Qingxuan City, Lin Family Martial Arts Field.
The July sun blazed like an eternal furnace, baking the entire martial arts field until it was scorching hot. Waves of distorted heat rose from the bluestone ground, making distant figures appear unreal and wavering.
In the center of the field stood a white jade platform over ten feet high, its surface carved with intricate runes that glowed faintly under the sunlight. Embedded at the top was a fist-sized transparent crystal—the Spirit Testing Stone—quietly awaiting the next examinee.
The crowd below was a sea of people.
Over three hundred members of the Lin family, from the main branch to the collateral lines, from elders to servants, had all gathered. The annual Spirit Testing Assembly was the most important day for the Lin family—it determined a young disciple's future and also revealed the next generation's geniuses for the family.
"Next, Lin Chen!"
The steward's voice came from the platform, tinged with impatience, as if calling an irrelevant person.
A young man slowly emerged from the crowd.
He was about fifteen or sixteen, with a thin, frail frame that looked as if a gust of wind could knock him over. His black hair was casually tied behind his head, revealing a pale, gaunt face. His features were delicate, but his eyes carried a gloominess far beyond his years—not the pretentious melancholy of a teenager playing at being deep, but the marks left by life's repeated blows.
He wore a faded blue robe, patched in several places at the cuffs and hem, looking conspicuously shabby among the finely dressed children of the prominent family.
The young man walked steadily toward the Spirit Testing Platform, eyes fixed forward, ignoring everything around him.
Behind him, whispers buzzed like flies, following him everywhere.
"There goes that waste again."
"A collateral branch nobody, still daring to test his spirit root. No shame."
"I heard his father died long ago, and his mother ran away. He's been living off the Lin family's charity, yet he can't even manifest a low-grade spirit root. What a waste of food."
"Exactly. Last year, the testing stone didn't even light up. It was hilarious."
"This year will probably be the same."
The voices were loud enough for Lin Chen to hear. In fact, they were meant for him.
Lin Chen didn't pause. His hands at his sides clenched slightly, knuckles white from the pressure. But he didn't turn around, didn't argue, just kept walking in silence.
Eight years.
He'd heard these words for eight years. They had long since transformed from initial anger into numbness, and from numbness into a deep, buried unwillingness to accept his fate.
Eight years ago, when his father Lin Yuanshan was still alive, no one dared speak to him like this.
Back then, thanks to his father's strength as a Foundation Establishment cultivator, the collateral Lin family branch had considerable standing. Though young, Lin Chen was treated with smiles and respect by everyone he met.
But all that changed on a rainy night eight years ago.
His father went on a training expedition and died in some secret realm. No remains were ever recovered; only an ancient bronze mirror and a letter were sent back.
The letter contained only a few lines: "Chen'er, I'm sorry. Keep this mirror safe. It will protect you."
Then there was his mother.
She left when he was only three, and he could barely remember what she looked like. All that remained was a vague silhouette disappearing into the rain, and her words, broken by the downpour: "I'm sorry, Chen'er…"
From then on, Lin Chen was an orphan.
Living on charity. Enduring contempt.
The Lin family's rules were simple: those with talent enjoyed the best resources; those without could fend for themselves.
And Lin Chen had been judged a "miscellaneous spirit root" five years in a row—the lowest grade in the cultivation world, with five elements mixed together, qi so impure it was nearly impossible to cultivate beyond the third level of Qi Condensation.
In a cultivation clan's eyes, that was useless.
Utterly useless.
Lin Chen stepped onto the Spirit Testing Platform, each footfall deliberate.
The steward was a middle-aged man with a thin mustache and shrewd, mean eyes. He glanced at Lin Chen and curled his lip in undisguised disgust.
"Place your hand on it and inject your spiritual power," the steward said flatly, not even bothering to sound professional.
Lin Chen walked up to the Spirit Testing Stone and took a deep breath.
He pressed his right hand against the cool surface.
Deep within his dantian, his meager spiritual power began to gather laboriously. Like the last drops of water in a dried-up riverbed, it flowed painfully through his meridians toward his palm.
Every time the power passed through an acupoint, it felt like a knife cutting into his meridians. A miscellaneous spirit root's energy was inherently chaotic, its five elements clashing with each other, traveling through the meridians like forcing sand through veins.
Pain.
Lin Chen gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead.
The Spirit Testing Stone flickered.
A faint white light, weak as a candle in the wind, flickered once and died.
The martial arts field fell into brief silence.
Then—
Pfft.
Someone laughed.
More laughter followed, from snickering to a full uproar.
"Miscellaneous spirit root! Hahaha!"
"I told you! A waste is always a waste!"
"Five years in a row. How does he even have the face to stand up there?"
"If I were him, I'd have killed myself long ago."
The steward recorded the result expressionlessly, his tone as flat as if reading an irrelevant official document: "Low-grade miscellaneous spirit root, no attribute. Unqualified, eliminated."
He didn't spare Lin Chen another glance, already turning to the list: "Next, Lin Hao!"
Lin Chen slowly withdrew his hand.
His hand trembled slightly—not from anger, but from the stinging pain left by the spiritual energy's passage through his meridians. He tucked his hand into his sleeve, hiding it from view.
He turned and walked down from the platform.
He didn't run, didn't lower his head, just walked calmly. But his lips were pressed into a thin line, and his face was almost unnaturally pale.
"Wait."
A cold voice suddenly cut through the noise like a blade slicing through a clamor.
Laughter stopped abruptly.
The crowd parted automatically as a young man in fine robes walked over unhurriedly. He was about twenty years old, with sharp brows and starry eyes, handsome and aloof. A faint spiritual pressure emanated from him, making those nearby step back involuntarily.
The eldest son of the Lin family, Lin Tianhe.
A Heavenly Spirit Root cultivator at the Foundation Establishment mid-stage, the brightest genius the Lin family had produced in a century, regarded throughout Qingxuan City as a "future Golden Core cultivator."
Lin Tianhe stopped in front of Lin Chen and looked down at him.
His eyes were calm, like deep, still water, revealing nothing. But Lin Chen read much in that gaze—pity, scrutiny, and a condescending air of charity.
"Lin Chen," Lin Tianhe said, his voice carrying clearly through the silent crowd, "this is your fifth consecutive year testing as miscellaneous spirit root. You know the Lin family's rules: collateral disciples who fail three years in a row lose their cultivation privileges and are expelled from the inner quarters."
Lin Chen raised his head and met his eyes.
Those eyes were dark, deep, like two bottomless wells.
"I know," he said.
His voice was calm, calmer than a fifteen-year-old's should be.
Lin Tianhe raised an eyebrow slightly, apparently surprised by his composure. After a moment's silence, he reached into his sleeve, pulled out a jade slip, and tossed it to Lin Chen.
"I came across this basic cultivation technique by chance—it's called Nourishing Qi Art. Low grade, but gentle. It might help you. After all… your father served our family well in his time."
The jade slip arced through the air, and Lin Chen caught it.
His fingers tightened slightly around the warm jade.
"Thank you, Brother Tianhe," he said, his voice still steady.
Lin Tianhe nodded and walked away.
Behind him, murmurs of praise rose.
"Brother Tianhe is so generous."
"Even helping a waste like that. Truly worthy of being our young master."
"This is what a true clan heir looks like."
Lin Chen stood there, watching Lin Tianhe's receding back. The faintest trace of bitterness tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Generous?
If he were truly generous, wouldn't he have asked—what use was a cultivation technique to a miscellaneous spirit root who probably couldn't even practice it?
If he were truly generous, why had he shown no extra care in the eight years since his father died?
Charity.
Just a gracious form of charity.
It showed off his kindness without costing him anything of substance.
Lin Chen tucked the jade slip into his robe and silently left the martial arts field.
Behind him, the Spirit Testing Platform produced new voices: "Lin Hao, mid-grade fire spirit root! Qualified!"
The crowd cheered.
No one looked at Lin Chen again.