A small town stood in the shadow of a large mountain. The town was called Willowbank, just south of the mountain, and the people of the town were quite well-to-do. Tax collectors frequently traveled through on their way to the base of the mountain, and some of those minor bureaucrats grew fond of the place and decided to plant their roots there.
Liu Wenbo was one of those tired officials. He found himself a relatively large manor for him and his many concubines to settle in. His eldest legitimate son Liu Dichun inherited the manor from his father, and continued the tradition of taking many concubines to keep the household exciting.
The Liu family enjoyed a prominent presence in Willowbank. Not because of their income, which was certainly good but never great. Nor was it because of Liu Dichun, who could only be described as a detached man. It was due to their surname, Liu.
The towering mountain whose shadow shrouded Willowbank was called Mount Zhenyuan, and its rulers were distant relatives of the Willowbank Lius, with the same surname. If the Zhenyuan Liu family were ordinary rulers that would be one thing, but the lords of Zhenyuan were immortals. Even from small Willowbank specks of light could be seen crossing the sky from time to time.
So, the Liu family of Willowbank was treated very well by their fellow townsfolk. Some of Liu Dichun's many children enjoyed their deferential treatment, styling themselves as young masters and parading themselves through the streets. A few diligent ones studied hard to become officials, knowing that given their background they would not be treated unfairly. Only Liu Dichun was adrift.
Growing up, Liu Dichun had heard countless stories about his grandfather—a cultivator. This grandfather had lived on the mountain, spending his glorious life suppressing demons and upholding the Orthodox Dao. His son, Liu Wenbo, didn't have a spiritual root, but he saw just enough of the cultivating world to develop hatred for the mundane world he lived in. Liu Dichun didn't inherit the hatred of his father, instead, he developed a solemn acceptance for his insignificance. Convinced of his inferiority, he never attended Liu Family meetings at the mountain base like his children did; he didn't feel he deserved to take pride in the name "Liu."
Today was the day for Liu Dichun to complete the only task his family assigned him: test his child for a spiritual root. While less than one in a thousand people typically had a spiritual root, the likelihood was significantly higher for the offspring of cultivators, and still considerable for descendants. The test Liu Dichun was to administer was extremely simple: he'd hold a small crystal ball by the child's dantian, have the child breath in deeply, and then watch the crystal for a reaction. After a dozen tries, Liu Dichun had never seen a reaction from that crystal.
Across from Liu Dichun stood his son of seven years, Liu Chenming. Liu Chenming, although still carefree, clearly gravitated towards the "scholarly" branch of his children. He learned to read quickly, and soon after he became engrossed in the history of the Liu Family, Xia Prefecture, and Willowbank Town. He was known as the one child curious—or boring—enough to ask the tax collectors who traveled through Willowbank about their jobs.
From an early age, Liu Chenming had felt his father's feelings of inadequacy compared to cultivators. While he certainly felt some awe and jealousy when he saw them from time to time, he felt the mundane world had enough to last a lifetime. His father felt he was naive.
Liu Dichun held the crystal to his son's stomach, instructed him to breathe in, and… it reacted. It reacted? Liu Dichun's eyes widened, then quickly narrowed as he scrutinized his son. Liu Chenming felt as if struck by a bolt; he had never expected or even hoped for a spiritual root. Now that he had one, what would become of his life?
"Ming'er…" Liu Dichun said, gripping his son's shoulder firmly as he looked at him with a conflicted expression, struggling to find the right words. Finally, he said seriously: "Don't ever take this for granted."
"Ming'er wouldn't dare," Liu Chenming said as he nodded his small head up and down profusely.
Liu Dichun gave his son's shoulder two pats. Finally coming to his senses he realized that a few years from now, he might be wasting away in an even nicer house.
….
Three months later.
Liu Chenming was the youngest of twelve living siblings. With his sisters married off and his brothers either in offices or brothels it was rare that the entire family gathered together. None of these siblings were full siblings. His mother was a concubine, a branch member of a local Qi Condensation family, who had died soon after childbirth. Still, his family mostly treated him well.
Today was a rare occasion that the entire family was gathered. Liu Chenming's grip was firmly locked onto his brother Liu Chenrui's tunic. His sister Liu Chenxiu tussled his hair. "You can't be so scared, Ming'er. You'll be fighting demons soon!"
"Chenxiu, stop teasing the boy!" her mother quickly scolded.
"If I had a spiritual root, I wouldn't be scared at all. It's a real waste on him!" Liu Chenlan, who was only two years older than Liu Chenming, added.
"Enough," declared Liu Dichun, causing the hall to fall silent. "The Immortal Master will be here soon. Don't make fools of yourselves in front of him."
Just as he spoke, everyone seemed to notice something and collectively held their breaths. Something was descending from the sky, cutting through the clouds as easily as a fish through water. It was a boat—a long, narrow craft of dark wood and pale jade, its prow curved like the beak of a crane. Runes crawled along its sides in thin lines of gold, brightening and dimming as if it was breathing.
The wind roared down with it. Roof tiles rattled and chimes played disorderly. The boat didn't fall all the way, it hovered about a foot above the ground. Inside it stood a figure in elegant crimson robes that were untouched by dust. A simple hairpin bound his hair, and he spoke calmly.
"Respectfully greeting the Immortal Master!" the family exclaimed in unison as they prostrated themselves.
"Heh, what 'master?' We're all of the same clan," the figure responded. "I am Liu Tianrui. I assume you are Chenming?" he said, looking at the young boy hidden behind his younger brother.
"Ming'er is here," the boy firmly said.
"Good temperament, good bearing!" the man noted, causing the Liu family members to let out a sigh of relief. "Ming'er will be coming with me today to go to Zhenyuan. He'll still be able to come down to visit from time to time. Ming'er, come."
For a moment, he didn't move. The words were gentle, even casual, but they carried a weight that made his legs feel like they belonged to someone else. His brother's hand settled on his shoulder. "It's time to go."
Chenming released his grip on Liu Chenrui's tunic. His brother crouched slightly, forcing a smile that looked almost painful.
"You're going to be an immortal," Chenrui whispered. "Don't… don't forget Willowbank."
"I won't," Chenming promised.
His sister Liu Chenxiu leaned down and flicked his forehead, the way she always did when he hesitated.
"Go on," she said, trying to sound teasing. "Go fight demons."
Her eyes were red.
"I- Immortal Master," the young Liu Chenlan suddenly blurted out, "can- can I come too? I can-"
Before she could finish, a pressure fell over the room. Liu Chenlan felt a deep gaze pass over her, measuring her, before disappearing.
Liu Chenlan's mouth snapped shut. Her face went pale. She lowered his head so fast it was almost a bow. "Don't be so greedy," the man said with a plain expression.
Liu Chenming finally stepped onto the boat, and it gently accelerated, passing over the manor. The courtyard was packed. Servants, guards, distant relatives, town officials—people who normally held their heads high—were lined up as if awaiting judgment.
Liu Chenming kept looking at the courtyard until it was out of sight. His last views were those of the masses bowing down.
….
The boat remained silent until the two were above the clouds. Finally, Tianrui spoke.
"How much do you know about Mount Zhenyuan?" he asked.
"I know it's where the immortals of our family live, that's all."
"Yes, Zhenyuan has little to do with the affairs of the mundane world. Other clans govern the surrounding areas but still must pay homage," Tianrui said with a proud expression. "When we first get to the mountain, we will formally test your spiritual root. After that, you will likely go to Far Lantern Peak for the next few years until you're given an assignment."
Chenming was dumbfounded. "Y-you're saying not all spiritual roots are the same?"
Tianrui laughed, clearly pleased by the knowledge asymmetry, and tried his best to act like a mysterious elder. "Of course not! The heavens are unfair! But while Heaven takes forty-nine, the Great Dao has fifty!"
Chenming was confused. "What does that mean?"
"You'll understand one day," said Tianrui as he gave Chenming a pat. "Most likely, you will go to Far Lantern Peak, which is where young descendants train until they completely awaken their spiritual sense."
"And what happens after that?"
"Usually, you'll either be sent to farm spirit caddies, oversee a spirit vein mine, or if you're lucky help make spiritual wine. If you have some skill, you might even be able to make talismans or refine artifacts!"
Chenming wasn't too interested in farming, but his eyes lit up when he heard about the talisman crafting and artifact refining. "What if I can't awaken my spiritual sense?"
Then you'll be an expendable body sent to reproduce and then die in a low level conflict, Tianrui thought to himself. "Just try your hardest!"
Chenming gave a resolute nod, and he spent the rest of the trip fantasizing about building incredible magic treasures.
The flying boat cut through the clouds for another hour.
At first, Mount Zhenyuan had looked like a single towering mass from Willowbank. But from above the cloud sea, it revealed its true form: a range of peaks, each one rising like a sword from the world, each one crowned in mist and light.
The air changed as they approached.
It grew thicker and cleaner. Even breathing felt different, as if his lungs were drinking something denser than wind. Chenming's scalp tingled. His heart beat harder for no reason. He swallowed and realized his mouth tasted faintly sweet.
Tianrui noticed his expression and chuckled.
"Spirit qi," he said, as if naming the obvious. "Don't get too excited. This is only the outer ring.
Only the outer ring… Chenming stared at the mountains ahead. If this was the outer ring, then what in Heaven was the inner?
They passed over valleys filled with terraced paddies that shimmered like mirrors, each flooded field threaded with faint formation-lines. Spirit grain swayed gently, bending toward invisible currents. Far below, tiny figures moved like ants. Mortals hauling baskets, low-level cultivators carrying talisman poles and driving spirit oxen.
A little further on, Chenming saw the mouth of a mine cut into a cliff face. Lanterns burned with pale blue fire at its entrance. Rows of workers moved in and out, backs bent under heavy loads. Above them, stone tablets carved with runes floated in midair.
The boat rose, and the peaks grew closer. Some were colossal, crowned with palaces and soaring bridges. Chenming caught glimpses of golden roofs, jade stairways, and towering statues half-hidden in fog.
Tianrui didn't spare a glance.
He guided the boat away from the grand peaks, steering instead toward the outermost ridge, where the air felt colder and the sunlight seemed dimmer. A cluster of smaller peaks jutted up like broken teeth.
On one of them stood a single tall tower, narrow and old, with lanterns hanging from its eaves despite the daylight. The lanterns were lit, their flames burned faintly orange and held firm against the wind. This was Far Lantern Peak. It didn't have quite the majestic feel as the others; it seemed more rustic.
As the flying boat hovered, Tianrui flicked his sleeve. A stair of light appeared again. "Walk," he said.
Chenming's feet felt stiff as he descended, but the moment he stepped onto the platform, the pressure of the mountain hit him fully. The world suddenly seemed heavier.
Around the platform were children. So many children. A sea of small figures in plain gray robes, standing in choreographed lines. Boys and girls, almost all between seven and nine. Some tried to stand proudly, chins lifted, eyes bright. Others trembled so hard Chenming could see their sleeves shaking.
Many had parents behind them at the edge of the platform—branch cultivators and mortal officials—faces showing mixtures of pride and terror. None of them dared speak above a whisper.
At the front, where the formation-lines converged, stood three figures on a raised dais. Two wore red robes, their expressions bored and cold.
The third was a young woman in white, hair tied with a silver ribbon. She held a jade tablet and spoke without raising her voice, yet every word rang across the platform clearly.
"Next."
A child stepped forward, and a servant placed a shallow bowl of clear water upon a stone stand. Above it hovered a crystal sphere. The child pressed their palm to the sphere. The water stirred once. Then went still. The jade tablet in the woman's hand flashed faintly. She didn't even look up. "Low-grade root, stand to the side."
The book looked somewhat disappointed, but he had somewhat expected this result and couldn't be too displeased. He obediently walked to the side with other children that had finished testing.
"Next."
Another child stepped forward, teeth clenched. She pressed her palm, and the water didn't even complete a full cycle. "False-roots. Stand to the side."
The child looked ashen, and her father watching from afar shook his head with a sigh. He knew that with false roots, it was highly unlikely that she would ever open her spiritual sense. Well, at least she has a root, so she'll have some value for marriage, he comforted himself.
Chenming watched as the Liu family children were tested one by one. Most had low-grade roots, some unfortunate ones had false roots, a few lucky ones had mid-grade roots, and one even had a high-grade root, which caused quite a stir.
"Next."
Finally, it was Chenming's turn to walk up to the podium. His heart tightened. Even though he'd never expected to have spiritual roots to begin with, the gazes he felt on him made him afraid to embarrass himself. The woman looked him over—not like a person, but like an item being evaluated, and instructed him to press his palm to the spear.
The crystal turned cold. And then the water moved. Once, twice, three times… eight times! The woman stared at him in shock, her gaze turning gentle as she announced: "Earth-grade root!"