Chapter 12 – Like Worms in the Dirt
A week passed.
Wei Lian hauled waste by day, trained in solitude by night, and slept less than four hours at a time. His hands were raw. His back burned. His Qi stone remained cold.
Others mocked him in whispers.
Some stopped whispering.
On the eighth day, he was emptying buckets into the trench when three outer disciples cornered him behind the Copper Hall.
"You're the cripple, right?" one of them said — tall, lean, his sect robes modified with a crimson sash. The other two flanked him, thick-armed and grinning.
"Didn't your mother teach you how to bow?" the leader sneered.
Wei Lian didn't look up. He shoveled waste into the pit.
"She taught me not to bow to worms."
A fist struck his side.
Hard.
He dropped to one knee, gasping, vision flashing white.
"Big mouth for someone with no Qi."
"What's he even doing here?" one of the others asked. "No clan. No root. They should've fed him to the beasts."
Another kick landed.
Then another.
Wei Lian didn't beg.
Didn't cry.
He waited.
When the last blow came — a punch to the face that split his lip — he stayed on the ground, letting the pain settle like old dust.
Then he rose.
Slowly.
Spitting blood.
"That all?" he asked.
The lead disciple scowled. "You want more?"
"No," Wei Lian said. "I want you to do it again. Tomorrow. The day after. Every day."
They blinked.
"What?"
"Because I'll remember every strike. Every word. And when the day comes…"
He smiled, teeth red.
"…you'll beg me to forget."
They didn't return the next day.
But he trained harder.
Used the shovel like a staff. Practiced breathing until his ribs screamed. Meditated beside the waste pits, drawing in the stench and silence.
If the world only respects strength,
then I'll crawl through filth to reach it.
On the twelfth night, alone in his room, Wei Lian lit a candle and sat with the Qi stone again.
He placed both hands over it.
Closed his eyes.
Slowed his breath.
Let the pain come.
Let the world vanish.
Then—faint.
So faint he almost didn't believe it.
A flicker.
Not from the stone — from within.
Like a spark in dry grass.
He focused on it, chasing the shape of it, feeding it breath, will, memory.
And it answered.
Qi…
A sudden heat surged through his chest.
Wei Lian gasped.
His back arched.
The stone shattered.
His vision blurred—
And then a voice spoke, soft and sorrowful.
"Lian… if you're hearing this… then you've survived longer than they ever thought possible."
It was his mother's voice.
But she was nowhere in the room.
Just memory.
Just truth, sealed deep inside his blood.
"You were born without a spirit root not by accident… but because of what your father feared."
"He sealed your potential. Buried it. You carry a flaw woven into your soul — a flaw that can become strength."
"I could not remove it. But I left you a path."
"The technique I give you now… is forbidden. It steals pain, suffering, and turns it into power."
"Use it. Survive."
A rush of knowledge burned into his mind — not words, but sensation. A breathing method unlike anything taught in the sect. A way to devour pain.
Then silence.
Wei Lian opened his eyes.
The air around him rippled faintly.
A strand of Qi danced at his fingertips.
Small.
Weak.
Real.
First Layer — Qi Refinement.
He exhaled.
Smiled.
And bled again — this time, from joy.