There was a time, a boy named Xu Yao.
Born in a small mountain village, his body was thin like winter branches. The children of the village mocked him. Even the winds seemed to push him down.
Yet inside him burned a small flame—
The desire to touch the heavens.
One day, he climbed the stone steps of the Heavenly Realm Sect, a sect known to stand among clouds and train immortals. His clothes were simple, his feet bare, and his hands bruised from travel. Still, he bowed with unwavering respect.
One of the Three Great Elders, robed in silver and radiating spiritual pressure, looked down at him. With a sweep of his divine sense, he saw everything about Xu Yao in a single breath.
"Your physique is weak. Your meridians are thin, almost broken. Your spiritual root is barely a spark," the elder declared.
His voice echoed like thunder.
"You are not capable of cultivating.
Leave."
The disciples around laughed softly.
But Xu Yao did not cry.
He knelt, forehead touching the cold stone floor.
"Master, I agree," Xu Yao said softly, but his voice was steady.
"I come from a poor background. I have no resources, no powerful family. My body is weak, and my talent is ordinary."
He raised his head.
"But I will not retreat."
The elder paused.
Xu Yao continued:
"I know I am not worthy—yet.
But if one like me cannot climb the heavens, then the heavens themselves are unfair.
I am willing to train harder than anyone.
If others meditate for one hour, I will meditate for ten.
If they bleed once, I will bleed a hundred times."
His eyes shone—not with arrogance, but with unyielding determination.
"I only ask for one chance.
Not pity.
Just… the chance to try."
The courtyard fell silent.
For the first time in many years, the elder saw something in the boy's eyes—
Not talent.
Not genius.
But heart.
And in cultivation, heart was sometimes the sharpest blade of all .
Very well. If you want a chance, then you shall have one."
The disciples gasped—none expected the Elder to change his mind.
"But listen well, Xu Yao."
The Elder's gaze turned sharp, like a sword that could cut through fate itself.
"You stand at Mortal Foundation Stage – Level 0, a step even below beginners. Your meridians are weak, your dantian unstable. Ordinary disciples take three years only to form their foundation."
He raised one finger.
"I give you one year."
A hush fell over the courtyard.
"In one year, you must break through three entire levels and stabilize your foundation. If you fail—"
The elder's voice became cold as winter iron.
"You will be expelled. Your fate will return to the mortal world."
Xu Yao's heart pounded—but he did not hesitate.
"And after that," the Elder continued, "you must participate in the Inner Sect Disciple Tournament. All who participate will be geniuses. Their talent far surpasses yours. You will stand before monsters who were born blessed by heaven."
He stepped closer.
"You may be crushed."
Xu Yao looked up, his voice firm:
"Master, I am willing."
The Elder stared at him for a long moment.
Then he turned away.
"Very well. Remember your words."
A message talisman flicked from his sleeve and landed in Xu Yao's palm.
It contained the lowest-level cultivation manual — 'Breath of Silent Dawn' — a manual many talented disciples ignored for being too slow and painful to cultivate.
It was all Xu Yao was given.
His journey had begun.
As Xu Yao left the courtyard, whispers followed behind him:
"That manual? Useless… He'll quit in a month."
"He can't compete with Inner Disciples… he'll break before he even starts.
"He walked to a quiet valley at the edge of the sect, where mist touched ancient pine trees and the sound of running streams filled the air. His breath was cold but his heart was burning.
He sat cross-legged upon a flat stone.
He opened the manual.
His journey would be long.
His pain would be many.
But his resolve was unshakeable.
Xu Yao whispered to the sky:
"I will not give up."