Chapter 10: The Cultivation Test

The morning mist rolled down the craggy slopes of Broken Sky Mountain like silver ghosts. It was the day of the outer sect's annual cultivation test—a time when servants dared to dream of elevation, and outer disciples hoped to rise into the inner court.

And among them, dressed in torn gray robes still stained with dried blood, stood Ashen Wu.

He was silent as the other servants buzzed around him.

"You're actually going through with this?" a voice whispered from behind. It was Elder Jin's assistant, a frail boy named Bo Lin. "They say the test is harsher this year. They're watching for anyone with irregular qi…"

Ashen didn't respond. His eyes were on the stone steps ahead—where dozens of disciples were already climbing to the testing grounds above.

The platform awaited.

The Broken Sect's cultivation test was divided into three parts:

Root Resonance – A test to determine the innate affinity of one's spiritual root.

Qi Tempering – A test of how much qi one could absorb and circulate in a short time.

Technique Insight – A final challenge involving comprehension of a basic martial technique.

Pass all three, and you were eligible for outer disciple status—or promotion to the inner sect.

Fail even one?

You were discarded.

Ashen stood in line with the rest of the servants.

He received only scornful glances from the overseers.

"That one again?" muttered Elder Yao, squinting at Ashen's record tablet. "He has no recorded root. A null?"

Another laughed. "Must be a joke. Let the cripple waste his time."

Ashen stepped forward to the first testing altar—the Root Resonance Pillar.

A jade slab pulsed faintly with spiritual light, waiting to react to his qi signature.

He placed his palm on the stone.

Nothing happened.

A few snickers echoed through the crowd.

But then—

Crack.

A hairline fracture ran down the pillar. Then another. Then the entire slab shuddered.

It didn't glow. It didn't pulse. Instead, it dimmed, as though the spiritual essence inside had been sucked out.

The elders rose from their seats.

"What—what is this?" Elder Yao gasped.

Ashen removed his hand.

The Root Resonance Pillar crumbled into gray dust.

"I think I passed," he said.

The second test was Qi Tempering.

Disciples sat in a large formation and were given spirit-attracting incense to help circulate qi from the surrounding environment.

Each participant was ranked by the brightness of their spirit aura.

Most glowed blue. Some faint green. One or two flashed golden.

Ashen sat cross-legged, eyes shut.

For five minutes, nothing happened.

The incense flickered and died.

A few elders chuckled.

"Didn't even spark," one muttered.

Then Ashen exhaled.

And every other incense stick in the formation died instantly.

The other disciples jolted upright.

"What the—?!"

A low humming sound began to fill the air.

It wasn't qi radiating out.

It was qi being sucked in—toward him.

Leaves lifted from the ground. The light dimmed. Even the sacred qi reservoir beneath the mountain pulsed with unease.

Ashen opened his eyes.

They were black-red for an instant.

A black spiral spun above his head—brief, chaotic, and hungry.

Then it vanished.

Silence fell.

Elder Yao's hand trembled. "That's… not normal tempering."

Elder Lian spoke coldly. "It's not tempering at all. It's devouring."

The final test was the simplest: comprehension of the Flowing Leaf Fist, a basic movement art.

Ashen stepped into the center.

A projection of the art was displayed in the air—a flowing, elegant technique meant to channel qi through graceful strikes.

Most students needed ten minutes to memorize the core movement.

Ashen stood still for a breath.

Then moved once.

His fist twisted through the air—not copying the technique, but unraveling it.

The spiritual lines behind the movement cracked. The qi pattern shattered.

The elders leapt to their feet.

"That's not Flowing Leaf Fist!" one shouted. "He's corrupting it—!"

"No," Elder Lian whispered. "He's consuming the technique structure… turning it inside out…"

Ashen finished with a final strike—a simple palm that made the technique vanish completely from the projection stone.

He bowed slightly.

"Insight," he said, "comes in many forms."

By now, whispers spread across the mountain.

A servant with no root.

A technique that eats other techniques.

A presence that caused qi itself to flee.

After the test, Elder Lian approached Ashen in private.

"You're not a cripple," she said flatly. "You're something else."

Ashen gave a faint nod. "Does that mean I pass?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"You're a danger. That technique… the qi signature… it resembles something from the first era. Something sealed."

Ashen said nothing.

She sighed. "You passed. But don't think this mountain will protect you. If you're what I suspect… the heavens will not stay silent."

He turned away.

"Then let them speak," he said. "I'll devour their words too."

•

Failed on Purpose

Failed on Purpose

The aftermath of the cultivation test left murmurs echoing across Broken Sky Mountain.

No one could explain how a servant with no root shattered the resonance pillar, absorbed qi like a black hole, and twisted a foundational technique until it bled essence. Yet somehow, Ashen Wu had passed—barely. On paper, he was marked as "unorthodox, but sufficient."

But Ashen knew better.

He wasn't sufficient.

He was something the sect feared—but didn't understand.

And he intended to keep it that way.

"Your name's been added to the promotion roster," Bo Lin whispered that night, peeking over a tattered parchment as they huddled in the servant quarters. "You're in the final ten. If you do well tomorrow, you'll be granted a spirit robe and outer disciple status."

Ashen nodded slowly. His long hair was still damp from his night cultivation, and faint traces of blood lined his sleeves.

Bo Lin looked nervous.

"They're sending you to Elder Fang's hall for spiritual resonance alignment. It's a deeper test… the kind they give to inner sect disciples. Are you ready?"

Ashen smiled faintly.

"No."

Bo Lin blinked. "What?"

"I'm not going to pass."

The next morning, the trial chamber of Elder Fang was a solemn place—silent, candlelit, lined with arrays that buzzed with spiritual tension. Six robed elders sat in a half-moon around a single pedestal on which rested a crystalline orb carved from void quartz.

It was said to reflect not a cultivator's power—but their truth. Ambition. Intention. Potential. Danger.

The other nine candidates had already taken the test.

Some glowed blue with loyalty.

One flared with arrogant crimson—ambition, likely from a minor noble clan.

None sparked fear.

Ashen stepped into the circle.

His heartbeat slowed.

The elders watched.

"Place your palm on the orb," Elder Fang instructed, voice cold.

Ashen obeyed.

The orb pulsed faintly.

Black threads coiled inside it—then twitched.

Then… stopped.

The light flickered once, then dimmed.

Gray. Lifeless.

"A dull soul," muttered Elder Yao. "Low resonance. Perhaps the earlier results were a fluke."

"A servant with no root and no spiritual depth," said another. "We should return him to the kitchens."

Elder Fang watched Ashen carefully, unmoved.

"Do you contest the result?" she asked.

Ashen looked down at the orb.

Inside it, for the briefest of moments, he had seen something squirming.

A shadow of his old self. A sliver of the scripture—writhing like a serpent made of stars.

If he had truly pushed, it would have cracked the orb in half.

But he didn't.

He lowered his hand and stepped back.

"No," he said calmly. "I am what I am."

Later that day, Bo Lin found him alone beneath the withered incense trees behind the servant dorms.

"They marked you as low-resonance," the boy whispered. "Why? You could've passed."

Ashen stared at the sky.

"Because I don't need their approval. I need their blind spot."

Bo Lin frowned. "You want to stay weak on purpose?"

"No," Ashen said. "I want to look weak."

He stood and dusted off his robe.

"Every eye in this sect is watching the powerful. The ones with golden roots. Special bloodlines. Legacies. That's where they aim their knives."

He turned, shadows flickering in his eyes.

"But no one fears a dull spark in the dirt. And while they ignore me… I'll be feeding."

In the following week, Ashen's status was quietly adjusted.

He was permitted into the outer disciple ranks, but assigned the lowest tier of resources: no spirit pills, no personal mentor, no training cave.

He was offered a broken cave dwelling at the edge of the cliffside and a stack of moldy cultivation scrolls.

The others mocked him.

But he smiled.

In that broken cave, hidden behind a false wall, he had already carved a formation to shield his real cultivation. The devouring path didn't need pills or guidance.

It needed victims.

By nightfall, the Null Root pulsed.

Ashen sat cross-legged, the air around him flickering with crimson motes.

From the sack beside him, he drew a tiny core—taken from a minor beast slain in the Silent Forest. It shimmered faintly.

He placed it before him, closed his eyes, and breathed in.

The qi did not enter his meridians—it was dragged into the spiral inside him.

Screams echoed in the corners of his mind—not from outside, but from the qi itself.

It didn't want to be consumed.

It had no choice.

Back in the Pinnacle Sky Temple, far above the mortal realm, a bell chimed once.

A warden in white robes stirred.

"Heaven's pulse flickered again," said one. "Something unnatural. The second time this season."

Xuan Yama—Sovereign of the Divine Chains—opened his eyes.

He saw nothing. But he felt it.

Like something was nibbling at the edges of the world's script.

"Find the source," he said calmly. "Before it grows teeth."

*

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Author's Note:

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Next up:

The Red-Eyed Elder – A mysterious elder begins to take notice of Ashen's strange qi… and he may not be as blind as the others.