Chapter 2: Slave of the Broken Sect

The Hollow Cloud Sect was once a name that soared across the nine provinces—its banners high, its disciples proud, its elders feared. Now, it was a husk of its past glory.

And Ashen Wu—now in the body of Wu Shen—was at the bottom of that hollow husk.

A slave.

Dawn hadn't yet broken, but the servant quarters were already stirring with activity. Groans, clanging buckets, coughs from those who hadn't eaten in days. Wu Shen—Ashen Wu's new skin—was given the lowest rank of all. He had no official number. He wasn't even called by name.

Just "Boy."

Just "Dog."

A slap to the back of the head greeted him the moment he stepped out of the hut.

"Get moving, filth."

He didn't turn to look. He knew the voice.

Senior Brother Lei, outer sect disciple, one of the many who used his minimal authority to make servants suffer. He wasn't strong by any means—barely at the second stage of Qi Refinement—but power was relative. In a world where a kick could break a starving bone, Lei was king.

Ashen Wu bit down his rage and walked forward.

That was the game.

For now.

Buckets sloshed against his sides as he made his way to the latrine pits. He carried excrement from the disciple quarters down winding, frost-covered paths. His shoes were soaked through. His breath fogged the morning air. His fingers, cracked and swollen, struggled to grip the handles.

Other servants avoided him.

Even in this broken life, Wu Shen had been marked as the lowest of the low.

Too weak to cultivate. No spirit root. No talent. No father in the sect. Just a name that clung to shame.

One servant, a girl no older than ten, glanced at him with pity as he passed.

He looked away.

He'd seen too many eyes like that.

By mid-morning, he'd scrubbed chamber pots, shoveled dung, washed outer disciple robes in frozen river water, and been slapped twice—once for not bowing fast enough, the other for simply being in someone's way.

All the while, the hunger burned inside him.

It wasn't food he craved, though his stomach was hollow.

It was essence. The whisper of that broken pill still echoed in his veins. The Heaven-Eating Scripture was alive again. But without spirit energy to consume, it starved with him.

Patience.

He had waited lifetimes before. He could wait again.

Ashen Wu's opportunity came that evening, just as the bells rang for dusk chores.

He was summoned to clean the meditation room of Outer Disciple Ji Fei.

Ji Fei was no ordinary outer disciple. He was the nephew of Elder Ji San, one of the few still holding sway in the inner sect. That made Ji Fei dangerous—not because of his power, but because of his impunity.

The meditation room was built into the side of a cliff, isolated, overlooking a sea of gray mist that once was sacred cloudwater. Now it was just fog.

When Ashen arrived, Ji Fei didn't greet him.

He sat cross-legged, shirtless, energy flowing faintly through his meridians.

Ashen felt it immediately. The air was thick with residual fire-attribute qi. Someone had just consumed a low-grade Fire Root Elixir. Ashen's eyes flicked to the side table. The pill bottle was there, cracked open.

He left essence traces behind.

Ji Fei yawned and stood. "Clean it. And if I find even a speck of ash tomorrow, I'll break your hands."

Ashen bowed. "Yes, Senior Brother."

He waited until Ji Fei was gone.

The meditation chamber was silent. Warm. Still humming faintly with power.

Ashen moved like a ghost. He didn't wipe. He didn't sweep.

He breathed.

Drawing in the air. Sensing the lingering threads of fire-qi left behind from the elixir. Traces too faint for any true cultivator to care about—mere residue.

But to a starving beast, even crumbs were a feast.

He sat on the floor, cross-legged, and whispered a phrase he hadn't spoken in this lifetime.

"Formless hunger, swallow the flame."

A glyph lit in his mind's eye. The first pattern of the Heaven-Eating Scripture—the Serpent's Maw.

The warmth in the room bent slightly. The ambient fire qi spiraled toward his chest.

Ashen trembled as it entered him.

Pain.

His meridians screamed. His bones creaked. His blood boiled.

But the null root inside him—a rootless space where power should never grow—twitched.

And devoured.

The ambient qi melted into it like water down a drain.

For a second, Ashen Wu felt the world change.

The hunger dimmed. The pain faded.

And in its place—something grew.

A spark. The beginning of something impossible.

"…I consumed fire," he whispered, astonished. "Without a root."

He stood shakily. His body was still weak, but his blood ran hot. His skin felt alive for the first time in years.

He had done what every elder, every cultivation text, every teacher in the Hollow Cloud Sect said was impossible.

A boy with no root had absorbed elemental essence.

The Heaven-Eating Scripture… was truly active.

But it came with a cost.

From outside the meditation room, he heard footsteps.

Then a voice.

"You were in there longer than I told you."

Ji Fei stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed.

Ashen bowed low. "The ashes took longer to sweep, Senior Brother. I didn't mean to delay."

Ji Fei sniffed.

Then his face twisted in disgust. "You smell like burnt qi. Were you trying to steal from the room's essence?"

Ashen froze.

"No, Senior Brother. I wouldn't dare—"

A fist slammed into his stomach.

He hit the floor hard, coughing blood.

Ji Fei snarled. "I should have you whipped for this. Spirit thieves get their tongues cut out."

Ashen wiped the blood from his mouth, fighting to stay calm.

"Forgive me. I—"

Ji Fei's boot came down, but this time Ashen rolled aside, too fast for a starving boy.

Ji Fei blinked. "You—"

He didn't expect resistance.

Ashen stood, swaying, one hand on his gut. "I was cleaning. That's all. If I disrespected your cultivation, you may report me to the Disciplinary Hall."

Ji Fei's jaw clenched.

But he didn't move.

Because he saw something strange in Ashen's eyes.

A glint. Not of fear.

But of promise.

A silent warning.

Ji Fei spat on the floor. "Touch anything of mine again, and I'll burn you alive."

He stormed off.

Ashen waited until the steps faded before collapsing to his knees.

His hands trembled.

He wasn't strong yet.

But tonight proved one thing beyond doubt.

He didn't need a root.

He had the Scripture.

And it would let him devour the heavens again.