Chapter 7: The Weight of Being Outer
By the time the sun climbed fully over the outer peaks, the training grounds had already emptied.
For the inner disciples, this was the hour of leisure disguised as refinement. They returned to private courtyards layered with spirit formations, where the air itself was thick with well condensed Qi. Some refined pills under the guidance of elders, others cultivated in silence while attendants replenished incense and spirit stones. Their days were measured in breakthroughs and evaluations.
For outer disciples, the day had only just begun.
Li Chen walked with the rest of them down the stone path that led away from the training grounds, his expression calm, steps unhurried. To an untrained eye, it looked like resignation. To those who lived this life, it was routine.
Outer disciples were not raised by the sect. They were consumed by it.
Their lives followed a simple, unforgiving rhythm: morning training to remind them where they stood, then labor to justify the rice they ate. Cultivation was something squeezed into the cracks of exhaustion—at dawn, late at night, or during rare stolen moments when the body had nothing left to give.
Resources were scarce. Spirit stones were earned, not granted. Pills were luxuries reserved for those with backing or favor. Manuals were incomplete, outdated, or deliberately watered down. An outer disciple who wanted more had only two choices: prove themselves beyond expectation, or endure long enough for opportunity to stumble into their path.
Li Chen had done neither. Not yet.
He arrived at the assignment board along with dozens of others. Names were carved into wooden slats beneath listed duties, already sorted by seniority and perceived value.
— Herb Garden — Storage Hall — Outer Mountain Patrol — Kitchen Duty — Grounds Cleaning
The inner disciples never appeared here.
A few outer disciples rushed forward, eyes sharp, hoping for lighter assignments or ones that paid slightly better. Kitchen duty meant leftovers. Storage halls meant access—if only to glance—at sealed crates of pills and weapons. Patrols paid the most, but came with the risk of spirit beasts and accidents that elders rarely investigated closely.
Li Chen did not rush.
His name was already where it always was.
Herb Garden.
A soft snort came from beside him.
"Still digging in the dirt, Li Chen?" a voice said lazily.
He turned slightly to see Zhao Kun, an outer disciple two years his senior, standing with his arms crossed. Zhao Kun's cultivation hovered at the mid-stage Mortal Plane—nothing special, but enough to carry an air of superiority among those beneath him.
"The sect really knows where to put useless people," Zhao Kun continued. "Herbs don't complain, at least. You two should get along."
A few nearby disciples chuckled.
Li Chen inclined his head faintly, neither agreeing nor resisting. "Senior Brother Zhao speaks wisely."
The lack of reaction only seemed to irritate him.
"Hmph. Don't trip over your own feet out there," Zhao Kun muttered, turning away as his own name was called for storage duty.
Li Chen watched him go, face still composed.
Patience, he reminded himself.
The herb garden assignment required tools.
He followed the stone corridor toward the equipment shed, where a long counter separated outer disciples from the items they needed for the day. Woven baskets were stacked behind it—some sturdy, some old and fraying, their handles repaired with crude knots.
An attendant disciple sat behind the counter, flipping through a register without looking up.
"Name."
"Li Chen."
The attendant paused briefly, then reached for a basket near the bottom of the pile. Its weave sagged slightly, dried vines splitting at the edges.
"This one."
Li Chen accepted it with both hands.
From the side came another laugh.
"Oh? Even the baskets know their master," a sharp voice said.
Li Chen glanced over. Sun Hao—thin, sharp-eyed, and perpetually bitter—leaned against a pillar, his own basket slung casually over one shoulder. Sun Hao had failed three consecutive monthly assessments and took comfort in finding others who ranked even lower.
"That thing won't last the day," Sun Hao continued. "Try not to lose any herbs. The steward deducts for damages, you know. Though I guess spirit stones are already rare for you."
Li Chen met his gaze briefly, then looked away. "I'll be careful."
The attendant snorted. "Next."
Li Chen stepped aside, adjusting the basket's strap across his shoulder. As he turned toward the path leading to the outer herb fields, he felt it again—faint, fleeting, like a whisper brushing past his senses.
Qi.
Not from the environment.
From himself.
The system's voice echoed lightly in his mind, amused.
"You're enduring humiliation remarkably well today".
Li Chen's lips barely moved.
"You call this remarkable?"
"I call it survival"
The system replied.
" And for once, you're not advertising your existence to the entire sect."
Li Chen exhaled slowly, keeping his expression neutral as he stepped out into the sunlit path leading toward the herb gardens.
I'll need time, he thought. Until I can explain. Until I can defend myself.
Behind him, laughter and idle chatter faded. Ahead lay rows of spirit herbs, soil stained faintly with residual Qi, and a long day of bending, digging, and pretending to be exactly what everyone believed him to be.
Invisible.
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The herb garden stretched out before Li Chen like a living mosaic. Rows of verdant plants, some towering with delicate leaves and others low and clustered, waved faintly in the morning breeze. A faint fragrance drifted along the paths between them, sweet and calming, almost hypnotic. Some herbs gave off a subtle aura that could lull the weary into an enjoyable sleep; others had a faint tang that hinted at their potency.
Li Chen moved slowly, basket in hand, eyes sweeping over the array. He had learned to distinguish herbs not just by color or size but by the resonance of their Qi. The better the herb, the purer its energy, the more valuable it was to pill-makers and alchemists. Impurities, pests, or bruised leaves diminished a herb's worth considerably.
Some herbs glowed faintly with an internal light, signaling their high quality. Others appeared ordinary, blending into the garden like they belonged nowhere else. The inner disciples would only ever be sent to pick the finest herbs, leaving the rest for outer disciples to scrape together.
Li Chen stepped carefully along the narrow paths. He crouched slightly to avoid brushing against delicate stems, inhaling the mixed aroma of growth and dew. His basket was still empty, and the day ahead promised hours of bending, picking, and carrying.
Finally, he reached a cluster of green-leaved plants with small, pale flowers. The Qi around them was faint, almost humble, but Li Chen knew even low-grade herbs could be useful if handled properly. He bent down, ready to pluck the herb and place it gently in his basket.
The moment his fingers brushed against the leaf, a sharp, familiar voice rang in his mind.
Low-level herb detected.
Li Chen froze.
Name: Moon Dew Leaf
Grade: D
Effects: Mild Qi replenishment, induces light drowsiness when brewed
Quality: Clean, no impurities
User can absorb for 10 XP
He stared at the floating panel, eyes widening. Absorb the herb? Not just collect it for copper coins, not just food—he could use it to increase his strength. His pulse quickened.
The system's snarky commentary followed immediately.
"Oh? Finally using your brain. I'd almost forgotten you could be useful beyond sarcasm and whining."
Li Chen muttered under his breath, almost to himself.
"I wasn't planning on just eating today."
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. An idea, small but perfectly malicious, had taken root. If even low-level herbs could grant him XP, the possibilities multiplied exponentially. Not just picking herbs for rations anymore—he could cultivate strength faster than anyone suspected. He could manipulate the sect's own labor assignments to his advantage, turning menial work into a power source.
The herb's faint fragrance wafted around him, calming yet invigorating, as Li Chen straightened and lifted the leaf into his palm. A soft green glow pulsed from the herb, and his internal energy subtly shifted as it was absorbed. 10 XP registered in his mind, confirming the system's earlier statement.
Li Chen's eyes gleamed, a mixture of satisfaction and cunning. Today, the herb garden was no longer just a tedious chore. Today, it was the beginning of his quiet, calculated ascent.