At the foot of Heavenly Tiger Sect, the mountains loosened their grip.
The towering peaks retreated, and the land sank into broad slopes of rock and soil. Hundreds of mortal villages clung to the lower reaches like parasites attached to a giant beast.
These mortal settlements were not homes, not in the truest sense. They were resources, a vast human farm cultivated for the sect's needs.
Organizations ruled not just by strength but also by management. From these mortal villages, children with talent were plucked like ripened fruit and brought into the sect as outer disciples. While the rest were condemned to a lifetime of servitude.
They shoveled waste and cleaned latrines, mined raw materials, crafted mortal weapons. They scrubbed the grand halls until their knees cracked. These mortals carried the burdens of the world that cultivators would never stoop to touch. Because of this, sects tolerated their existence like one tolerated weeds that fed livestock.
