discipline, they can become rank-three cultivators within six or seven years. Not too fast, but steady. Such people grow old with dignity, respected as elders of the clan. They are pillars, even if they never touch the sky."
The girl's eyes shone, equal parts fear and longing. She clenched her fists tightly, whispering, "Thirty steps… I must at least reach that."
The boy smirked, savoring her reaction. He leaned in even closer, his words falling like the lure of forbidden knowledge. "But the true dreams lie further. Forty steps. Fifty steps. If someone can endure that much, it means they have awakened first-class aptitude. Those rare ones… within ten years, they can reach rank four cultivation."
His eyes glittered, his voice dropping almost reverently. "Rank four… only such prodigies can contend for leadership of the clan. Only they have the qualifications to rule."
The cave's glow dimmed as another child collapsed after barely twenty steps, tears staining his cheeks as he was dragged aside. The elder's sigh was heavy, and the murmurs of disappointment rippled through the crowd like cold wind.
On the high dais, the Clan Leader rose. His robes shimmered faintly with spiritual thread, but his face bore lines of exhaustion that no cultivation could hide. He let his gaze sweep across the rows of children hopeful, trembling, some already broken and then turned to the gathered elders.
"It has been a long time," he said, his voice steady, but in its steadiness lay sorrow. "Year after year, ceremony after ceremony… and still, no one has awakened a first-class aptitude."
A hush spread instantly through the cavern. Even the sound of the spirit spring's trickling flow seemed to quiet itself, as though the world leaned closer to listen.
The Clan Leader's eyes hardened, but there was no mistaking the tremor beneath his words. "Do you see what this means? Out of a hundred children, perhaps one will touch that height. But for us… not a single one. Not for years."
He clenched his hand against the railing. "Our younger generation is dwindling. The fire in our blood grows thin. Half of the children standing here today have no talent at all they will never cultivate, never rise. And for five years…" His voice caught, the silence heavy with shame. "…for five long years, our clan has not birthed a single rank four cultivator."
The words fell like a curse, echoing against stone walls. Elders shifted uncomfortably, their faces shadowed with unspoken fear. Children lowered their heads, hearts pounding with the weight of expectations they could never meet.
The Clan Leader's words still echoed through the cavern when an elder in grey stepped forward, his voice rising with forced authority.
"There was a fourth-rank cultivator once," he said, as though to push back against despair. "In our eighth generation. A flame strong enough to pierce the heavens. But fate is cruel he died young, leaving behind no heir. And when the demonic cultivator Lu-bai struck him down, our line was broken."
A murmur rippled through the children. The name Lu-bai was whispered like a shadow of fear, the story etched into every child's memory like a curse.
Xuan-ming, standing quietly among the others, lowered his gaze. His lips curled faintly. So the wound of Lu-bai still bleeds after all these years. A wound that left them crippled, grasping for hope in insects… how fitting.
Just then, the ceremony continued. The academy elder raised his staff and called a name:
"Xuan-Gu."
A boy strode forward chin lifted, eyes sharp, the confidence of a favored grandson plain in his every step. He entered the spirit spring, and at once the weight pressed upon him. The gravity of spiritual energy bore down like a mountain, but Xuan-Gu gritted his teeth and pushed forward.
Ten steps. Fifteen. Twenty.
The other children gasped, eyes widening as he continued without faltering.
Twenty-five. Thirty.
Sweat ran down his brow, his knees quivered, yet his determination burned.
Thirty-three steps.
He stopped, chest heaving, but his lips curved in triumph. The glowing spirit flowers shimmered around him, responding to his awakening.
The silence shattered into a wave of whispers. "Thirty-three!" "He's walked thirty-three steps!" "That's almost close to first-class!"
From among the elders, a booming laugh rang out. Elder Gu stepped forward, his wrinkled face alight with pride, his hands trembling as he pointed at the boy.
"My grandson!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the cavern. "My grandson has walked thirty-three steps! Do you see? He is no less than any genius! Thirty-three great steps proof of a foundation stronger than the rest!"
Elders exchanged glances, some impressed, others sour. Then, from the opposite side, Elder Li's voice cut cold through the excitement.
"Enough boasting, Gu." Elder Li's gaze was sharp as a blade. "Do not forget the boy who walked before your grandson also reached thirty-three steps. And when we measured, their inner stones were the same size. If both are second-class aptitude, then explain this: why do you call yours stronger?"
The air thickened at once. The tension between the two elders was like crackling fire. Elder Gu's eyes narrowed, his pride stung, but his voice rose louder.
"Because thirty-three steps walked by my bloodline are worth more than thirty-three steps of any other! Spirit does not lie my grandson's will is unmatched!"
Children leaned forward, watching the clash of titans in awe. To them, this was more than just an argument between old men. This was proof that family pride, hidden grudges, and clan politics all burned beneath the surface of the Awakening Ceremony.
Xuan-ming stood among the rows of children, his face calm, unreadable. To the crowd, he was just another boy waiting his turn, but inside his mind, a low, mocking laughter stirred.
Oh heaven, how laughable… grandfather and grandson strutting before insects, pretending their feathers shine brighter than the rest. Thirty-three steps, and they puff their chests as though they've touched divinity. But I know the truth. In my past life, Xuan-Gu awakened nothing more than a third-class talent.
The corners of his lips curled faintly. The memory was sharp, vivid how Elder Gu, desperate to protect his faction's honor, had reached into the shadows. How he had bent the rules of measurement, how the clan had cheered a fraud as if he were chosen by the heavens.
Gu's so-called genius was nothing but an illusion, a lie woven by his doting grandfather. They called him a rising star, but when the years passed and his cultivation faltered, when his foundation rotted, the Gu family collapsed under the weight of their own deceit.
Xuan-ming's gaze flicked toward Elder Gu, who still basked in the pride of his grandson's steps. His eyes glimmered with cold amusement. If not for the tragedy of my past life, their secret might have remained buried forever. How ironic… in this life, I hold the truth they so carefully hid. Should I reveal it now? No. Let them play their little game. Their lies are nothing but insects crawling over scraps.
He clasped his hands behind his back, his body relaxed, his thoughts sharp as blades. The higher the mask, the greater the fall. If Gu-elder shields his grandson again, it will only breed a false sense of superiority. And when the time comes, I will be the one to tear that mask away. That is an advantage worth savoring.
His eyes lingered on the glowing spirit flowers, their petals shimmering in the spring's light. Insects chase after crumbs of resources, fighting desperately for fractions of power. But me? In this life, I will seize it all. If the highest class earns the richest treasures, then I will walk straight into heaven's domain and claim them for myself.
"Xuan-ming," the academy elder called, his voice echoing like a bell through the cavern. "All hope of this year rests upon you."
The words were heavy, resonating not only with expectation but with the weight of tradition. Children glanced nervously at one another, whispers trailing in the air like drifting smoke.
Xuan-ray's gaze fell, his small hands clenched in frustration. Even as he stood beside his brother, he felt invisible, like a shadow swallowed by the brilliance of the sun. Every eye, every breath, every heartbeat in the room seemed to fix solely upon Xuan-ming. His brother's pride, his reputation, eclipsed him completely.
Xuan-ming, however, did not falter. A soft laugh escaped his lips, low and amused, a sound that carried neither arrogance nor nervousness it was the laugh of someone who had already seen the outcome before it had begun. Slowly, deliberately, he walked toward the spirit spring.
The first step sent ripples through the luminous water. He paused, feeling the ancient pressure that had felled so many before him. The spring pulsed with qi, each particle vibrating with raw, concentrated power. It was as if the very essence of the mountain itself was pressing down upon him, testing his strength and resolve.
A fine sheen of sweat appeared on his brow. Yes… this pressure is immense, he thought, eyes narrowing slightly. The spirit spring flows with qi, and each step weighs upon the cultivator as though carrying the mountain itself. Many fail here. Many crumble under even a fraction of this force.
His gaze flickered downward, studying the shimmering ripples of light. If the spirit within a person cannot withstand this pressure… then the artifact manifests.
Xuan-ming's lips curved faintly as he remembered the legends, whispered in hushed tones through centuries of the Xuan Clan:
The Hope Artifact… born within the oldest particles of the spring.
Xuan-ming paused, chest heaving as beads of sweat ran down his temples. The spirit spring shimmered beneath his feet, ripples of ancient qi radiating outward like the pulse of the earth itself. He closed his eyes for a moment and let his mind wander not in weakness, but in clarity.
When there was nothing in this world… he whispered in thought, his voice barely audible. An artifact existed before all. It created humans, beasts, and countless other relics. Humans named it the Creation God, the Creation Artifact… a being beyond understanding.
He could feel the weight of history pressing through the spring's water, a thousand whispered legends flowing into his mind. The Creation God made powerful artifacts to maintain balance, to ensure the world did not collapse under its own chaos. One of them… one was the Hope Artifact.
Xuan-ming clenched his fists, feeling the tiny spark of its presence. All I need is to awaken hope in my heart. That alone is enough for the artifact to lend me its power.
He planted another step forward. The spring's pressure pressed down as before, unyielding, but he felt the artifact's faint resonance in response. Step after step, his legs burned, his body screamed, yet he forced himself onward. Four steps… five… six…
"Perhaps this is my limit," he murmured under his breath. "The pressure is immense… hope seems thin here… yet still…"
From above, the clan leader watched quietly, his sharp eyes scanning the boy. He doesn't look like a first-class talent at all… the elder mused, doubt flickering across his face. To any ordinary observer, Xuan-ming appeared exhausted, ordinary, struggling to advance against the spring.
Yet something extraordinary was happening. Step by step, the faint glow of his body began to emerge, small at first, then growing steadily, illuminating the water beneath him. The particles of the spirit spring seemed to swirl around him, drawn to his aura as though recognizing a presence far beyond the ordinary.
Xuan-ming's eyes snapped open, heart racing. He barely understood what had occurred but his body had awakened. Not through brute strength, not through innate first-class talent, but through a combination of heart, hope, and the subtle power of the divine artifact.
A wild, triumphant laugh escaped his lips, echoing in the cavern. I… I have awakened. Even without first-class aptitude, I have claimed it.I can become immortal again!