After Li Wen's death, there was no grand assembly.
No official warning.
No sect-wide announcement.
But the next day, the training roster was updated.
Xuanye stood before the wooden board with the other disciples. Names were carved neatly, arranged by cultivation level and potential. He searched for his own—and found it moved down two rows.
Whispers followed.
"Did he make a mistake?"
"Did he fail an evaluation?"
Xuanye offered no explanation.
He knew exactly what he had done the night before.
He had deliberately skipped one mandatory cultivation session.
Not out of laziness.
Not out of fear of dying like Li Wen.
But because he did not want to move anywhere at all.
In a world that judged persistence, staying still felt… suspiciously safe.
A supervisor called his name. Xuanye stepped forward.
"Your cultivation speed has slowed," the man said, reviewing the records. "Your efficiency dropped. Are you aware of this?"
"Yes," Xuanye replied.
"You could correct it."
Xuanye nodded. "I know."
The supervisor studied him for a few seconds longer, then sighed.
"If you have no intention of advancing, don't waste the sect's resources."
Xuanye lowered his head. "Understood."
He was assigned to auxiliary duties—cleaning rarely used qi storage rooms. Tedious work. No prestige. No danger.
That night, Xuanye sat alone in his small room.
He opened the thin notebook once more.
Below the previous line, he added another:
If progress draws the world's attention, then falling behind is a form of camouflage.
He closed the book.
For the first time, he made a decision that went against everything the sect taught.
He chose not to try harder.
And the world—
did not respond at all.
No pressure.
No correction.
No ash-gray robes.
Xuanye lay back, staring at the stone ceiling.
Guilt came first.
Then shame.
Yet beneath it all, there was one thing he could not deny—
He was still alive.
And for now, that was enough.