the dawn was pale and cold over the azure sect.
mist hung low across the stone courtyards, coiling between the worn pillars like ghostly serpents. the sect, once known for its mighty saber path, was now a shadow of glory — its disciples lazy, its elders greedy, and its servants treated as beasts of burden.
in one of those dim servants' quarters, qin feng sat cross-legged on a straw mat.
the body was frail, his meridians clogged with filth. his breath came ragged, his heart sluggish. but his eyes—those ancient, storm-colored eyes—shone with quiet fire.
> "this body may be broken," he murmured, "but my will is not."
he closed his eyes.
the whisper of the skydome mirror echoed softly within his consciousness—a calm, feminine voice filled with moonlight.
> "your soul burns with chaos. even heaven could not erase you."
"but this body… cannot endure your full power yet. you must temper it."
> "then i will temper it," qin feng said, his tone cold but resolute. "even if i must remake it bone by bone."
---
⚔️ the first breath of qi
he inhaled deeply, focusing on the faint spark of energy flickering in his dantian.
in this world, cultivation began with the first breath of qi—drawing the world's essence into the body, refining it, and forming a spiritual root.
but qin feng's host body had none.
the heavens had declared him rootless—a fate worse than death for any cultivator.
yet within his soul, the skydome mirror pulsed once.
a tiny thread of chaotic qi flowed out, wrapping around his meridians.
it burned.
every nerve screamed. his veins felt as though molten metal flowed through them.
but qin feng did not flinch. he had endured heavenly lightning once—this pain was nothing.
> "good…" he whispered through gritted teeth.
"let the filth burn away."
hours passed. the sun climbed the horizon, spilling gold through cracks in the wall. his breath grew steady. slowly, impossibly, the stagnant qi in his body began to flow.
then—boom.
a faint ripple burst outward from his dantian, rattling the wooden floor.
a wave of clean energy coursed through him. his senses sharpened; his heartbeat steadied. his blood thrummed with power.
he had done it.
the boy who was born without a spirit root… had taken his first breath of qi.
---
🌙 the mirror's whisper
> "you are unlike this world," said the skydome mirror softly.
"most draw qi from the earth and sky. but you—your soul draws from the void beyond creation."
> "then i will take from the void itself," qin feng replied.
"if heaven gives nothing, i'll steal from where heaven cannot reach."
a faint laugh—like wind through chimes—echoed in his mind.
> "so defiant… just like before."
> "before?" qin feng's eyes narrowed.
"you knew me… before my fall?"
> "perhaps," the voice said, fading like a dream.
"when the moon rises again, we shall speak."
the connection dimmed. silence returned.
---
🩸 the mockery of mortals
the door creaked open. three young disciples stood there—robes pristine, smirks venomous.
> "trash! the kitchen master wants you to scrub the stone path again."
"move faster, or we'll have you whipped like last time."
qin feng slowly opened his eyes. his aura was calm, but something ancient stirred beneath his skin.
> "understood," he said, voice even.
he stood, took the bucket, and walked past them. the disciples sneered, satisfied with his obedience.
but as he stepped into the courtyard, he lifted his gaze toward the distant mountain peak where the sect master's hall stood.
his fingers tightened around the wooden bucket's handle until it cracked.
> "laugh while you can," he whispered.
"when the storm rises again, even your bones will remember my name."
the wind stirred, carrying a faint scent of ozone.
somewhere far above, thunder rolled across a cloudless sky.
---