The cold wind rolled down from the jade cliffs like a blade drawn from its sheath.
It sliced through the thin robes of the outer disciples, whistling over the cracked tiles of the Jade Moon Sect. Here, cultivation was law. Spirit was everything. And those without roots… were less than dust.
Long Tian stood barefoot on the stone path outside the beast stables. His hands were raw from scrubbing the filth of spirit beasts, his robes tattered, soaked in cold water and shame. His body ached—not from training, but from surviving.
In this sect, he was not a disciple.
He was a tool.
A servant.
A cripple.
Born without a spirit root.
Unable to circulate Qi.
Unworthy of even the lowest cultivation technique.
Others trained under sword masters.
He scrubbed their floors.
Others received pills to enhance their bodies.
He received broken scraps and slaps when he spoke out of turn.
Yet he did not beg.
He did not bow.
He endured.
---
A World That Worships Power
The continent of Xuanluan thrived on cultivation.
Those who touched the heavens through essence became immortals.
Those who failed became fertilizer.
Sects ruled the mountains.
Empires bowed to them.
And deep in those sacred halls, ancient techniques were passed down through generations—sword arts, body tempering, soul refinement.
But there was one path no one spoke of.
One method sealed away, erased from scrolls and history.
A path whispered to be sinful… yet powerful.
A path rooted not in stillness, but in sensation.
In pleasure.
In union.
In the divine resonance of bodies, not chants.
---
Jade Moon Sect: Pillars of Purity
The Jade Moon Sect was renowned for its rigid codes of purity and its obsession with the sword. It trained the righteous cultivators of the eastern realm, warriors who swore to sever all emotion for clarity.
Love was a weakness.
Touch, a temptation.
Desire… a disease.
And in this cold heaven of stone and discipline, Long Tian was a crack no one could mend.
Even the other outer disciples mocked him.
Some hit him just to remind him where he stood.
"Trash should thank Heaven for even being allowed to exist."
"If I had your spirit root, I'd drown myself in the river."
"He's not a man. Just a breathing broom."
But Long Tian didn't respond.
Not because he was afraid—
But because he was listening to something else.
A hum.
A call.
Something beneath the surface of the sect that vibrated through the stones… like a whisper waiting to be heard.
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The Silent Vow
That night, beneath the stars that refused to shine on him, he lay alone on a bed of cold stone. His blanket was torn cloth. His pillow was his hand.
He looked up at the sky, where disciples soared on flying swords, laughing under moonlight.
He closed his eyes.
And he remembered the warmth of a hand that once held his.
A girl.
Her name—forgotten.
But the softness of her fingers, the gentleness of her voice—it remained.
Before she awakened her spiritual roots.
Before she became too divine to look at him again.
He remembered the moment she walked past him, her eyes cold as ice.
And in that moment, something inside Long Tian ignited.
Not rage.
Not jealousy.
But something older.
"If Heaven has no place for me…"
"Then I'll carve my own."
"Even if I have to walk through flesh, sin, and fire to do it."
---
Below the Sect…
Deep beneath the sect—beneath sealed stone, past broken tombs of forgotten masters—
a scroll of crimson silk pulsed once.
Then again.
A quiet voice, ancient and hungry, stirred.
"He has touched the edge of hunger…"
"…Soon, he will taste the beginning of pleasure."
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[End of Chapter 1]
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