Silas_Graves

In a world where power is everything and cultivation defines your worth, Shen Wei has none. No spiritual roots. No talent. No chance.

Imprisoned and forgotten, he stumbles upon a hidden path—one that doesn’t demand qi, bloodlines, or divine artifacts. Instead, it demands the unthinkable:

Let go.

Let go of ambition. Let go of fear. Let go of everything.

As others climb through realms chasing immortality, Shen Wei begins a different journey—one inward, absurd, and quietly profound.

Because sometimes… the only way to transcend is to cultivate nothing at all.

Cultivating Nothing

Chapter Ten: A Name Like a Knife

"Letting go is easy when no one calls your name. Harder when they scream it."— Shen Wei

It began with a shadow at the gates.

Not a metaphorical one — a real one. Tall, robed, and carried by wind that shouldn't have reached this far into the gorge. The guards stiffened as he passed. The prisoners stepped back like water parting around a blade.

He wore the crest of the North Wound Sect.

They brought him to the Warden's Hall.They brought me in chains — not because I needed them, but because ceremony demanded control.

Zhao Gu stood at a distance, his mouth half-open, one hand pressed against a wall like he might melt into it if things got ugly.

His name was Wu Kuan.

An Inquisitor. A hunter of defectors.

And once — just once — a man I called brother.

Before I left. Before I shed that life like a skin that no longer fit.

"You've changed," Wu Kuan said, studying me like I was a ghost pretending to be real.

His robes were brighter now. His spirit flared in ripples beneath his skin — held back, but barely. He was proud of it. Power was the only language he ever studied.

"I heard rumors," he said. "They said you walked a path of negation. That you stripped away every weight. That you became…" He grimaced. "Nothing."

The warden watched us like a man sitting between two wild beasts and unsure which one was tame.

"You were one of us. And now you think that makes you something more?"

"No," I said quietly. "It makes me less."

He paused. "Then why are they listening to you? Why does your name echo in sect halls while I'm still earning mine with blood?"

"They listen because I stopped shouting."

He slammed his hand on the table, and the wood split.

"I challenge you," he said, "by sect law. You abandoned us. You disgraced our lineage. I invoke the right of Retribution."

The silence. The tension. The sharp breath of the guard to my left. The invisible circle forming around us.

They wanted to see Shen Wei again.

To watch me rise, fists clenched, aura flaring, blades of energy spiraling in the sky like in the stories.

The word dropped like a boulder in a still pond.

He drew his blade. The room tightened. The guards reached for theirs.

And looked not at him — but through him.

"I have no self to defend. No honor to reclaim. No score to settle."

"I could strike you down right now," he hissed.

"You could," I agreed. "But you'd be fighting a shadow."

Because some part of him knew: I wasn't resisting him.

I wasn't even there in the way he needed me to be.

I was a mirror, and he saw himself — not an opponent.

He left that evening, sword sheathed, pride cracked.

I watched him vanish into the same wind he rode in on.

Zhao Gu sat beside me as dusk settled like ash.

"So that's what 'cultivating nothing' looks like," he muttered.

"No fireballs. No duels. Just a man letting go."

"I gotta say," he added, "your path is boring as hell. But I've never seen a cultivator walk away from a fight and win harder."

Just… stillness.