The morning mist in the Cloud-Mist Sect didn't feel like a blessing from the heavens; it felt like a wet shroud. It clung to the grey stone walls of the lower servant quarters, turning the floor into a slippery trap for anyone wearing worn-out straw sandals.
Long Chen didn't have time to admire the jagged peaks piercing the clouds above. His world was exactly three feet wide: the diameter of the splintered wooden wash-tub in front of him.
He had been awake since the fourth watch, hours before the sun even dared to touch the mountains. His hands were numb, the skin on his knuckles cracked and bleeding from the harsh lye soap and the freezing mountain water. Beside him, dozens of other servants worked in a rhythmic, soul-crushing silence.
Scrub. Rinse. Wring. Repeat.
To the Inner Sect disciples who lived in the golden pavilions above, Long Chen was simply "Dust." He was a piece of the landscape that cleaned their silk and hauled their waste. They didn't see the way his shoulders were growing broader from the daily labor, or the way his eyes—deep and dark—tracked every movement of the "Geniuses" who occasionally walked past.
Thump.
Long Chen froze, his breath hitching. His heart gave a heavy, dull kick against his ribs. It wasn't the fast, fluttery beat of a tired man; it was a deep, resonant pulse that made the water in his tub shiver in perfect, concentric circles.
"Hey, Dust! Stop daydreaming or I'll report you to the Steward!"
A servant boy next to him, a scrawny kid named Xiao, hissed the warning without looking up from his own tub. "Old Man Meng is in a foul mood today. He's looking for someone to lash."
Long Chen forced his hands back into the icy water, the sting of the soap biting into his open cuts. "I'm fine, Xiao. Just a dizzy spell."
"It's the hunger," Xiao whispered, his voice cracking. "The kitchens cut our rations again. They say the Qi-gathering pills for the 'true' disciples are getting more expensive, so we have to eat less to pay for them."
Long Chen didn't answer. He couldn't tell Xiao that his hunger wasn't for bread. His body felt like a parched desert, and for the first time in his seventeen years, he could feel "moisture" nearby. It wasn't water. It was the faint, drifting energy in the air—the Qi. Every time a disciple walked by, Long Chen felt a pull in his chest, like a magnet trying to grab a hidden needle.
Thump.
The pulse was getting stronger, a drumbeat in his marrow.
"Move aside, trash!"
A group of three disciples, led by a boy named Liu, swaggered through the servant courtyard. They were only Level 1 Qi Sensing—the lowest rank of the sect—but here, they were kings. Liu was wearing a new set of robes, the silk dyed the color of a summer sky.
As Liu passed Long Chen's tub, he intentionally kicked a bucket of dirty suds. The grey, foul-smelling water splashed across Long Chen's face and soaked through his thin, ragged shirt.
The other servants immediately bowed their heads, their bodies trembling.
Long Chen didn't move. He wiped the dirty water from his eyes with a wet sleeve. His heart gave a violent, angry beat. In that moment, the world didn't feel "magical." It felt logical.
He looked at Liu's feet. He noticed the way Liu's left heel dragged slightly. He noticed the way Liu's breath hitched because his Qi was poorly circulated through his meridians. To Long Chen, the "Genius" didn't look strong. He looked... broken. Full of holes.
"What are you staring at, Dust?" Liu stopped, his eyes narrowing. "Do you want me to gouge those eyes out of your skull?"
"No, Senior Brother," Long Chen said, his voice flat and low. He lowered his head, but he didn't feel the usual shame. He felt a strange, cold clarity.
"Good. Because a dog should know its place," Liu laughed, reaching out to pat Long Chen's head in a mocking, demeaning gesture.
But as Liu's hand moved closer, something happened in Long Chen's pocket. A small, rusted piece of iron—a broken key he had found in the mountains months ago—grew searingly hot.
THUMP.
Long Chen's heart beat so hard he felt it in his teeth.
A sudden, sharp vibration traveled from his pocket, through his hip, and straight into his arm. Without thinking, Long Chen's hand shot out. He didn't punch. He didn't use a technique. He simply grabbed Liu's wrist.
The moment their skin touched, the world went silent.
Liu's arrogant smile vanished. His face turned paper-white. He felt as if he had just touched a piece of deep-sea ice that was trying to suck the warmth out of his marrow. He tried to pull away, but Long Chen's grip was like an iron vice.
"Let... let go," Liu stammered, his Level 1 Qi suddenly flickering and dying out like a candle in a gale.
Long Chen looked up. His eyes weren't silver yet, but the brown was so dark it looked like a bottomless void. "Senior Brother should be careful," he said, his voice a calm, terrifying whisper. "The floor is very slippery today. People fall easily."
He let go.
Liu stumbled back, his arm numb and useless at his side. He looked at Long Chen with a mixture of confusion and sudden, primal fear. He didn't understand what had happened, but for a split second, he had felt like he was standing in front of something much larger than a man.
"You... you'll pay for that!" Liu shouted, though he didn't dare step closer. He turned and hurried away, his walk now uneven and shaky.
Long Chen stood by the tub. His hand was trembling, but not from fear. It was from the Energy. A tiny, microscopic sliver of Liu's Qi had been pulled into Long Chen's body during that brief contact. It was currently racing through his veins, burning away the cold of the wash-water.
A small, white head popped out from behind a stack of laundry baskets. Koda, the ferret, climbed onto the rim of the tub and let out a soft, inquisitive chirp.
"I know, Koda," Long Chen whispered, staring at his palms. "I felt it too."
The air around him suddenly felt different. He wasn't just a servant anymore. He was a vessel that had finally found its first drop of water.