The bucket was heavier than it should have been.
Shen Mo adjusted his grip, the rough wooden handle pressing into the calloused skin of his palm.
His hands now looked just like—
Water sloshed over the rim, running down his fingers and soaking into his sleeve.
Cold.
He noticed it, but didn't react.
He didn't shake his hand, didn't curse, didn't even look down.
After two years, there were many things Shen Mo no longer reacted to.
The stone path beneath his feet curved along the slope of the outer sect, worn smooth by countless footsteps. Above him, tiled rooftops layered into the mountainside, disappearing into drifting mist.
Disciples moved through the courtyards, some practicing sword forms while others meditated beneath ancient trees, strands of Qi gathering faintly around them.
They moved with purpose, with direction, with certainty.
Shen Mo walked past them like a shadow.
He set the bucket down beside the storage shed, careful not to spill too much water.
For a moment, he remained still, breathing slowly. Not because he was particularly tired, but because there was nowhere he needed to be.
Two years.
The thought came quietly.
Not bitter. Not angry. Just heavy.
He had been reborn into this world with hope. Real hope.
A second life. A world where strength could be cultivated, where effort could turn into power, where even an ordinary person might carve out something extraordinary.
He still remembered the day he fought to be tested for a spiritual root.
And the moment he realized he had one.
He had laughed that day.
Actually laughed.
It felt like someone else's memory now.
Because hope had not lasted long.
In this world, everything began with talent.
The ability to sense Qi, absorb it, refine it, and move it through the body like a living current.
Shen Mo could do all of those things.
Technically.
Just worse than everyone else.
He absorbed Qi slower. Circulated it poorly. Every attempt felt like forcing something through a path that resisted him at every turn.
Others advanced in months.
He stagnated for years.
The disciples who had entered the sect with him had already begun to leave him behind. Some had become inner disciples. Some were rumored to be on the path to becoming core disciples.
Their names were spoken.
Their progress was visible.
Their futures were certain.
Shen Mo was still at mid-stage Qi Condensation.
Unremarkable.
Unwanted.
"…Still not done?"
The voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
Shen Mo turned slightly, lowering his gaze before his eyes could fully meet the other's.
An outer disciple stood nearby, arms crossed, impatience written plainly across his face.
"You've been here all morning. Move faster."
"Yes, senior brother."
No hesitation. No explanation.
Shen Mo picked up the bucket again and moved.
Survival.
That was what these two years had been.
Not cultivation. Not progress.
Just survival.
Knowing when to speak.
Knowing when to stay silent.
Knowing how much to endure.
It was a skill he had learned well.
And now, even that would not be enough.
The sect had already made their decision. His resources had been reduced little by little until he was receiving less than any outer disciple.
No one had said anything.
No one needed to.
Their meaning was clear.
Stop wasting our resources.
Or perhaps, leave before we make you.
He could understand their reasoning.
That was the worst part.
If he stayed, he would be drained until there was nothing left.
If he left, he would return to the mortal world.
Failed.
He would have to face—
He set the bucket down and stared at the ground.
There had to be something.
"Shen Mo."
The voice was calm, even, and completely unfamiliar.
Shen Mo froze.
Slowly, he turned.
A young man stood a short distance away. Straight posture. Clean robes. A presence that drew attention without asking for it.
Sharp features. Steady eyes.
Zhao Yuan.
The name surfaced instantly.
There was no outer disciple who did not know it.
Peak Qi Condensation.
One of the strongest among them.
Someone who could have entered the inner sect easily, but hadn't.
And now, he was looking at him.
Shen Mo lowered his head immediately.
"This disciple greets Senior Brother Zhao."
A brief silence followed.
Measured.
"I've heard about your situation."
Zhao Yuan's voice was gentle, almost sympathetic.
Shen Mo didn't respond.
"They're planning to expel you, aren't they?"
"…Yes."
"…That's unfortunate."
Zhao Yuan stepped closer, not too close, just enough.
"I've heard about you," he said. "Two years, and you're still here."
A faint pause.
"That kind of persistence is rare."
Shen Mo's expression remained neutral, but his mind sharpened.
"Talent isn't everything," Zhao Yuan continued. "Survival has its own value."
For the first time, Shen Mo lifted his gaze slightly.
Zhao Yuan was smiling.
"…Senior brother overestimates me."
Zhao Yuan watched him for a moment, then exhaled quietly.
"There might be a way."
Shen Mo's attention focused.
"A way to improve your cultivation," Zhao Yuan said. "Quickly."
Silence stretched.
"…But it's dangerous."
Of course it was.
Shen Mo didn't respond immediately.
"I can help you reach late-stage Qi Condensation," Zhao Yuan added.
Too fast.
Too convenient.
Shen Mo's thoughts moved quickly.
Zhao Yuan's rapid rise.
His unexplained decision to remain in the outer sect.
Possibilities aligned.
A method. A backer. A use.
None of them were reassuring.
"…Why me?" Shen Mo asked.
Zhao Yuan hesitated, only slightly.
"Call it… admiration."
Shen Mo didn't believe that.
"…Think about it," Zhao Yuan said. "If you decide, come to the southern edge of the outer forest tonight."
He turned and left.
Just like that.
Shen Mo stood still.
The sounds of the sect felt distant again.
Muted.
He moved.
His room was small and bare.
Shen Mo didn't waste time.
Spiritual stones. Pills. Everything he had saved over two years.
Gone.
Exchanged.
For a single talisman.
It rested in his hand now.
Thin.
Unremarkable.
Dangerous.
A one-time attack.
He slid it into his sleeve, then sat and waited.
Night came quietly.
The outer forest was still and dark.
Shen Mo moved carefully, each step measured.
He saw Zhao Yuan before Zhao Yuan saw him.
Standing near the edge.
Waiting.
When Zhao Yuan noticed him, he exhaled.
Relief.
"You came."
"I didn't have much choice."
Zhao Yuan smiled faintly.
"Follow me."
They moved deeper into the forest.
The air grew colder and quieter as the sounds of the sect faded behind them.
Something shifted.
Subtle, but undeniable.
Shen Mo slowed.
"…Just an illusion formation," Zhao Yuan said casually.
Shen Mo said nothing.
They stepped through.
The world changed.
Before them lay a formation, complex and intricate, two circles connected by lines that pulsed faintly with Qi.
Zhao Yuan stepped forward and placed something within the inner circle.
A demonic beast.
Late-stage Qi Condensation.
Bound.
Dead.
Shen Mo's breathing slowed.
Too much.
"I killed it myself," Zhao Yuan said.
Of course he did.
"…Sit."
Shen Mo stepped into the second circle.
The talisman shifted slightly in his sleeve.
Zhao Yuan activated the formation.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Shen Mo waited.
Then he felt it.
A thread of Qi slipped into his meridians. It was cold and unfamiliar, moving without his control, without responding to his intent.
His brows furrowed.
"…Senior brother?"
"Let it flow," Zhao Yuan said.
The thread became a stream.
Qi poured into him faster than anything he had ever experienced. It did not circulate the way it should, nor did it settle. It forced its way forward, pressing through his meridians as if they were obstacles to be broken.
Shen Mo tried to guide it.
Failed.
The Qi ignored him completely.
A flicker of unease surfaced.
This was not how cultivation worked.
But it was working.
The Qi was entering him, gathering at an impossible speed. His cultivation stirred, trembling at the edge of something greater.
For a brief moment, hope rose.
Maybe this was real.
Maybe this was his chance.
Pain followed.
Sharp. Sudden.
His breath hitched as something inside him twisted violently. The stream of Qi did not slow. It grew denser, heavier, forcing its way through passages that could not contain it.
His fingers trembled.
"…Something's wrong."
Zhao Yuan did not respond.
Shen Mo looked up.
Zhao Yuan was watching him.
Not the formation. Not the Qi.
Him.
Calm. Focused. Waiting.
Understanding settled in.
Cold.
This was never meant to help him.
The Qi surged again.
Something inside his body cracked.
Shen Mo's vision blurred, his thoughts dragged down by the overwhelming force tearing through him.
I'm going to die.
No hesitation.
His hand moved.
Qi surged into the talisman as he activated it.
Light exploded.
The formation shattered instantly. The lines of Qi snapped apart as the illusion collapsed around them.
Zhao Yuan was thrown back.
But not killed.
Shen Mo did not wait.
He ran.
One step. Two. Three.
Pain.
A blade slammed into his back, driving through flesh and bone. The force threw him forward. He stumbled, barely managing to stay upright before collapsing.
He tried to move.
Nothing.
His Qi had fallen into chaos, scattered and unresponsive.
Cold.
Empty.
"…What did you do…"
Zhao Yuan stepped forward slowly, each movement controlled, but the calm from before had vanished.
"You ruined it."
The pressure in the air intensified, pressing down on Shen Mo and locking his body in place.
"I told people," Shen Mo said quickly. "If I don't return…"
Zhao Yuan laughed.
"Who would care?"
Another step closer.
"…And you think you're the first?"
Silence settled.
Zhao Yuan raised his sword.
No hesitation.
"Die."
The blade fell.
—END—