Dawn had yet to break, but Mo Tianxue now known as Yun Zhihao was already awake, sitting cross-legged in the ruined servant shed.
His breathing was slow. Steady.
He opened his eyes and said," I was one of the greatest sovereign in my time, how can I remain a trash forever?"
He searched within himself, the skills that made him a sovereign. Access to ancient knowledge lost to the lower realms. Cultivation techniques that could crush sects. Forbidden arts banned by the heavens. Secrets the clans of Yun City could only dream of.
But Zhihao wasn't elated. Not yet.
He first looked inward into his body. This body that was called a trash.
And what he saw made him frown.
Shattered dantians. Blocked veins.
No wonder they called him trash.
Even a pig had better odds at cultivation than this body.
"But that's because they only know the ways of the righteous path," Zhihao murmured. "They don't know about the Rever Veins."
The Rever Veins were a cultivation method Mo Tianxue had created in his past life. It was not gentle. It was not beautiful. It was not even meant for humans.
It was pain. Torture. Madness.
But it could resurrect the crippled. Mold the broken into gods.
"Break… and be reborn," he muttered.
Immediately,he started activating the cultivation method, whispering a few archaic words and suddenly,there was a rushing wind that entered his body.
His body jerked as a sharp black energy poured into his meridians, like liquid fire ripping through dead tunnels. Veins bulged. Blood spilled from his nose. Every nerve screamed.
But he didn't stop. He continued muttering those words.
Minutes passed. Then hours.
By noon, he was drenched in sweat and blood, but when he opened his eyes… they gleamed with a silver-red glow.
"Rever Veins… activated."
In that moment, Yun Zhihao was no longer a cripple.
He was a cultivator. Ready to take over the realm.
Meanwhile, in the Yun Clan's training courtyard, a group of outer disciples practiced under the supervision of Elder Yun Haoran.
Among them was Yun Tian , the so-called prodigy of the clan and the one who was discovered that he had a red spirit root just the day before. His shoulder swelled with pride.
As he delivered palm strikes, other disciples hovered around him.
"Senior,you are the best. I knew right from time that you were different from the rest of us," A disciple fawned.
"Did you all see Zhihao's face yesterday? That look when the Spirit Crystal didn't react? Priceless," Another disciple said.
A few laughed.
Another girl, Yun Xinyi, once Zhihao's childhood friend frowned slightly. "You didn't have to humiliate him like that. He's already been through enough."
Yun Tian scoffed with arrogance written all over his face. "Enough? The weak don't deserve sympathy. If he can't cultivate, he should just be a servant."
Elder Haoran nodded approvingly. "Compassion is for the strong. Cruelty is the first lesson of the path."
Back in the servant quarters, Zhihao slowly stood. His entire body felt weak but he felt as light as a feather.
He took a deep breath and raised his hand to release some spiritual power. For the first time in his life, he felt spiritual energy respond to his will. The flow was faint, but it was there. Real. He heaved a sigh that seem to say relief.
And that meant only one thing:
He could cultivate now.
He had a future.
"I'll need to be careful," he whispered. "No one must know I've changed. Not until I'm strong enough to crush them all."
But he couldn't wait too long either. He remembered every humiliation. Every word. Every kick to his gut when he was already down. He also wanted to take revenge at the cultivators that caused his downfall from being a sovereign to a mere trash. He wanted to take revenge at the upper realm and this time around,fight even the heavens to determine his future and destiny.
Starting with the Yun Clan.
Soon, he thought. I'll pay you back—with interest.
That night, Zhihao returned to meditation and began refining the Body tempering art, a body-forging technique he once used to fight immortal beasts with bare fists.
The pain returned, this time stronger.
His bones cracked.
His muscles tore.
And yet he endured.
Because pain was the price of power.
And Yun Zhihao had paid enough in shame.
Three days later,The clan gathered in the training field for the annual inner disciple tournament. Though Zhihao wasn't invited being labeled a servant now,but the outer disciples all had to be there to see how the inner disciple tournament was organized. He slipped into the crowd, watching silently.
Yun Long stood proudly at the center, surrounded by admirers. He was twenty years old. He was among the top 10 young cultivators in the whole Xuntian continent.
The match began.
He struck his opponent down with a single flaming palm, earning cheers erupting from the crowd.
But in the shadows, Zhihao's eyes narrowed. He laughed slowly.
"Flame Tiger Palm," he whispered. "Impressive… if we were still in kindergarten."
If someone had heard him, they would have laughed loudly. Imagine a trash calling a top cultivator's skill,a kindergarten skill.
Someone bumped into him. A servant.
"Oi, trash," the servant sneered. "What are you doing here?"
Zhihao turned and smiled coldly.
The servant's eyes widened in terror. He stumbled back and fell without Zhihao even moving.
Because in that moment…
There was something different about Yun Zhihao.
Something terrifying.
Something ancient.
The tournament had ended as quickly as it had started with Yun Long being the winner. The elders all smiled, happy with the outcome of the tournament.
An elder walked to the battle arena and raised his hand to hush the crowd.
"Dear disciples of the Yun Clan,do not be nonchalant and think that just because you won this battle,you are made for life. There are people better and stronger than you outside,so keep improving yourself and make the Yun family proud!"