In the early morning, a pale mist drifted above the river like a thin white veil, wrapping the quiet village in a calm and gentle beauty. The cries of birds echoed from the treetops, clear and soft in the cold dawn air. Li Tian had long grown used to such mornings. Before the rooster's crow even sounded across the village, his eyes had already opened.
He rose from his bed quietly so he would not disturb his parents. Outside, the first light of dawn was beginning to spread across the earth. The small houses of the village stood peacefully beneath the fading darkness, and thin streams of smoke slowly rose from a few chimneys as families prepared for the day ahead.
Soon, the rooster cried.
One by one, the villagers stepped out of their homes. Farmers carried hoes, baskets, and wooden tools toward their fields. Some headed to check their crops, while others led oxen along the dirt paths. The women busied themselves in their kitchens, preparing warm meals before the day's labor began. It was an ordinary morning, simple and unremarkable, yet to Li Tian, it had always felt warm.
He quickly washed his face, then went to help his mother. She was already in the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up as she prepared breakfast. A clay pot simmered over the fire, and the smell of porridge filled the room.
"Good, you're awake," his mother said with a gentle smile. "Bring some water from the well."
Li Tian nodded and took the wooden bucket outside. The morning air was cold against his skin, but it made him feel awake and clear-headed. After drawing water from the well, he carried it back carefully. Then he brought in fresh vegetables his father had harvested the day before. Though he was still young, he had long been used to helping with such chores.
His father was already outside in the yard, crouched beside a pile of farming tools. He was repairing the handle of a wooden hoe, his rough hands moving steadily and patiently. Li Tian's father was not a cultivator, nor did he possess any extraordinary strength, but in Li Tian's eyes, he had always seemed dependable, like a mountain that would not fall.
After helping his mother place the vegetables in the kitchen, Li Tian stepped outside and stood near his father for a while in silence.
His father noticed the boy's unusually quiet expression and glanced at him. "Still thinking about yesterday?"
Li Tian lowered his eyes.
Yesterday, the spiritual root test had been held for the children of the village. Like every child his age, he had stood there with hope hidden in his heart. He had imagined, even if only for a moment, that perhaps he would be chosen by fate. Perhaps he would possess strong spiritual roots and one day enter the world of cultivation.
But reality had been cruel.
His roots had been judged weak.
So weak that even the man overseeing the test had barely looked at him twice.
Ever since then, a heavy feeling had remained in his chest.
After a moment, Li Tian finally asked in a low voice, "Father… if my spiritual roots are weak, does that mean I am not worthy of becoming a cultivator?"
His father stopped what he was doing.
For a few breaths, he said nothing. Then he placed the tool aside and looked at Li Tian with calm, steady eyes.
"Strength is not found only in spiritual roots," he said. "Even ordinary men must learn discipline, patience, and courage. A weak beginning does not decide the end of a person's path."
Li Tian listened quietly, but the sadness in his heart did not disappear so easily.
At that moment, his mother came out carrying a small bowl. She had clearly overheard the conversation. Her gaze softened as she looked at her son.
"Do not worry too much about the test," she said gently. "Everyone walks a different path. Some paths reveal themselves early, and some only appear later."
Li Tian looked at her. "But what if my path never appears?"
His mother smiled faintly and placed a hand on his head. "Then you will find it with your own hands."
Her voice was soft, but it carried warmth that quietly settled into his heart.
For a moment, the heaviness inside him eased.
After breakfast, Li Tian went to the center of the village to deliver a small basket of vegetables for his mother. Near the old tree by the well, several villagers had already gathered together, speaking in excited voices. Li Tian slowed his steps when he heard the word cultivator.
An older villager was saying, "A traveler passed by the road yesterday evening. He said he saw cultivators flying on swords near the eastern mountains."
Another man snorted in disbelief, though his eyes still shone with curiosity. "Flying on swords? That sounds like a story told to frighten children."
"It is not only that," a third villager added. "They say powerful cultivators can split stone with one palm, summon fire from thin air, and kill spirit beasts larger than houses."
The crowd grew louder.
"I also heard there is a sect beyond those mountains."
"Yes, a true sect. One that accepts disciples."
"But they only choose those with talent."
"Strong spiritual roots," someone said with certainty. "Without them, you cannot even enter the gate."
Li Tian stood quietly at the edge of the gathering, his fingers tightening around the basket. His heart stirred at the mention of sects and cultivators. Since he was small, he had heard stories of immortals, sword riders, and mountain sects hidden among the clouds. To children of the village, such tales felt distant and unreal, like legends from another world.
Yet now, hearing the adults speak so seriously, that distant world seemed a little closer.
But so did the pain of yesterday's result.
Only those with strong spiritual roots.
Li Tian lowered his gaze and walked away.
He followed the narrow path leading to the river, the voices of the villagers fading behind him. The morning sun had risen higher now, and the mist above the water had mostly vanished. The river flowed as it always did, calm on the surface, alive with movement beneath.
He stood by the bank and stared at his reflection in the water. The ripples broke his face apart again and again.
"Why?" he muttered softly.
He did not know whether he was asking the river, the heavens, or himself.
He had never dreamed of becoming some grand hero of legend. But in a world where strength determined everything, being born with weak roots felt like being rejected before he had even taken a single step.
Li Tian crouched down and picked up a stone from the ground.
"If I have weak roots," he whispered, "then what do I have?"
The river gave no answer.
After a while, he exhaled slowly. Throwing stones had always calmed him. Ever since he was a child, he had spent countless hours by this river, practicing with smooth pebbles against drifting leaves, splashing fish, and hanging branches.
He picked three stones from the ground and weighed them in his palm.
A fish moved beneath the water.
Li Tian's eyes narrowed.
The sounds around him seemed to fade. The wind, the current, the rustling reeds—everything grew distant. His breathing slowed.
Then his fingers moved.
A stone shot forward.
Splash.
A fish floated up seconds later.
Li Tian did not stop. He sent a second stone flying toward a yellow leaf drifting swiftly with the current. The pebble struck the exact center of the leaf and knocked it spinning into the air.
His third stone flew toward a thin hanging branch over the water and hit the point where two twigs crossed.
Not far away, an old fisherman who had been repairing his net turned his head sharply.
"That aim…" he murmured. "For a child, that is no ordinary accuracy."
Li Tian heard him, but said nothing. To him, it was normal. He had done this for years.
Still, as he looked down at the stone in his hand, a strange thought passed through his mind.
Whenever he focused like this, everything became sharper. Clearer. As though his eyes could see exactly where the world wanted to be struck.
Just then, another leaf drifted down from above.
Without thinking, Li Tian flicked his wrist.
The stone pierced the center of the falling leaf in midair.
Even the fisherman went silent.
Li Tian stared at the leaf as it fell into the river. Something inside him stirred faintly, though he could not explain it.
By the time he returned to the village, evening had begun to descend. The sunlight was fading behind the distant mountains, dyeing the sky in orange and red. A cooler wind passed through the streets, carrying with it a strange restless feeling.
Near the entrance of the village, several people had gathered again. Two passing traders stood beside a cart, drinking water while speaking to the elders.
"The Azure Mountain Sect has been sending people through nearby villages," one trader said.
"They are looking for children with cultivation talent," the other added. "It seems another round of selection may happen soon."
At once, the villagers erupted into discussion.
"A sect selection?"
"Will they come here too?"
"It has been years since the last one."
Li Tian froze where he stood.
A sect… coming here?
His heart began to beat faster.
The traders said they were not certain, but cultivators had already been seen in villages not far from theirs. If the rumors were true, it might not be long before this quiet place also drew the attention of the outside world.
That night, after dinner, Li Tian stepped out of the house and looked up at the sky.
The stars shone coldly above him, countless and distant. He remembered his mother's gentle words and his father's steady voice. He remembered the villagers speaking of sects, of talent, of those chosen by fate.
Then he looked toward the mountains.
Far away, beyond the darkness, faint flashes of lightning flickered among the clouds.
Li Tian stared for a long time.
The village that had always seemed so large now felt small.
And somewhere deep in his heart, a strange feeling slowly rose
as if the quiet days of his life would not remain quiet for much longer.