Chapter 11 – Dirt Beneath the Jade Steps

The gate creaked open just wide enough for Wei Lian to slip through.

The stone behind him sealed shut without a word.

He stood at the edge of the Xuandao Sect.

Not within its core grounds — not yet — but in the outer disciple quarters, where hundreds of hopefuls clawed for the chance to survive another year.

What he saw first was not awe-inspiring palaces or divine temples.

It was stairs.

Stairs leading up a long, sloped path lined with dull gray towers and crude cultivation halls. Dozens of disciples walked past, most in uniform brown robes, their faces proud or wary. Some carried blades. Others carried scrolls. All of them had Qi.

He felt it.

Even without sensing it through cultivation, he felt it—like standing in a field charged by lightning. And he stood in the middle of it like a dried leaf.

A figure approached.

A middle-aged man with sharp eyes and a long scroll tucked under one arm.

"Name?"

"Wei Lian."

"Sect status?"

"Outer disciple. Passed the Ash Steps trial."

The man grunted, dipped a brush in ink, and marked his name.

"Dormitory C-19. Your robes and bedding will be issued there. You'll attend morning breathing lessons at the Copper Hall. Work assignments are posted at dawn."

"Work assignments?" Lian asked.

The man gave him a look.

"You think you get to sit and cultivate? You've got no root, no Qi. You're here because someone let you through. Earn your keep or get thrown out."

Lian didn't flinch.

He took the wooden token handed to him and walked toward the lower rows of stone dwellings.

Dormitory C-19 was a cracked, narrow chamber in the farthest corner of the outer grounds. Mold darkened the walls. The straw mat smelled of mildew. There was no window.

But it was his.

Wei Lian sat cross-legged in the center and closed his eyes.

He was exhausted.

But not broken.

He held the Qi stone in both hands.

No pulses came. No warmth. Nothing.

But that didn't matter.

He had passed the gate.

Now came the climb.

Outside, laughter echoed.

A group of outer disciples passed the dorms — half a dozen young men and women, all wearing clean robes and sparring with thin, well-balanced swords.

"Did you hear? Someone passed the Ash Steps without Qi."

"I thought that was a joke."

"No root, no technique, no clan. And they let him in."

"Probably won't last a week."

Their voices faded.

Lian didn't move.

He let their words hang in the air like blades — and stored each one away.

Not as pain.

But as fuel.

The next morning began with a bell.

Lian woke before dawn and walked the dusty road to Copper Hall — a long, low building where dozens of outer disciples sat in rows, breathing in silence. A wiry elder sat at the front, cross-legged on a stone platform.

"Breathe as the world breathes," he said. "In stillness, there is movement. In silence, power grows."

Lian tried.

He mimicked the breathing. Matched the rhythm. But nothing came.

The others glowed faintly — light traces of Qi flickering at their fingertips or gathering near their cores.

Lian had only breath.

And silence.

By midday, his assignment was posted.

Waste hauling.

He was handed a shovel and a cart and sent to clear the latrine trenches by the southern cliffs.

The stench was unbearable.

The shame worse.

But he said nothing.

He worked until his hands bled and his robe clung to his skin with filth.

The other disciples avoided him like plague.

And yet, when the sun set and the sky burned orange, Wei Lian returned to his moldy room, washed with freezing water, sat on the stone floor—

And picked up the Qi stone again.

Come, he whispered. Or don't.

But I'm not stopping.