The Outcast

The morning sun bathed the courtyard of the Veiled Sky Sect in golden light, its warmth doing little to dispel the crisp bite of the mountain air. A faint mist still clung to the stone pathways, swirling gently as disciples moved through it, their hushed voices weaving into the morning breeze. but for Jin Jianyu, it might as well have been a storm cloud hanging over his head. As disciples gathered in groups, murmuring excitedly about their upcoming lessons, he stood alone at the edge of the training grounds, an unwelcome shadow in a world of brilliance.

He was used to it by now. The looks, the whispers, the laughter. Every day was the same.

"Why does he even bother coming?" someone muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

"Still can't refine Qi. Fourteen years and still nothing," another voice scoffed.

Jin Jianyu clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The distant clang of weapons and the rhythmic hum of synchronized breathing from the training disciples grated against his ears. He had long since stopped reacting, but that didn't mean he had stopped feeling.

What is the point?

He had no talent, no allies except Shen Mu, and no way to change his fate. The sect would never accept him, and no matter how much or hard he tried day after day, he could never sense Qi. But still, some part of him refused to let go of the tiny ember of defiance buried deep inside.

The first few years, he had fought back, argued, tried to prove he was worth something. That only made things worse. The more he resisted, the crueler the bullying became—his meager possessions stolen, his training sabotaged, even the elders turning a blind eye.

Eventually, he learned. If he acted like he didn't care, they would lose interest faster. Now, he simply endured. It was easier that way.

A sharp clang rang through the air as the elders of the Veiled Sky Sect arrived. The disciples quickly straightened up, falling into disciplined lines. Jin Jianyu, however, remained where he was, at the very back, unseen and forgotten.

"Morning practice begins now!" Elder Huang's voice boomed.

The disciples began their drills, their movements precise, synchronized. Jin Jianyu watched, his heart aching with a longing he dared not voice. He had tried, countless times, to sense Qi, to draw it into his body like the others did. Nothing. Not a spark, not a whisper of energy. Just silence.

It wasn't fair.

A hand clapped onto his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Spacing out again?" a familiar voice said. It was warm, teasing, yet carried the weight of someone who had lived too long with disappointment.

Jin Jianyu turned and saw the only person in the sect who didn't treat him like a plague.

His benefactor.

Shen Mu was a man in his late thirties, his robes more worn than most, his posture always carrying a slight slouch, as if the weight of years had settled into his bones. He had a habit of absently rubbing his temple with two fingers when deep in thought, a quirk Jin Jianyu had come to recognize. His expression was rarely serious, usually set in a knowing smirk or a look of lazy amusement. He had none of the arrogance of the sect's elite disciples, none of the cold indifference of the elders. There was a quiet patience about him, the kind that made people underestimate him. A mistake Jin Jianyu had learned not to make.

"I wasn't spacing out," Jin Jianyu mumbled.

Shen Mu raised an eyebrow. "Right. You were standing there, eyes vacant, mouth slightly open, looking like someone just told you cultivation is a scam."

Jin Jianyu sighed. "What do you want, Shen Mu?"

"I want you to stop looking like a kicked dog," Shen Mu said bluntly. "Come on. Breakfast."

Jin Jianyu hesitated. "I don't have any money." He had relied on Shen Mu more times than he could count—small meals slipped his way when he was too bruised to move, an extra blanket during the harsh winters, quiet words of encouragement when the weight of the sect's disdain became too much. It wasn't just about food. It was about not feeling completely alone.

Shen Mu waved him off. "Since when have I ever charged you? You're probably the only one in the Veiled Sky Sect who still thinks this place will get better. Besides, I need an excuse to leave before Elder Huang notices I haven't done morning drills in weeks."

Jin Jianyu cracked the smallest of smiles. It was true. Shen Mu had a tendency to avoid anything that required discipline. Some whispered that he was a failed elder candidate, others claimed he had once been a great genius who had given up. Whatever the case, he was the only one in the sect who treated Jin Jianyu as a person.

As they walked away from the training grounds, Jin Jianyu could feel the eyes on his back, the silent judgments. But for once, with Shen Mu beside him, he found that he didn't care.

They made their way through the winding stone paths of the sect, where the scent of incense and freshly cut pine mixed with the damp earth beneath their feet. Towering pavilions loomed above them, their tiled roofs gleaming under the morning sun, while meditation courtyards echoed with the murmurs of disciples deep in trance. The sound of sparring disciples echoed from a nearby training hall, the clash of wooden swords against dummies a constant reminder of the world Jin Jianyu couldn't be part of. He tried not to let it bother him.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like?" Jin Jianyu asked suddenly.

Shen Mu glanced at him. "What what would be like?"

"If I could cultivate. If I wasn't...like this."

Shen Mu sighed, rubbing his temple. "Every day. But wishing for something doesn't change reality. What matters is how you deal with it."

Jin Jianyu looked down. He had heard those words before, but they never made the truth any easier to bear.

If strength was about how you dealt with reality, then what did it say about me? Did I just accept my fate? Have I just given up?

The thought made his chest tighten, a frustration he couldn't quite name settling in his bones.

They reached the small teahouse just outside the training grounds, a squat wooden structure with faded banners fluttering at its entrance. The air was thick with the rich aroma of roasting tea leaves and sizzling dumplings, the warmth spilling out like a welcoming embrace against the cold mountain breeze. Unlike the grand halls where the sect's elite dined, this place was quieter, filled with the scent of brewing tea and sizzling dumplings. The owner, an elderly woman with sharp eyes, nodded at Shen Mu as they entered.

"Your usual?" she asked.

"And a little extra today," Shen Mu said, nudging Jin Jianyu toward a table. "The kid looks like he needs it."

Jin Jianyu slid into a seat, his body sore from the usual mistreatment. He rarely ate here, preferring to avoid places where he might attract more attention. But with Shen Mu, the judgmental gazes of others felt distant, almost unimportant.

A moment later, a steaming plate of dumplings arrived, their thin dough glistening with oil, the scent of garlic and chives teasing his senses. The tea, an earthy blend, curled fragrant tendrils of steam into the air, momentarily masking the lingering chill of his surroundings. Jin Jianyu hesitated before taking a bite, the warmth of the food settling into his stomach like a rare comfort.

Shen Mu watched him for a moment before speaking. "You're not weak, you know."

Jin Jianyu nearly choked on his tea. He wiped his mouth and frowned. "Did you hit your head?"

Shen Mu smirked. "I mean it. Strength isn't just about refining Qi. You've survived this sect despite everything thrown at you. That takes strength."

Jin Jianyu wanted to believe him. But deep down, he knew that if he truly had strength, he wouldn't still be in this position. He wouldn't be struggling just to exist in a place that didn't want him.

Before he could respond, a commotion outside sliced through the cozy din of the teahouse. The voices were sharp, anxious, clashing against the usual quiet hum of morning routines. Jin Jianyu's grip on his cup tightened, the ceramic suddenly cool and clammy against his fingers.

Something about them felt different from the usual bickering of sect disciples. A flicker of unease curled in his stomach, a familiar warning that told him something was about to change—whether he wanted it to or not.

Voices raised higher as footsteps rushed past; something was happening near the sect's outer gate.

Shen Mu frowned, setting down his cup. "Stay here."

Jin Jianyu had no intention of listening. He pushed back his chair and followed, the unease in his gut growing with every step.